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donutloverxo · 4 years

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Nude

Run through - Steve wants to try new things so he takes a painting class with a nude painting subject. Only the woman he has to paint are you, Peppers assistant and his crush.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve Rogers was many things. He was an artist, an amateur cook (who really does try), a loyal friend, a good citizen, a soldier. Yet when people looked at him, they only ever saw the captain. His friends called him cap. He'd go weeks without hearing his own name. Sometimes he felt the lines were blurred. When did Steve Rogers end and Captain America begin?

He had a big wake up call when he confronted Tony, saying he wasn’t iron man, it was an alter ego. To which Tony said that Steve was basically captain America. And Steve couldn’t argue or disagree, because it was true. He didn’t want to lose himself in his work anymore than he already had. His therapist told him to make healthy boundaries, which is what he’s going to do.

So he ordered some colors and pencils online and got to work on his art, for the first time in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing. He could lose himself in it, go on for hours without thinking and seeing anything but the colors and his canvas. Which was extremely rare for him. He could rarely ever shut his brain off or run from his traumatic memories.

Everyone could see the visible change in him. How he seemed happier. Clint even joked about it saying

“Cap must be getting some”

To which Steve only snorted. There was no room for anything as complicated as a relationship or sex in his life, not right now.

But wouldn’t it be nice? To have a woman to hold and to paint. To love and care for. He didn’t let himself delve too much into that fantasy. Because even if it was a nice escape once in a while, he knew that while Steve Rogers might make a good partner, Captain America would certainly not. He would never subject any woman to deal with either of them.

With some encouragement from Sam and his old friends he started attending painting classes at his alma mater, the Brooklyn College, every Saturday evening. It helped him make some friends. He didn’t know if he could call them friends. Most of them were too different from him. They seemed like different types of 'tortured artists'

When he heard that there would be a nude subject to paint the next class, he was a little bit hesitant. Such a thing would’ve been scandalous in the 40s. But he was trying to open himself up and that meant pushing his comfort zone, even just a little bit.

When he set up his canvas, oil colors and brushes that Saturday he expected male subject. He didn’t however expect to hear a woman’s voice. He was too focused on his set up to look up, whatever. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. There wouldn't be anything erotic about it. This was strictly professional and educational.

He looked up to take a good look at his subject, when he felt as if his soul was knocked out of him. There you stood, his crush, Pepper Potts' assistant, and the woman who turned him down.

“You know back in my day they used to play elevator music” He said to drown out the awkward silence. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know how to talk to women. He had had a crush on you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You were always so funny and sweet. Asking him and everyone about their day, if they were doing well. Always willing to help others.

When he let it slip that he likes banana bread, you baked him a whole loaf of it, which chocolate chips so ‘so you think of me when you have them. They’re my signature of sorts' you had said proudly. Of course he’d be thinking of you when he ate it. Overthinking actually. Wondering If you like him as he likes you, or if you’re just being your sweet self.

“Oh we still have that!” You chirped “but not in um professional or business buildings like these”

He just nodded. Tapping his foot impatiently. You would get off in just six floors it was now or never. “Hey uh – what are you doing this Friday?” he asked shyly.

“Oh just watching some Gordon Ramsay with my dog probably. I have no life” you laughed at your own self depreciating joke “Why?” you tilted your head.

“I was thinking, maybe we could get dinner? Only if you uh – you wanted to, you're free to say no” he promised. Maybe he should’ve asked you to ‘hang out' or 'for a coffee' like most people these days. But he felt that was no way to treat a lady, especially one like you.

“Oh Steve” he was already disappointed upon hearing your tone “I would’ve loved to. But even though we don’t work together, it wouldn’t look good you know? I mean I don’t care much for 'my image'” You said making air quotes “But I don’t, it’ll be complicated” You looked completely defeated. As if it hurt you to say no more than it hurt him to hear it.

“I completely understand” He nodded “no hard feelings” he gave you a smile as he watched you walk away. It did break his heart a bit, but he’d respect your feelings.

He looked at you taking off your satin robe revealing your bare body to the class of twenty or so artists. His breathe hitched. Your hair flowing down your back and covering a bit of your left breast, your soft stomach and thighs, the patch of soft curls at your core, your nipples hard against the chilly air, and how your stomach rolled a bit as you sat uncomfortably on the stool. You were beautiful. A work of art even. There was absolutely no way he could do you justice. He started drawing an outline on his canvas. You would very well be his best subject.

You looked around a bit, your fingers holding onto the stool for dear life so you could stave off the anxiety and feeling of being so exposed. Then your eyes landed on him. You thought you were dreaming, maybe you didn’t see properly, so you did a double take. Then you were frozen on the spot. There he was, Captain Rogers, the first Avenger, the man you often dreamt about, sitting right in front of you while you were naked as the day you were born.

You had no idea what you should do. This was literally like a nightmare come true. If you flee it would look bad, if you didn’t it might look worse. You decided you’d follow his lead. So you peeked a glance at him from the corner of your eyes and saw him, sketching you? Holy shit Steve Rogers was drawing a nude portrait of you. What has your life become?

You had always been insecure about your body. You knew magazines, porn and movies were meant to feed people lies to get them to buy more things. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about not looking anything like the women in them. You tried to remind yourself that you have many things going for you. Like your supporting family, your loving friends, your cute labrador, your amazing job.

Speaking of your job, exactly why you turned Steve freaking Rogers down! A man that looks like him asking you out and you say no. Your friends flat out laughed in your face at your unfortunate predicament, where the cake is right there but you can't eat it. Now that you thought about it, it was funny.

Your co-workers weren’t kind to you. Even on your best day you didn’t look anything like the women you worked with, who would stab you in the back the first chance the get. You were kind to everyone, but you knew by now not to expect the same treatment back. Which was why you had to say no to the beefy blonde. You didn’t want to be branded as the ‘office slut’.

Which now you were sure you would be. You didn’t know Steve enough to know he’d be willing to keep this a secret. He didn’t seem like someone who would do that to you. But you still couldn’t help but think the worst.

You squirmed and shivered in the chair for a good part of the next two hours. By the end your back was sore and you did everything you could to avoid looking at Steve, only sneaking glances here and there, while he seemed too engrossed in his work.

You had done this a couple of times before, to accept your body for what it is and get comfortable with it. If you weren’t going to love it no one would do it for you. Finally the time was up and the artists were asked to pack up for the day.

You quickly got up from your stool putting the robe back on. You turned your back to Steve, stretching your muscles. You couldn’t wait to lay down on your comfy bed and just get out of here. But you knew you needed to have that inevitable conversation. You probably would never be able to look Steve in the eye after this.

You walked towards him as he was cleaning up his work station. “Fancy seeing you here” You cringed at your embarrassing attempt at a British accent.

“Hey there” He gave you a bashful smile scratching the back of his head “I didn’t expect to see you here”

“Right back at ya” you returned his smile, no longer feeling on edge. It was strange how his presence served to comfort you.

“You do this often” he asked casually. You couldn’t really hear any judgement in his tone, not what you would expect from a hundred year old.

“No not really. It just uh – I’m trying to love myself. Which I already do! Of course” you let out a nervous chuckle “just trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone”

“That makes two of us” he said as he was done packing his bag, which he was deliberately doing at a slow pace. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Can I... Look at your painting?” You asked nervously. You didn’t know if you wanted to see his interpretation of your naked body, what if it was bad? But what if it was good? What if he was impressed by you...

“Uh it’s not done yet. And frankly I’m not that good”

“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the sketches in your office” You caught your slip of tongue. You couldn’t let him know about your borderline unhealthy obsession with him.

“Well, have a look then” he relented showing you his canvas.

You let out a breathe you didn’t even know you were holding at the painting. It was breath-taking. The woman looked like you, but why was she so beautiful and graceful? In the painting she was sitting on a stool, like you, in front of a tree admiring a rose in her hand. She was naked as well. It reminded you of classic Greek paintings where women weren’t perfect, but were celebrated for their imperfections.

“It’s amazing Steve. I – do I look like that?” You stammered not being able to tear your eyes off the painting.

He shook his head at your shock “On the contrary you look much better I’m glad you like it”

“You’re a great artist” you gushed

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen much better” he said humbly.

You would argue with him. But you knew it would be of no use. Looking at the beautiful woman in the painting gave you the surge of confidence you needed “Steve, does the offer for that dinner still stand?” You straightened your back looking up to lock eyes with him.

“Yes” He blurted without even thinking “how about tomorrow evening?” He asked.

“Yes that will be awesome! You can pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address“ you said making an mental note to do so.

You could hardly wait for your date. You didn’t really care about what your co-workers would think of you. As long as you were happy their opinions didn’t matter.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or send me an ask!

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

This was actually a request. But I can't fir the life of me find the person who requested it. I hope you see it babes❤

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve x reader #steve Rogers x you #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #avengers x reader #marvel x reader

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link4eva · 3 years

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Kiro’s Satisfaction Date Translation (完满之约) [CN] Part 1/2

Hey, everyone! I have a couple of short but important notes to give before reading.

I don’t actually know any Chinese so this translation was done through the power of Google Translate.

This translation contains spoilers for Kiro’s 2021 Birthday Date in the CN server. So if you wish to not be spoiled, please don’t look below the cut. There is a R&S to go along with this date which has been translated by the lovely @keliosyfan . I’ll put the link to it here! I definitely recommend reading that first before reading this date.

I tried posting this date earlier but Tumblr doesn’t seem like it can handle all the Kiro goodness in one go. So, this date is split into two parts to try and manage that. You can find the second part here! The call that comes with this date can be found here!

Hope you enjoy!~

*Spoliers for future content below!*

The melodious violin sound filled the lecture hall.

Kiro closed his eyes and the tip of his left finger pulsed gently on the strings of the violin, pulling out beautiful notes.

I stood behind the cameras in the last row of the lecture hall. As I was looking at him through the camera, I couldn’t pull my gaze away.

Kiro’s birthday was finally here, but this year, it is a bit more special.

He was invited by his high school alma mater to come to California for a special performance on his birthday.

And this also happened to be the site of Kiro’s special live birthday broadcast.

Kiro: I am very happy to be back today. I know that you must be very sleepy listening to the song just now, so….

Kiro raised the corners of his mouth, turned his head back and nodded slightly to the pianist on the side, and then lightly plucked the strings with his right hand; a crisp echo coming through.

Kiro: Let’s be happy.

The brisk piano sounded, and “Canon” flew in through everyone’s ears between Kiro’s fingertips and the plucked strings.

The students sitting in the lecture hall opened their eyes wide; it was almost as if the notes were like tiny birds flying around in the soft sunlight. *Took some liberty here.*

But this was just the beginning.

Whether it is “Caprice 24”, “Carmen Fantasia”, and other classical pieces, or adaptations of popular songs--

They were all under the influence of Kiro’s fingertips, full of vitality.

It seems that the light of the entire world is focused on him at this very moment, bright and dazzling.

The last piece performed seemed to be a little different from the ones previously. Kiro looked a little cautious. He looked at me from a distance and a smile slowly appeared on his face.

Kiro: The last piece is one that is special to me. It’s a bit rusty as I haven’t played it for many years.

Kiro: I hope you don’t mind.

He raised the bow, quietly stood still for a few seconds, and then began to play the first few notes.

The tune of this piece is very slow. It seems a bit lonely without the piano accompaniment.

Perhaps no one knows the meaning of this song except for Kiro. We are all his sharers, listening to him tell a story with only a melody.

Listening to this piece, I quietly looked at Kiro’s face and thought of the gift I had prepared for him. I fell into deep thought.

Soon, the piece was over.

Kiro bowed very formally and finally sat on the edge of the stage amidst the applause with his legs swinging in the air, holding the violin and looking at the audience in front.

Kiro: In fact, your principal invited me to come, hoping that I would tell you about my experience and give some advice.

Kiro: But I think you guys don’t want to listen to all that! After all, when I was a kid, I didn’t really like listening to other people’s suggestions.

In the end, his mumbling was infinitely amplified by the microphone, and the students sitting below laughed together.

Kiro: It’s everyone’s first time coming to this world. Just be happy and be yourself.

Kiro: I never felt that I was such a special person. Although, everyone would laugh at me when I said this.

Kiro: But I always think, I just have the most love and precious things in my life for me.

He lowered his head and looked at the violin in his arms then hummed a song and looked up in the direction where I was.

Kiro’s whole body seemed to be bathed in the sun, and his smiling eyes met mine.

Kiro: I don’t know if you have encountered it.

Kiro: For me, it has always been with me in countless moments of silence.

Kiro: It illuminates me and gives me the courage to keep going forward. *Took some liberty here.*

Kiro sat there quietly, peacefully, and sincerely.

Kiro: Today is my birthday. Thank you for your blessings. I also want to share this blessing with you.

Kiro: I wish you all find what you love the most, and stay true to yourselves.

Kiro: I wish that you will always be yourself.

[Second Part]

Kiro: MC, how did I do just now!

After making sure that the students had left, Kiro jumped off the stage and rushed to me.

The bangs on his forehead were drenched with sweat and they stuck together, revealing those bright and beautiful blue eyes.

MC: It can only be said that it is better than the best. As expected of Kiro!

After hearing my compliment, his eyes curved with a smile like a bear eating honey. He wiped the corners of his mouth with satisfaction.

Savin contacted the school club week, filming and other activities that Kiro participated in during this California trip.

I calculated Kiro’s limited time and pulled him into a corner.

MC: Happy birthday, Kiro!

Kiro: You wished me so early this year. And it also seems that you have something secret to show me.

MC: Actually, I did prepare some special birthday arrangements ahead of time.

MC: But after seeing your performance just now, I suddenly changed my mind.

Kiro was taken aback when he heard me and blinked in confusion.

MC: Last year, you used the treasure map to let us relive all the precious times together. (MC’s referencing Treasure Hunt Date which will be released April 6 on the ENG server)

MC: So now, I really want to ask what Kiro wants to do on his birthday today.

MC: This time I’ve come back to visit the school where you studied. Here are four years’ worth of your past and memories.

MC: Is there anything that Kiro did not realize at that time, or what Kiro wants to do here?

MC: I can help satisfy you.

Kiro stood firmly in front of me with the bright light hooked onto his face, quietly showing the heedfulness and expectation in his eyes.

Kiro: ….Really?

MC: Of course! Today is your birthday, so naturally, you are the most important on your birthday!

MC: So, I will accompany you in whatever you want.

Kiro smiled.

He tiptoed backstage and took out his violin bag. After exchanging glances, we looked towards Savin and retreated towards the door.

As soon as he stepped out the door, Kiro took my hand and staggered out of the lecture hall.

(Cut to outside)

I didn’t know where Kiro was taking me. But as long as he is holding my hand, I am willing to accompany him wherever he goes.

Kiro ran ahead of me, turning his head back with a smile.

Kiro: Actually, when I first came to California, I was not used to many different things.

Kiro: So for my first birthday here, I was very impressed with all the choices. At that time, I had a lot of things I wanted to do. But in the end, I didn’t do them for various reasons.

Kiro took my hand and pulled me around the corner across from the playground on the campus. He pushed away a tree branch that was casting a shadow and came to stand under a high wall at the edge of the school.

Kiro: First, I wanted to do this--

In my confused state, Kiro stretched out his right hand pretentiously and raised his palm in the air.

Kiro: Skip class.

The air seemed to stand still for a few seconds. I looked at the high wall, then turned my gaze back to Kiro who was eager to try and couldn’t help laughing.

Kiro: Okay, I know it’s a little immature.

Kiro: When I was in class, the school was super strict. When I made a wish on my birthday, I had one wish in mind--

Kiro: “Ah! I really want to skip class.”

MC: Have all the big stars ever had this idea?

Kiro: Kiro was not a big star back then, and that big star was also an ordinary person.

Kiro looked at the high wall with excitement, the scattered sunlight fell on him through the lush green leaves.

I seem to be able to see Kiro, who was 14-years-old, laying his head on the desk, looking at the sky.

The sky is so wide; it seems like you can go anywhere.

MC: It seems a bit difficult to climb but we can try.

I was about to try. Kiro had already stepped on the small holes of the wall, stretched out his arms methodically, and climbed onto the wall in the blink of an eye.

MC: ….?!

Kiro: Sure enough, it’s not as difficult as I had imagined. I will teach you!

While talking, he jumped back down silently and came back to me.

He pointed to the hole in the wall and demonstrated it again in front of me.

Following his direction, I stepped swiftly on the wall like a clumsy gecko.

Kiro: Miss Chips, give me your hand.

I raised my head and habitually stretched out my hand in response. In the next second, I felt that I was being strongly pulled and I fell into a warm embrace.

MC: Why were you so scared of skipping class?

Kiro: This is just the beginning.

The distant school building faced Kiro’s back. He raised the corners of his mouth and winked his left eye at me.

I suddenly thought of myself; 14-year-old me and 14-year-old Kiro.

I’m in Loveland City and he is abroad in California.

I dozed off at my desk in the warm afternoon, and he was probably humming a gentle tune among the stars.

At that time, we hadn’t become adults and we were separated by a distant time; like two parallel lines that would never meet at all.

But these two lines seem to overlap at this moment.

Kiro: I’m ready to climb.

He whispered in my ear, and before I could react, he gently pulled me towards him and hugged me.

MC: Kiro! Kiro, you….!

Kiro: In fact, I have imagined skipping class many times.

Kiro lowered his face and the sun was behind him. A golden outline was drawn on his body.

Kiro: But none of this is what it is today.

As he lightly pushed his foot, I couldn’t help but hug his neck tightly.

At that moment of flight, the whole world was silent, leaving only two intertwined heartbeats with similar rhythms to be heard.

Kiro: Sure enough, MC’s existence can revive my imagination.

[Third Part]

Kiro: The next thing is--

In an empty fast food restaurant, Kiro bought two “actually real” meal sets and sat with me in front of the window facing the street.

Kiro: Eat junk food!

MC: Pff, why are all the things you wanted to do so cute?

Kiro: It’s okay, just laugh if you want, hmph.

Kiro: Since I debuted, I hadn’t touched any junk food. Potato chips were the first things I had finally eaten when I first met you many years later.

MC: Well, what did you do when you were craving junk food?

Kiro: Restrain, hold back, pretend there was a gun to my head. *Translation came out a little weird here so I hope this is right.*

He muttered, opened his mouth and took a bite of the burger, and sighed particularly contentedly.

MC: Why don’t you restrain yourself now then?

Kiro: It’s different now.

He answered without hesitation and quickly finished the burger.

Kiro: Because you are here.

MC: Are you trying to say that I seduce you into committing food crimes?

Kiro: That’s right!

MC: You!

Kiro: But of course it is more than that.

Kiro: Because you are here, it’s okay to indulge a bit.

He propped his head with his right hand and looked at me sideways. A spot of light fell on his defined eyelashes like he had a secret full of mischief.

With a straw in his mouth, the soda gurgled. As it gurgled, it seemed to have filled my heart at the same time.

MC: Then I will help you sneak some more snacks in next time?

Kiro: Although that sounds very exciting, I still want to have more opportunities to be handsome in front of you.

Kiro: Compared with “snack-loving Kiro”, I’d rather you have “handsome Kiro” in your heart.

He snapped his fingers, his eyes gleaming.

Looking at him like this, I subconsciously followed along and laughed.

MC: Of course you are the most handsome Kiro in the world!

We were sitting in front of the shop window; I was eating a burger and Kiro was telling me about his time in California.

Some difficult lectures to sit through, baseball games he had to participate in, exquisite violin decorations, yellow balloons from children….

He traced the past for me, like an old movie that spans over a long period of time.

Under the immersion of time, with some nostalgia mixed in, the pictures in the memories appear more vivid and beautiful.

After leaving the restaurant, Kiro rented a car and waited on the side of the road.

(Cut to the highway)

We are cruising along the highways of California and the endless highways spread to the distant sky; it was almost as if we could reach the edge of the sky.

I suddenly thought of a memory from when I first came to California a long time ago and Kiro seemed to think of the same memory as me.

Kiro: I have checked the car, again and again, this time. It will definitely not break down! (He’s referencing his Los Angeles Date which is a sweet and funny one. Definitely recommend. It’s been released on the ENG server already.)

MC: Are we going to Santa Monica this time?

He shook his head mysteriously at me and jingled some special keys in his hand.

Kiro: This time, I want to take my dazzling pearl to another dazzling place in my heart.

The scenery along the highway was quickly left behind by us. It also seemed that the time that was always moving forward quickly and impossible to stop was left out of the scenery.

The tides rolled on the coast and the seabirds used their wings to draw a neat arc in the air, in the sea and the sky.

There is a boat anchored quietly by a small port beside a bay.

(Cut to beach)

After getting out of the car, Kiro took the girl by the hand and moved towards the coast. The sea breeze blew her hair gently. He had never felt that his heart had been so at ease.

Here, the excitement is like a flood. And with it is more peace of mind. *Translation came out wonky here.*

The girl stood in front of him, watching him quietly.

At that moment, he seemed to see the blossoming of his dreams.

Many years ago, he had seen himself on a stage amongst the stars.

And now, it is once again full of his entire world.

The third thing is--

He said softly in his heart.

Bring my favourite person in the world to my home in California.

I watched Kiro raise the corners of his mouth, the brilliant light fell into his smiling eyes, but he didn’t speak.

MC: Is coming here the third thing you wanted to do?

Kiro: Bingo! The third thing is--

Kiro: Come to this bay with you.

MC: Liar, you didn’t know me at the time, how could you think of coming with me?

Kiro: Of course it is because I reserved a place for you very early on.

MC: Then I am really honoured! Let me guess, this was your secret base in high school, right?

I looked at this “secret base expert” confidently, but he shook his head unexpectedly.

Kiro: This is my home.

Here is Part 2!

#mlqc #mlqc kiro #mr love queen's choice #mr love kiro #mlqc spoilers #mr love game #date translation #mr love dream date #thanks so much for your patience!

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bookandcranny · 3 years

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Beatrice - Chapter One

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“It’s a bit small.”

The landlady nodded and gave Gianna a sympathetic smile. She was a stout, older woman with drooping features behind wide-framed glasses that dominated her face. Gianna’s more generous first impression of her was that she looked kind, and the way she spoke reminded her faintly of her mother, though the landlady’s accent was thicker and her voice crackled and dragged with age like a damaged film reel.

It was due in no small part to this assessment that she’d chosen this apartment in the first place. That and the low price of rent. Although it was a decent neighborhood the building was fairly run-down and the long winding staircase leading up to her floor was creaky and narrow.

The unit she was supposed to be living in when she’d first made to move in had suddenly had to undergo renovations after a pipe burst behind one of the walls. Gianna couldn’t wait for the repairs or for another cheap space to miraculously open up in New York City, so she agreed to move from the second floor to the only other available unit, which was on the sixth floor.

It was little more than a single room with a bathroom and kitchenette attached and-- she could not emphasize this enough-- it was on the sixth floor in a building with no elevator. Thankfully, the rent was also considerably cheaper, and the landlady had offered her a discount for the inconvenience as well. Even if she’d stuck her on a cot in the basement for twice the amount she would have had little choice but to take it. It was either that or take the long, shameful train ride back to her parents’ house, tail between her legs.

Living with her parents after college had been fine for a while, but only just fine, and she wasn’t willing to settle for fine any longer. She wanted a life, a career, maybe a girlfriend? No, no, probably not that. Not yet. Being trapped in a town where every eligible bachelorette was somebody she’d gone to highschool with-- no thanks-- had left Gianna touch-starved and sexless, but that wasn’t enough to make her lose track of her priorities. She’d start her new job on Monday, focus on saving up enough for a marginally nicer place, then she could think about getting laid.

“Be careful about the light in the kitchen,” the landlady warned. “The wiring is old so if you leave it on for too long at a time in the summer it’ll start to spark.”

“Oh great,” she deadpanned.

“Tsh. You won’t miss it. On a sunny day like today you don’t even need the extra light.”

That was one thing she did like about the apartment. There was indeed a lot of natural light that came in through the windows along the east wall. She walked over and opened one, hoping to air the place out before she finished bringing up what little she’d brought with her. Despite the recent heatwave, the breeze that afternoon was cool and sweet, only smelling very faintly of car exhaust and asphalt. She sorely missed the sea-salted winds that had blown in from the shore when she had been traveling abroad, and reminded herself again that this was a temporary arrangement.

As she admired the view-- one of the few true perks of her new living arrangement-- a splash of green amongst the brown and gray colored landscape caught her eye. She pulled up the mesh screen and leaned her head out, one hand braced on the windowsill, expecting to see maybe a stubborn curl of ivy that had climbed its way up the neighboring brownstone. Instead, she was surprised to see a lustrous garden growing out of a terrace a couple floors below. If she took a good running leap, she mused, she could jump right onto that ledge from here, providing she didn’t miss and end up splattered all over the alleyway.

The elevated garden was too high and too hidden to be seen from the street, but from above she could get close enough to count the leaves on the shrubbery. It was quite an impressive collection, particularly the many-colored array of flowers. Gianna wasn’t exactly a florist, but they looked exotic, unlike anything she’d seen before.

“What’s that garden over there?” she asked the landlady.

“Oh, so you spotted it,” she replied. “It’s a funny thing to see around here, isn’t it? How’s the saying go? ‘Like a sore thumb.’”

“Or a green one,” Gianna agreed.

“Honestly I almost forgot about it. You can’t see it so well from the other apartments. The man who lives there is a… what’s the word? A stay-inside man. You know, someone who doesn’t go out much-- a shut-in! He likes his privacy. I remember once he called the office phone one day in a terrible mood, saying if I got in the habit of housing peeping toms he’d have to inform the police. Horrible old man.”

She tutted disapprovingly.

“Geez, all that over someone looking at his plants?”

“Well, he didn’t say it outright, but I got the feeling it was more about the girl. His daughter, I think, or granddaughter maybe. I never met either of them in person, and for that I thank God.” She blew a kiss towards the ceiling and chuckled raspingly. “Now come this way, I need to show you what to do if the sink gives you trouble.”

With no small effort Gianna pulled her gaze away from the window. The richly colored blooms just across the way captured both her attention and imagination in a way that made her wish she hadn’t given up painting. When the last of the paperwork was settled and she was alone in her-- her!-- apartment, she returned to the spot and stared.

At the center of that mass of plantlife, that color swatch of eden, there was a big ceramic fountain with even more flowers filling up its basin, taking root who knows where. Delicate vines dotted with purple and yellow flowers spiralled up the center statue, a broken, half-eroded thing which must have once depicted a human figure, though now all that remained was an offwhite pair of naked legs and the beginning of a torso.

After a few minutes of languishing by the sunlit sill like some lazy housecat, a door slid open and Gianna saw a figure enter into the garden. She took one look and knew this must be the man that the landlady spoke of. He was wearing a dark dressing gown over his clothes, which hung loosely from his bony frame, and moved as though he were ankle-deep in quicksand, plodding through the mass of green at a snail’s pace. As he came more into view, Gianna began to glean why. The man’s face was sallow, sunken, with an unscrupulous smattering of pure white stubble on his chin. Even from a distance, he was unmistakably ill.

Just like the beauty of the terrace garden had caught and cradled her attention, so too did the ugliness of its master. She felt bad for spying, but it was like a car crash on the highway or a particularly inane online argument; she couldn’t look away.

The man pulled on a heavy pair of gardening gloves and a paper mask and began to prune and pluck at certain growths. He gathered and sorted the clippings into little plastic bags. If he had some sort of system driving his path, it was an inscrutable one. After a while of picking through the garden seemingly at random, he retreated back inside.

However, just as he was shuffling through the sliding door-- the phrase, “back from whence he came” came to mind-- he paused with his hand on the glass and raised his head. He turned and, as if guided by some preternatural intuition, stared directly into Gianna’s window.

Their eyes met and Gianna withdrew with a gasp. Of course after the moment had passed, she laughed at herself for her reaction. There was no way he’d been looking at her. Coincidence paired with a chronically overactive imagination had made her see something where there was nothing. He was a sick old man with a perfectly normal hobby, not some sinister ghoul.

Nevertheless, she lowered the blinds and kept them lowered for the rest of the day.

-----

By Monday, Gianna had more or less forgotten about the creepy old man and his garden. There was unpacking to do, furniture to acquire and then spray with bedbug killer, and most importantly, a fancy new job to buy some fancy second-hand clothes for.

That was maybe overstating things a bit. She was hired on to work with a small team restoring and preserving a local university’s art collection. The reality of the occupation wasn’t glamorous, but it was dignified. It was something Gianna could and did take pride in, undoing the damage wrought by the passing years one cotton swab at a time, revealing the beauty underneath.

Being back in the city, she nostalgically recalled a field trip to the Metropolitan back at the age when the nude sculptures made her classmates giggle, earning rolled eyes from the chaperone, and made young Gianna deeply uneasy in a way she didn’t yet have the words to explain. But it was the women with the flowing finery and piercing painted stares that caused her insides to flutter with something like hope. Billowing skirts caught in suspended animation mid-twirl, whether staged in the dramatic light-vs-shadow games of the baroque period or abstracted by a million tiny brushstrokes in a more impressionistic style. They had changed something in her.

But in spite of her love of the arts, she could never seem to sum up the same confidence when the brush was in her own hands. After long struggling on her own, she reluctantly accepted her dad’s offer to put a word in for her with connections at Fordham. Once upon a time the idea of returning to her dad’s alma mater would’ve warmed her with pride. Now she was just thankful the surname Alexander was common enough that the chances of anyone recognizing her was slim. The last thing she wanted was to start her first day with people already thinking she was only here by the grace of her family connections.

In spite of all her apprehensions, her first day went by without a hitch, save for the belated realization that she’d forgotten to tear the tag off her new blouse. She didn’t think anyone noticed. By the time she stepped on the subway that evening she was practically vibrating with a frantic, ecstatic energy that didn’t abate into exhaustion until she was home and sweating off her six-story hike. That, more than anything, was going to take some getting used to, she mused.

She shed her good-first-impression suit in favor of a cropped halter top and sweatpants. The setting sun cast beams of golden light through the slats in the blinds and over the back of her neck, the curve of one freckled shoulder. It wobbled iridescent through the glass and on a whim Gianna got up to open the window. There was that sweetish scent on the wind again, overpowering even the smoke that wafted up from the tenant below as he ground his cigarette butt against the masonry. Innocently, almost incidentally, she cast her gaze upon the little eden. There was someone new in the garden today.

The woman in the violet dress was opposite to the old man in every way. Dancing through the garden, touching every bloom and bud as if it were the hand of a treasured friend, Gianna had never seen anyone more alive. Short, dark curls like fiddleheads bobbed around her plum-flushed cheeks. In the pink twilight, she almost seemed to glow.

It wasn’t like Gianna to start waxing romantic over a stranger. She hadn’t felt that sort of blind infatuation since her first year of college, when she left home for the first time and a whole new world of opportunity suddenly opened to her the way it never could have with her passionately Catholic mother looking over her shoulder. This, she reasoned, must be something like that. She was just getting high on that feeling of possibility and freedom again.

Before she fully realized what she was doing, Gianna had opened the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. She climbed from platform to platform until the neighboring terrace was only a stone’s throw away, until she could hear the young woman’s voice as she murmured fawning nonsense to the flowers. In her distraction, Gianna’s foot slipped on the last rung of the ladder. She caught herself, though not gracefully and not before making a notable clamor on the way down.

The woman’s head shot up. Her eyes were the same color as her dress, and there was a leaf caught in her hair.

“Hey,” Gianna said, trying and failing to recover smoothly.

“...Hi.”

She swallowed. “I live up there.�� She pointed. “I’m not, like, a burglar.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good one,” the woman said with a timid, uncertain smile.

She stepped away from the ledge and started to walk away. As Gianna’s heart sunk, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“I just need a refill.” She held up an empty plant mister. “I’m coming back.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” she said under her breath, hands covering her face from the embarrassment. What is wrong with me?

“Are you the new tenant? My father said there was someone new. He hated the last person who lived in that apartment.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “But, I mean, I’m sure he’ll like you.”

She huffed a laugh, taking some comfort from the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one so utterly awkward at introductions.

“I’m Gianna.” She put out her hand, although it was obvious she couldn’t reach to shake it.

The other mirrored the motion. “Beatrice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, new neighbor, and a relief.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Beatrice fiddled absently with her dress, twisting one thin strap around her finger. “None of the other neighbors ever come to say hey. It’s been boring.” She smiled. “You don’t seem boring.”

That fluttery feeling returned, the tender thrill of standing before a piece of artwork. Here like there, now like then, something just clicked.

Insects filled the silence with their buzzing hums of contentment. A butterfly alighted onto Beatrice’s shoulder as she settled on the garden wall and a faint woozy feeling overcame Gianna as its wings slowed, spasmed, then went rigid as it fell motionless to the ground.

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#my writing #project: beatrice #writeblr #chapter story #gothic #horror romance #lgbt #rappaccini's daughter

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otonymous · 5 years

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Kinktober - Oct 18th (Uniforms): The Way We Were (MLQC Gavin - NSFW)

Description: Revisit the days of your youth with Gavin Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Trigger warnings: uniforms, high school student role playing Word Count: 2549 words (~ 13 mins of reminiscence and smut) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: My fourth entry for @alloveroliver’s Kinktober challenge! Coming in a day late as I’ve been sick with the flu 🤒 Please note the potential trigger warnings listed above, and happy reading! 😊

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

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“Are you ready?”

“Just a moment. The shirt is…a bit tighter than I remembered.”

You chuckle. Of course it would be. Gavin is much bulkier than he was back in high school. But then again, he was the one who came up with the idea to dress up as students for Minor’s Halloween party, saying he kept his high school uniform and looking hopefully in your direction when he asked if you did too.

You, for one, were surprised he even agreed to go when Minor asked you to invite him at work, muttering something about how Gavin would never turn down the love of his life and immediately sprinting off when you asked him to elaborate.

“Don’t laugh. I couldn’t do up some of the buttons.”

Gavin finally emerges from his bedroom, and you found you couldn’t laugh even if you wanted to. Navy tie slung loose around his neck to trail between firm pecs, the white dress shirt of your alma mater’s uniform couldn’t button up beyond the centre of his insanely defined torso.

“Is it really that bad?”

Eyes shooting up from the sizeable bulge outlined by the tight fit of his trousers, you find the officer studying you, brows furrowed in an expression of self-consciousness that was so foreign on Gavin’s handsome face. His fists clench and unclench at his sides before he blurts out, “You know what, this is a bad idea. I’ll just go as a cop.”

“Wait, Gavin! The whole point of Halloween is to dress up as something you’re not! Besides, you…” You swallow, trying not to look like a complete pervert as you scanned him once more from head to toe, “…you look amazing. Like the Hulk, except…sexier. And not green.”

And he did. Gavin’s muscular thighs strained against the fabric of his grey pants, and you found yourself wondering how it would feel like to perch on his lap, skirt hiked up to your waist and panties pulled aside.

“The who?” His confused voice disperses your daydream.

“You don’t know who the Hulk is? Big guy the colour of peas? In those superhero comics and movies?”

“I don’t really pay attention to that stuff,” he says with a shake of his head. Then, nodding towards his bedroom door, he says, “It’s your turn to change.”

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“Oh.”

Smiles spread wide on your faces to have spoken at the same time, you and Gavin share expressions of bashful surprise, stealing furtive glances at each other.

He had slicked back his chestnut hair while you changed, looking much younger than his years and suddenly, you were reminded of the rough-and-tumble boy who always sported a scuff somewhere on his face. A face that took you way too long to realize how truly beautiful it was.

Fidgeting under the intensity of Gavin’s gaze, you bend to tug at your white socks before smoothing down the pleats of your navy skirt. By the time you adjust the satin bow at the collar of your blouse, you finally find your voice, “The skirt’s a bit shorter on me now, but honestly, I’m surprised it still fits…”

Only to have it trail off when you notice his eyes settling at the shortened hem, grazing bare skin at mid-thigh. Cheeks burning as your heart rate skyrockets, you feel your chest strain tight against the buttons of your blouse with each inhalation, the sight capturing the officer’s rapt attention.

Biting your lip, you reveal your final prop as you slide them up the bridge of your nose: a pair of round, lensless glasses. “I wear contacts now, but for the longest time, I had these horrible coke-bottle glasses. I’m not sure if you remember—“

“I do,” Gavin interrupts, staring at you so intently you quickly look away, but not before you notice the tips of his ears, tinged with pink. He stands from where he was sitting, slow steps closing the distance until the scar across his chest is clearly visible, saying, “I thought you looked cute in them.”

One hand rises, hesitating for a fraction of a second before a deep breath gives it the impetus to settle on top of your head, fingers gentle as Gavin strokes the length of your pigtails.

“I remember these too,” he smiles, voice thick with nostalgia and suddenly very close. So much so that when you lift your face, the warmth of his breath tickles your lips and all you can see is yourself reflected in dark pupils of amber eyes.

“Do you remember…the first time we met? The very first time?” Gavin ventures, hesitant, his fingers trembling slightly as he carefully slides the spectacles from your face. And caught up in the spell of the moment, you cannot find the words to speak.

“You had forgotten your umbrella. I saw you run across the street holding your book bag over your head, completely soaked. By the time I started towards you, you were already taking shelter under a gingko tree not far from the school gates, wiping the rain from your glasses.”

Gavin’s lips tug into a lopsided smile at the recollection. You wondered how they would taste. And as he studies the frames in his hands, he chooses his next words with the same amount of care he takes to fold the glasses flat at their hinges.

“You were so startled when I threw my jacket over your head and told you to make a run for it. Guess it was a bit sudden. I was also probably a bit gruff back then.”

He laughs, but it is hollow: bittersweet warmth tainted with self-deprecation, eliciting a wave of guilt from the pit of your stomach as you remembered the boy everyone feared in high school.

Gavin looks into your eyes, molten amber lit by an other-worldly brilliance as he says, “I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. And I still do. You’re perfect, really. Guess some things will never change—“

You never imagined his lips would feel so soft when you press your own to his, tongue sliding into his mouth when it parts from shock. So you close your eyes to relish the sensation, willing your kiss to wipe the slate of your memories clean of each and every misconception you ever held of his gentle heart.

“Let’s start over, Gavin. Right now. Pretend we’re teenagers again, meeting for the first time in school. Give me another chance to learn who you really are, free from the influence of gossip and rumours.”

He smiles, bright as the sun. But then just as quickly, his expression darkens with a shake of his head, a deep flush making its way up his face when he says, “No…we…I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the things I want to do to you right now are not appropriate for a school setting.”

You raise your brows. “Tell that to Loveland High’s resident bad boy, Officer Gavin.”

At that, he smirks, the smouldering desire in his gaze as it swept over your body doing little to rectify the image of him as a wild and unruly youth.

But if you were honest, wild and unruly was exactly how you wanted him between your legs.

Gavin exhales, running a large hand through his hair. “I-I can’t believe this is happening. Can I really—”

You take his hand, laying a gentle kiss at the tips of his fingers before your tongue swirls along the length of the index, silencing him when you suck it into your mouth.

You had always wondered what lay beneath the cool exterior Gavin projected. Calm and capable in even the most startling of emergencies, it seemed like nothing could ever faze the officer. So when he suddenly yanked off his tie and pulled apart that ill-fitting dress shirt to send buttons flying, you barely had time to register shock before you were lifted into his strong arms — Gavin folding your legs around his waist as he effortlessly carried you into his room.

Bed dipping under the weight of your bodies, Gavin climbs on top. Wasting no time in running your hands over the solid thighs straddling you, your fingers wander up and around those narrow hips until they feel the solid curves of his backside, so muscular there was barely any give when you gathered flesh to squeeze.

“You have no idea…how long I’ve wanted this…wanted you…but, are you sure—”

Gavin speaks breathlessly between kisses laid on the underside of your jaw, meandering down the column of your neck. And with each desperate press of his mouth upon your skin, you have never been more sure of anything in your life.

So you silence him, thumb tracing the contours of his lips as you ask, “Did you ever fantasize about me…back when we were in school?”

You reach for the bow on your collar, satin sliding smooth as it slowly comes undone. The sight has Gavin transfixed, eyes shining with the excitement of a child unwrapping a gift — his throat bobbing when he nods, “I did.”

“Tell me.”

With trembling fingers, you unbutton your blouse, fixated on the expression on Gavin’s face as more of your skin comes into view: the way his eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, trace along your ribs…pause at the dip of your navel, where his tongue sweeps out to moisten that lower lip.

He inhales through grit teeth. Your nipples harden.

And when he speaks, his voice is low in a way that makes you throb, the moisture between your legs palpable as it dampens and pools, preparing to receive him.

“You…you’d be dressed just like this. Lit by the late afternoon sun. Sitting on the piano bench in the music room, your skirt riding up past your knees. So absorbed in your performance you don’t even notice when I enter the room. Or when I lock the door.”

Calloused fingertips drag light across your collarbones as they trace invisible patterns, the swathe of goosebumps following in their wake giving the officer an acute sense of satisfaction to know he was at its source. And with your breasts rising at the end of each shuddering inhalation, he twitches against the constraints of his trousers, blood rushing hot to his rapidly hardening cock.

“I’d stand behind you and just…look. Watch your hands as they move across the keys. Strong when they need to be, soft if the melody calls for it. But always, always so expressive. Beautiful.”

Your mouth falls open to feel him finger the lace trim of your bra, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the pin of his hips.

“Then…when I can’t hold back any longer, I would stand a bit closer. Until I can smell the scent of your shampoo. Finally see the tiny details of your earrings.”

Gavin nuzzles into your neck, and you can’t help but close your eyes at the sensation. And when his tongue swirls about your earlobe to guide it into his wet mouth, you finally let loose the moan you’d been holding back.

His next words come on the heels of an audible swallow, a secret whispered in your ear: “I’d touch you…”

Fine hairs stand on end when the ambient air hits your skin, Gavin pulling off your blouse to let it crumple to the floor beneath him. On reflex, your hands pull up to your chest, crossing at the wrists.

“…Lay my palms on your shoulders. Run my hands down your arms — lightly, so I don’t disturb your playing.”

Pressing a soft kiss to the back of each hand, Gavin uncrosses your arms to lay them at your sides.

“Then, I’d start to unbutton your blouse from behind, until it’s just loose enough…”

Fingers undo the front clasp of your bra.

“…for me to slip a hand down…”

The satin cups fall away.

“…and feel you.”

You gasp as Gavin cups the swell of your breasts, gathers your nipple between thumb and index to gently roll and pinch. And when he buries his face in the space between — tongue running from chest to neck to chin, tasting the salt of your skin — you cannot help but buck up to grind against him.

His hand roams beneath your skirt, stopping when it finds wet silk clinging to swollen flesh. Then, fingers tracing torturously slow up and down the line of your folds, he watches you bite your lip with fire in his eyes as he continues to spin his fantastic tale.

“You’d really notice me then. Stop to turn and look up at me. See me without any fear in your eyes. And when that happens…I kiss you.”

A thumb hooks to pull your panties aside, and at the exact moment his fingers slide to reach into your ready wetness, his tongue slips past your parted lips, kissing you so deeply you weren’t sure which mouth was primarily responsible for the fire in your veins.

“Ahh! Ga-Gavin! Oh…ah, god!”

You are surprised by the raspy quality of your voice when you finally tear away for a breath of much-needed air, but the continued movements of Gavin’s talented fingers stroking at just the right depth and frequency soon had you past the point of caring about how loud you were or how desperate you sounded.

In all honesty, however, the officer already knew how you felt even if not a single word was uttered: the way you dripped down his fingers and palm, arousal tracing the muscles of his forearms to make a mess of his sheets, already spoke volumes. And the body never lies.

His was no exception, as evidenced by the hardness of his erection springing forth when he disrobed, eyes on you all the while to catch every single tremor coursing still through your body — the result of a series of climaxes brought about in quick succession by hands, lips and tongue.

When he finally nestles between your legs — the head of his cock searing as it aligned with your entrance — he gathers you within a muscular embrace, his whispers soothing in your ear as he begins to push in earnest, hoping to ease your tension in accommodating a man of his size.

Then, flesh gives, yielding to Gavin’s cock as his hips build to a rhythm that quickly becomes punishing — the man losing himself in the slippery heat of your pussy.

And he knows that no fantasy, no matter how vivid, could ever compare to the ecstatic reality of having you in his arms. Of calling you his own.

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“Minor is going to be so disappointed we missed his Halloween party.”

You smile as you stare up at the darkened ceiling of Gavin’s bedroom, savouring the touch of his hand on your inner thigh, fingertips dipping into the mixture of cum and arousal that had slowly trickled out of you. Stained the pleated skirt of your high school uniform.

Gavin chuckles. “I’ll just tell him my uniform didn’t fit…that we had trouble keeping our costumes on.”

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Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#alloverkinktober #kinktober #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fic #mlqc smut #smut #uniform kink #fanfiction #my writing #elex

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thesecrookedbones-blog · 5 years

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#TWOTB10WINNER: Kerri

You’ve never been a gun enthusiast. You’re distraught over the consistent stream of headlines about another crazed gunman at another school, killing mercilessly for a few minutes of fame. You wouldn’t want a gun in your house, locked in a safe or not. Which makes it really odd when you look up to see the brass bell ring overhead. The smell of gun oil and hot lead fills your nostrils, but you don’t seem out of place or the least bit uncomfortable. You chose to walk in. You chose to be here, just as you’re choosing to step down the aisles, gaze flickering about until you find what you seem to be looking for. Though you don’t know nor understand why. Your sneakers squeak on the freshly mopped floor right in front of the automatic assault rifles. You reach like you’ve been waiting to pick this out of a line-up for years and press the bright red “request assistance” button. Something twitches behind your mind and you wonder what you’re doing. Why am I here? Why would I want a gun? A steady stream of consciousness ripples between your ears and the uneasiness brings your fingers to your forearm. Between your index finger and thumb, you press deep indents into your skin and cinch them together as tears poke through the edges of your eyes. You squeeze harder, eyes squeezing shut. You’re willing yourself now.. Just wake up. Please wake up. The pain seers to the bone and when your eyelashes flutter apart, you realize something as stark as the blood trickling from the self-torturous pinch. You’re wide awake. An old man with a wiry beard and a barrel-legged walk meets you mid-aisle, and asks if you want to see the gun. You tell him no, I want to purchase it. He looks as surprised as you feel, but after a once-over, he draws the keys dangling from his belt and opens the case, withdrawing the gun you feel was destined for the job. A blip of you questions, what job? You purchase the assault rifle and three boxes of cartridges without any question, but not without a few snide smiles from behind the counter. Assumptions that it’s a gift for a husband or a dad. Surely not you, their eyes say. But they don’t know what we’re capable of. What you’re capable of. It feels like nothing more than a blink and you’re at the far end of a hallway that resembles your alma mater. This hallway stretches on like an endless tunnel with rows of doors on each side. You’re disoriented and confused. How did I get here? What is this place? Then you feel it. The cold steel pressed into your palms, barrel protruding outward from your body. You wear boas of ammunition around your neck. It feels unworldly, yet just exactly as it should. The doors intrigue you immediately and you’re drawn to the first one on your right. Each door appears individually the same. It’s painted black, strips peeling away as the wood ages in this cavernous hallway. Spiderwebs hang from the corner and separate as you turn the knob and push. With a deep groan, the door opens. It sparks a chain reaction. One by one, each door along the corridor clicks and opens, swinging wide with a deep creak. Each door reveals someone who has had a positive impact in your life, whether they created you, or cared for you when you were sick as a child, or mentored you in your studies or sports. Every door opens to someone incrementally closer to you, leading to the door at the very end of the hall. As your eyes dance there, the lights overhead flicker. You feel your hands grip the rifle tighter, shoulders squaring. Fear grips your stare, tears rimming your bottom rung of lashes. You know you don’t walk into a hallway with a fully loaded automatic assault rifle without bad intentions. You know you would never be that person. But here you are. Your limbs erupt into miniature earthquakes as liquified legs carry you to the front door. You stand there in front of a citizen who held the door open for you when your hands were full of grocery bags. Without hesitation, you raise the gun to shoulder-level and squeeze the trigger. The body erupts with gurgling screams then collapses, choking on their own life as it seizes up in their throat. One after one, you fight the urge to pull the trigger. But you do it anyway. Knowing you don’t want to. Knowing it’s not you. Close to the end of the hallway, the body on the other end of the rifle is your own mother. Flesh and blood. You feel yourself shrivel inside, tears staining your cheek. You scream out, but the only one that seems to hear you is the one you’re destined to kill. She pleads with you, calling you loving nicknames of your childhood. Reminding you of who you are. This is not me, you begin to repeat in unison with her. This is not me. This is not me. This is not me. This is not- Your finger squeezes, draining half of a clip into her. You shriek with pain, collapsing to your knees. The sizzling barrel of the gun singes your knee and you realize you’ve painted yourself in their blood. You wear the life of anyone that mattered to you like a coat. Something prompts you to stand up. Curiosity, maybe? You reach the end of the hallway. The other doors where friendly faces one stood are cleared, showered in crimson and death. Your blood stained fingers curl around the knob and push the door open. David stands on the other side, eyes red with tears. The sight of you drains the blood from his face and he begins to stammer, collecting himself to penetrate your thoughts. This is not me feels so far away now. Internal conflict tears at your internal organs, squeezing and straining until you scream out in pain. The darkness is eating you alive. Gag him, it tells you and you listen. You watch him shake his head, tears staining the bandana around his mouth, jarring his teeth apart. He means everything to you, but you don’t understand why. Then he gives you that look. The look that said it all. The look that made you want to punch him from the get-go, only to strangle fists into his suit and push him against a wall in the stairwell. That look reminds you of who you are. Who you were. For one second. For the hardest second of your life. You cry out, sob, and hit your knees, willing yourself to put the gun down. Put the gun down. PUT THE GUN DOWN. Your index finger shakes against the trigger, an extension of shaking limbs that want to rip themselves from the socket rather than go through with this execution. Pull the trigger. Kill kill kill, the voice inside says. The dark voice. You do. His blood spills around your white sneakers and stains them. As you walk from the hallway, you leave crimson footprints as clear as day. Your footprints. Their blood. But as you turn to leave the building, you cast one last glance backward and see that the footprints have altered. They’re tri-toed and certainly not human. You turn back toward your path at hand and smile. The transformation is complete. As the sun hits you from its high perch, your pupils blacken to match your soul’s conversion. The possession is finished.

#twitter contest prompt #robbie hamilton #twotb10

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thenewsguru · 6 years

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The Fetal Body Parts Biz to End at UNM; What about Your University?

A big win for life in New Mexico had a small beginning: believers willing to speak out. For years, the University of New Mexico Health Sciences Center has performed research using fetal body parts. And for years, they might have been violating federal law which prohibits the exchange of fetal tissue “for any profit or benefit of valuable consideration.” That’s why it’s great news that the University of New Mexico has announced that, following its own internal investigation, all research using fetal body tissue has been suspended. The University maintains no laws were violated, but emails obtained by the New Mexico Alliance for Life suggest otherwise. Those emails reveal that the head of the fetal research program, Dr. Robin Ohls, discussed reimbursement for sending samples to an adjunct professor at Michigan State. And everyone thought it was just Planned Parenthood. Here’s some other good news: The House Select Panel on Infant Lives has now referred the case to the Department of Justice. While the New Mexico Alliance for Life’s Elisa Martinez is applauding the decision to shut down the research, she and the Alliance are also demanding that UNM officials “immediately turn their investigation over to federal authorities to ensure that these abuses will no longer harm women and commodify unborn children. If they won’t,” she promises, “we will.” But there’s even more to this story than potentially illegal fetal tissue research. It’s the University of New Mexico’s active promotion of abortion. Eric Pillmore, a long-time friend of Chuck Colson and a member of the Colson Center’s Board of Directors, is a graduate of the University of New Mexico. He and his family foundation helped established the Pillmore Room for Ethics at the University’s Anderson School of Management. In 2017, the University asked Eric for another major donation. But Eric had something else in mind: using the university’s request to him in order to obtain a meeting with the then-interim president of the university to discuss UNM’s abortion culture. Eric went into the meeting prepared and his presentation was straightforward. He consulted with Elisa Martinez at the New Mexico Alliance for Life and with pro-life apologist extraordinaire Scott Klusendorf. The president had been assured that the university hospital only performed abortions when the mother’s life was at stake. But he was misled. The University’s hospital in fact performed late-term abortions, and its doctors performed abortions at Planned Parenthood. The university had only referred students to abortion provider Southwestern Women’s Options and had never referred them to the local pro-life care center. And, of course, Eric expressed his disgust with the University’s lack of cooperation with the congressional investigation of its fetal research program. Eric then explained why he supports the culture of life—and how the university could begin to do so as well. And, of course, he explained how it would be impossible for him and his family to make any additional contributions to the university unless the institution ended its support for abortion. He then offered specific recommendations for UNM to change course. All of this helped put into motion the closing of the fetal research program, something that was just announced by the new president. And Eric stands ready to talk with her about ending the University’s commitment to abortion, as well. So what’s the takeaway here? First: You have to find out what’s happening at your alma mater, and then, like Eric, do something about it. We have to stop supporting institutions that promote evil and evil ideologies with our donations, even if they are our alma maters. Second, like Eric, we can all learn to make the case for life. The resources are there. Use them. Third: Support those organizations in your area that champion life. And finally, we’ve got to remain vigilant. More may turn up at UNM. But the New Mexico Alliance for Life will be watching. And so will Eric Pillmore. Read the full article

#abortion #CampusCraziness #Liberals

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