Shiningdyingmoon - Untitled

Let me just remind you guys that...

AI fanfiction is not fanfiction

Gemma really just be kissing EVERYBODY on the mouth

beauty in culture

Casanova - Benny Cross

Warnings: mentions of blood, one use of y/n, this is my first bikeriders fic so be nice

Synopsis: When Benny can't keep his eyes off you at a picnic he decides to make a move. (veryyy loosely based on risk by gracie abrams.)

Benny stood with a cigarette between his teeth, eyes scanning over you from across the field. He'd never seen you before, new blood in a sea of well known people, and he would have been a liar to say he wasn't intrigued. The girl in the white dress, surrounded by bikers and their wives. People who made you look overdressed, though you didn't seem to care.

Your smile was wide, a laugh he couldn't hear clear on your features as a group of kids came to hand you daisy chains before scampering off to go bother another poor soul. His feet carried him to you soon enough, boots squashing the grass between you as he formed a path. Your eyes were on him before he reached you, scanning over his body, his clothes, the cigarette in his hand.

"Hey," his eyes examine you just the same. Now that's he's closer, he notices more. The lace on your dress, the strings that tie it together. The tangles in your hair and the rouge of your lips.

"Who might you be?" your voice is soft, cautious as if you've had a hundred of these encounters before, none of which ending well.

"I'm Benny." He lifts the cigarette toward his lips, inhaling smoke without issue, and blowing it softly out again.

"And what does Benny want to know?" you put emphasis on his name as you say it and he likes the sound. "If I'm a single gal just waiting for a ride home?"

"Something like that, yeah." He honesty sounds like honey, dripping from an enticingly dangerous smile. "What's your name?"

You ignore his question, instead, asking him another. "Are you a Casanova, Benny?"

"That depends," Benny smiles, the cigarette wobbling between his teeth. "What's a Casanova?"

You take a step forward, reaching out to touch the fresh cut just above his eyebrow. When you pull your hand back, the tip of your index finger is spotted with blood. "Are you gonna love me and leave me? Or are you one of the good ones?" The explanation is better suited to him, and he thinks it over while his eyes sink into yours.

"I ain't good, but I'm no Casanova." he says finally, watching the smile pull itself onto your lips. You're playing with him, like a cat to a bird caught in its teeth, but he doesn't mind one bit. He might be playing you too, though he doesn't know anymore.

"You here with someone?" He asks, shifting the conversation back to you, his mystery girl. You look around at the groups on the field, but your eyes land on no one in particular. His stay locked on you, surroundings long forgotten.

"Yes and no."

Benny takes another puff of his cigarette, waiting for you to continue.

"M'here with my brother, his girlfriend too. Us girls took the car." You nod over to an old rusty red vehicle, beside it stands a man, glaring daggers at Benny. "But I've got no boyfriend if that's what you're asking."

You know damn well that is what he's asking, and his smile only grows once he knows the answer. But there's a frown on your face now, and you move away quicker than he can catch you. You swipe a semi-clean rag off of a nearby bike and a bottle of alcohol from a cooler. "God, c'mere." You gesture to him, already following behind you, and he does as you tell him. "You're bleeding like a stuck pig. Which is your bike?"

Benny points back the way he came in answer to your question. "That one there." He watches you nod, trying to read your expression as you wander over to his bike. He pictures you on it, your legs swung over before holding on tight.

"Sit, or lean, whatever." You point to the seat, and he does as he's told once again, making some of the surrounding men smirk. Johnny is watching from a few meters away, beer in hand. He's wondering if this will work out or crash and burn.

"You gonna sit still or make a scene?" You ask, opening the bottle in your hand and dabbing alcohol onto the rag. You step between his legs as Benny shrugs.

"Little bit of both." his smile is contagious and doesn't falter even when you begin to clean the wound on his face. The rag comes away red, and you have to ask the question you're dying to know.

"Saw you scrapping with one of the other boys earlier, that happen often?"

Benny is itching to put his hands on your hips, it's almost killing him not to as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and at long last, stamps it out. "Maybe."

"You a dangerous man?" your touch is so gentle on his face, one hand holding his chin up as you inspect the injury, bleeding less now. You have to admit, you enjoy being this close to him, he's definitely the prettiest man you'd ever seen at one of these meets.

"No," his mind has never been this busy, so he just asks. "D'you mind?" he's raised his hands, but hasn't touched you yet, waiting for permission. You lift a brow, pausing all movements as you process what he's asking you, until finally, you nod. "Go on then." You trust him, oddly enough, despite asking if he was dangerous a moment before.

His hands land on your hips at long last, guiding you just a little closer between his legs. The fabric of your dress is smooth under his fingers, and Benny can't help but run his thumb up and down over it as he holds you there. You could move away at any time, but you don't.

"I think the bleedings' stopped." you mumble, removing the rag and laying it over Benny's thigh. "Just don't let anyone take a swing at you for a while and it should heal up fine."

"Can't make any promises, honey."

The nickname takes you off guard, and you give him a quizzical look. Benny is very aware you've allowed his hands to stay on your body, and he's grateful.

"Honey?" you question, and Benny smirks, eyes on your lips.

"You never told me your name."

"Didn't think you deserved it." You're being smart with him, and something about is just so appealing. He loves the game, almost as much as you do it seems, and it could go on forever if you let it. You have him wrapped around your finger already, and Benny is absolutely fine with that.

"How 'bout now?" his hands squeeze your hips affectionately, and he can feel the indents of your underwear beneath the fabric of your dress. He tries to ignore it, but it's tantalizing. "Do I deserve it?"

You stare him down, his blue eyes so enchanting that it irritates you, and maybe he's got you in the palm of his hand as well, because you give in. "Y/N." you say it quietly, as if you don't want the other men around you to know, and Benny likes that even more.

"I like that name," he mutters, and his smile could kill. "you want a drink?" Your hands have slipped down to his shoulders, a soft pressure that he wishes would grow stronger.

"Yeah, I do." you're like a drug, though Benny is unsure if you know it. You could talk for hours, and he could just stare at your mouth, your eyes, your hair. Every part of you like a new fix. "You gonna get me one?" You ask after he sits in silence for a while, distracted by the curve of your cupids bow.

Benny stands, and your hands fall from his shoulders. "What's your poison?" he asks, knowing there are very little options in Johnny's cooler.

"I don't drink poison," You joke, and Benny chuckles softly, removing his hands from your hips. "I'll take a beer though."

He runs a hand over his mouth and the stubble of his chin and for a second you think he's trying to hide a boyish grin. But it's gone as quick as it comes. "Beer, okay." he moves off, toward a group of men in vandals jackets that match his own, and you know it's gonna be a long day.

When Benny glances back your way, head over his shoulder as if to make sure you haven't disappeared, you can feel yourself blush. You can almost picture how it will all go down, you and him together. It could be bad, but you want to find out.

~ ♡

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normalise making a list of character x readers u like to read so you can spin a wheel every night before bed to decide ur bedtime story xx

No matter how much you dislike your own writing, I promise you it’s better than AI

Spoilers: Eggers' Nosferatu

There's a lot of debate right now on if Count Orlok represents Ellen's shame/trauma/abuse, or if he represents her repressed erotic desires, and in turn there's debate on whether or not viewers who find the Ellen/Orlok dynamic alluring are "missing the point." Eggers and Lily-Rose Depp have both said in interviews that there's a mutual pull between Ellen and Orlok, and even that there's a love triangle element, but obviously the experience is terrifying for Ellen. How can we reconcile the sexual tension and the horror?

I think the broader theme is that Orlok represents everything in a woman's inner world that men refuse to acknowledge and accept - fear and shame and trauma, yes, but also our appetites . After the prologue, the story starts with Ellen begging Thomas to stay in bed with her; she says "the honeymoon was yet too short" and tries to pull him in and kiss him (obviously trying to start some nuptial bliss). But Thomas is anxious to meet with his boss and get his promotion, because he has a narrative he's going to fulfill: he's going to pay Friedrich back, buy a house, and then start having kids (he and Friedrich touch on this a bit later. Notably, Friedrich discloses Anna's pregnancy to Thomas before Anna has made it public.)

It's the start of Ellen and Thomas' married life and she just wants him to prioritize her sexual desire, but he chooses to focus on his ideal of success, which sets him on this path to confronting Orlok. We know Ellen doesn't care about having a house or fine things and she begs him not to go, but Thomas listens to Herr Knock and Friedrich, who tell him that as a husband he has to provide materially. He ignores Ellen's stated desires, and so fails to provide sexually and emotionally. When Thomas gaslights her about her nightmares and calls them childish fancies, he shuts down her vulnerability, which kills the intimacy she was enjoying in the literal honeymoon phase.

On a related note, there's a defence in here for Aaron Taylor Johnson's performance, which I've seen a few male critics call "over acting." In this story Friedrich represents the masculine ideal of the time, he's a rich business owner with a beautiful wife and kids. Thomas clearly looks up to him and wants to emulate him - he wants to give Ellen the life "she deserves." But Friedrich's elevated masculine status is why he refuses to listen to Ellen's "hysterical, sentimental" worries, he's too rational for all that of course. And his stubborn "rationality" leads to the death of his entire family. Friedrich IS the patriarchal ideal that crumbles when confronted with nuance and uncertainty. Some people see Friedrich and assume that a character like him is meant to come across as dignified, and that Aaron Taylor Johnson is messing up by making him look annoying, but really he is giving a great portrayal of a really common, annoying kind of guy. The kind of guy who melts down and has childish tantrums whenever they lose control of a situation, or their manly skills and values are shown to be irrelevant.

The men in the movie (excluding Professor von Franz) frame Ellen as childish for speaking about her dreams candidly, but their own childishness is revealed when her dreams manifest in the form of Orlok and become unavoidable. Ellen (partially? possessed in the moment by Orlok) tells Thomas how "foolish and like a child" he was in Orlok's castle. In the literal context that's cruel, and obviously that shit was scary as hell, but it hits on Thomas' failure in the metaphorical reading. He was a child playing house: 'I'll be the husband and make money, you be the wife and make babies.' When it came time to confront his wife's inner world and all the scary, traumatized, lustful complexity of it, he was completely inept. The message isn't that Orlok is what Ellen really needs, or that Thomas is a wimp, but he's not a perfect husband either. I think "the point" is that a real healthy marriage with sexual, emotional, and spiritual mutuality is impossible in that society with Thomas/Friedrich's ideals. In that kind of society, a spiritually and sexually potent woman like Ellen ("in heathen times you might have been a Priestess of Isis") will always be caught in a "love triangle" with her husband and her own inner world.