#backbreaker is another possible move | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whileiamdying · 6 months

Text

‘Return to Dust’ Review: A Compassionate but Cautious Chinese Drama of Rural Lives Ennobled by Sacrifice

In a decimated Chinese village, a downtrodden couple in an arranged marriage forge an unexpected bond as they eke a living from the land.

By Jessica Kiang

Courtesy of Berlinale

A later-life love story of the gentlest kind, Li Ruijun‘s “Return to Dust” is an absorbing, beautifully framed drama that makes a virtue — possibly too much a virtue — of simplicity. The story is straightforward: Two lonely middle-aged people, each barely tolerated by their more worldly family members, are pushed into an arranged marriage, which quietly blossoms into a companionable love match. The lead characters are simple, or are believed to be by their scornful neighbors, as they pursue a punishingly traditional farming lifestyle with only a long-suffering donkey to lighten the backbreaking load. Crops grow, seasons turn and anything too biting or topical or politically charged, the film simply avoids.

Li’s sixth feature unfolds in a small village in Gaotai (the director’s home region), which is being whittled away as its inhabitants move to the cities for work. The towering sand dunes nearby provide an evocatively dusty metaphor for what the future holds: Due to a government edict encouraging the demolition of uninhabited structures, dwellings are worth more to their absent owners as piles of rubble. This is a worry for Youtie Ma (Wu Renlin) and his new wife Guiying Cao (Hai Qing) as upon their marriage, briskly arranged by family members no longer willing to support them, they move into one of those empty houses only to have to relocate to another when the municipal bulldozers show up.

Middle-aged Ma is first shown sharing his meal with his donkey while his relatives discuss his upcoming nuptials. Cao, who suffers from incontinence and a painful limp and is more taciturn even than Ma, later confesses that seeing him treat the animal with kindness was when she realized that marriage to him might be preferable to her current misery. “That donkey had a better life than me,” she states, so evenly it doesn’t feel like self-pity.

Indeed this pair are possibly the least self-pitying people on earth. Yoked together without much say in the matter, they quickly get to work on their small patch of land. The almost procedural interest Li has in the farming process provides some of the film’s most oddly mesemerizing sequences: Cao, sitting on the plow so that the plowshare bites deeper under her weight; Ma laying out mud bricks in a spiral to dry, or hand-scything wheat at harvest time. These scenes are also elevated by DP Wang Weihua’s camerwork, which finds grace and dignity in hard work, without overly romancing it. Exteriors are wide, with the couple often dwarfed by the natural world, interiors are warm despite their shabbiness. When Ma fashions an incubator for chicks from a cardboard box, the speckled, mirrorball effect of the light spilling out is subtly magical, cues picked up in the lovely score from Peyman Yazdanian.

The poignancy of their burgeoning relationship is the film’s patiently ticking driving force. Cao waits for Ma to return from town on a freezing night, clutching a flask of hot tea for him, and returning several times to the house to reheat it when Ma is late. When he finally shows up, it is a subtle turning point in their relationship: Neither seems able to believe their luck at the gift they have found in the other. There is a broad supporting cast of siblings and uncles and a catty Greek chorus of villagers gossiping at a crossroads, but the film is really a two-hander, and both Wu Renlin and Hai Qing are completely at one with their heroically decent characters.

But it’s a heroism based on a discomfiting level of self-sacrifice, of turning the other cheek and accepting without complaint the meager scraps from someone else’s banquet. Ma has the same rare blood type as an ailing local landlord-boss, and regularly gives pints of blood to help him: He’s literally being bled dry by the big guy. Cao works her frail body to its limits, often electing to walk rather than ride the cart to avoid overloading the donkey. “You were used by others for most of your life, haven’t you had enough?” Ma asks the unbudging animal when he finally decides to remove its ever-tinkling bell and set it free. But he could be talking about the conditioning he and Cao have undergone to believe that this hard, thankless life is all they could ever deserve.

As a portrait of the dying end of a traditional way of life and the rapid decimation of China’s outlying rural communities, “Return to Dust” is potent, often poetic in its encroaching-dustbowl imagery. As a meditation on the rewards of later-life companionship, it is elegiac, blessed with two unusually sympathetic, restrained performances. But the movie’s warm heart distracts from the absence of fire in its belly: Where is the anger at the injustice of any society demanding so much from people who ask from it so little? At one point, as they tend to their first crop, Cao cradles a lone green shoot that has been uprooted and looks to Ma in distress. “Don’t worry,” Ma says, in sage mode, “If a seedling dies, it nourishes the soil, so other things can grow.” That is true, of course, but it is pretty cold comfort for the seedling.

#Return to Dust #隐入尘烟 #隱入塵煙 #Li Ruijun #李叡珺 #李睿珺 #Hai Qing #海清 #Berlinale Berlin #International Film Festival #Mandarin #Film Movement #Berlinale #Berlin International Film Festival #The New York Times #China

0 notes

equz · 2 years

Text

skyrim is so funny for no reason. like why can i suplex people

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #for people wondering this isnt modded this is just something you can do #backbreaker is another possible move

2K notes · View notes

favoniuscodex · 3 years

Text

love story. [ scaramouche ]

prompt: "god who is playing that godawful music outside my house and throwing rocks at my window. oh. it’s you, with a love confession. cringe but also i accept." w/ scaramouche pairing: scaramouche x gn!reader warnings: modern!au, death threat except it's the equivalent of scaramouche threatening to punt someone across a football field words: ~1.3k words

a/n: lofksdlaslkal i cant wait for canon scaramouche to get revealed and refute all the fanfics where i make him angry AKAKSKJSDJ. first prompt done for the new follower event, number chosen by random.org

it's three am and there's someone blaring taylor swift outside your window. you just want to sleep, yet taylor won't stop singing about how she wants romeo to save her and how she feels so alone. you can relate only partially -- you want romeo to save you from this hell of having to listen to this song interrupt your sleep, but you certainly do not feel alone with the song piercing through the silence of the street you live on, likely waking your neighbors up as well.

deciding you've had enough after about a minute of it, you trudge over to your window and get ready to peek through the blinds to see what idiot was interrupting your well-deserved rest. being a fatui agent was backbreaking labor and the only reprieve you had from it were the few hours you were allowed to sleep in your own residence each night. whoever decided that being a swiftie applied to their little three am rendezvous was about to meet the wrath of your vision and weapon.

however, before you can inspect whatever the hell was occurring outside, a soft plink of something hitting your window causes you to take a step back, startled. you immediately materialize your weapon and step to the side of the window pane, ready to beat up any possible intruder, but nobody enters. another plink resonates through the air, followed by another, which is then followed by another. it creates a steady pattern that is horribly off-sync with the music outside.

what the hell? you taking a deep breath, you use two fingers to pry open the blinds just barely enough to see what's happening outside. was it the safest decision? probably not. outside stands a rather short man holding up a paper sign and, behind him, a car stalls with its headlights on. the car is certainly the origin of miss swift's melodies, yet you have no idea who the short window is.

"(y/n)!" the man yells upon spotting you looking through the blinds. "open the window!"

wait. wait a damn minute. without his traditional uniform, you hardly recognized him (nor did you realize how awful his haircut actually is, but that was an argument for another time). scaramouche. while he often was a headache at work, you never thought that your fellow harbinger would also be a nuisance outside of work as well. was it an emergency? was this some type of secret code for help that you hadn't been informed about?

yet, as you yank on the cord of the blinds, sending them flying up, you realize this is far different from a cry for help. rather, it's a cry for your love, as dictated by the writing on the sign he holds as it glints in the moonlight. immediately, you unlatch the window and push it open, glaring at your coworker in your full half-asleep, pajama-clad glory.

the music dies down rapidly and you feel a sense of bewilderment wash over you. he brought someone with him? you question, but your thoughts are disrupted as scaramouche begins yelling.

"(y/n)! i wish to court you!" the harbinger yells and you quickly come to a few conclusions. one: this man has never asked anyone out in his life. two: he asked someone for advice on how to ask you out. three: that person who gave him said advice led him horribly, horribly astray. you quickly run through a mental checklist of who it could possibly be. la signora wouldn't care enough to give him any other advice than "just ask them out", dottore would probably suggest for scaramouche to kill someone to prove his love and childe... yeah. it was definitely childe.

"um," you yell back, not entirely sure what to say. "hold on!"

you back away from the window and hastily shove your feet into the closest pair of shoes. you yank a robe from your closet and wrap it around your figure, securing it by tying it around you as you exit your house and make your way over to scaramouche, who stands on your front lawn still. as you approach, the harbinger sets the sign down next to him and picks something else off the ground, thrusting it in your direction.

in a t-shirt and jeans, scaramouche looks completely... different as he was missing the attire that made him normal in your eyes. you blink at him before glancing down to the object he's presenting you and your heart melts at the gesture. in his hand rests a bouquet of roses.

"well? are you going to take them or not?" scaramouche questions, waving them at you slightly. you let out a light laugh at his indignant behavior and take the bouquet from him, making sure to brush your hand against his as you do so. in the light provided by both the moon and the streetlight, you notice a blush creep across his features as he feels the touch of your hand against his.

"yes," you respond, causing his indigo eyes to look at you with confusion. "to your proposition from earlier. i will let you court me."

"of course. i expected nothing less," scaramouche responds, but you notice his relief in the way he stands up a little straighter and his expression relaxes. "i have brought a poem of my affections as i was instructed to do s-"

"scaramouche," you begin, tone soft. his arrogance lessens as he visibly perks up upon hearing you say his name. "if i may ask, who told you to do all of this?"

"i... sought advice from tartaglia," he confesses and you let out a long sigh.

"i... appreciate the gesture," you reassure him. "but... next time, just ask a person out casually. this kind of stuff is only ever really done in movies."

scaramouche looks at you blankly. "so he lied to me?" his voice is deadpan and, you decide, that scaramouche has finally transcended the typical realm of his anger and entered into sheer fury.

"yes, but uh. the flowers were nice!" you hold up the bouquet to prove your point. "very nice. i liked them."

scaramouche seemingly forgets about his hatred of the eleventh harbinger for a brief moment as you hold the flowers up to your nose, sniffing the roses slightly. a gentle smile crosses his face and he takes a step closer to you, carefully placing one of his hands on the forearm that holds up the bouquet. as scaramouche begins to gently push it down, leaning in close to close the distance between the two of you, a honk from the stalled car has the both of you jumping away from each other, startled.

"did they say yes?!" you hear the familiar voice of tartaglia yell from the car. you and scaramouche exchange glances before looking over at the car.

"start driving, tartaglia," scaramouche orders as electricity begins to crackle in his palms. "because i am going to kill you."

a brief moment of silence occurs before taylor swift returns at full volume. before scaramouche can sprint over and give childe a piece of his mind, the car switches into drive and speeds off, not wanting to incur the wrath of scaramouche upon it. for once, childe has a brain, yet you can only thank him for everything upon seeing the adoration in scaramouche's eyes as he finally turns back to you.

you move your hands out of the way as scaramouche steps closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek to stabilize the connection between of you.

"now that he's gone, where were we?" scaramouche asks, but before you can answer, scaramouche closes the distance between the two of you, placing his lips on yours.

#thriving with the headcanon that scaramouche knows absolutely nothing abt romance #scaramouche: childe how do u ask someone out #childe upon realizing what opportunity scaramouche has just given him: well u see-#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #axia's writing #axia's 3.5k follower event

800 notes · View notes

tinylittlestella · 3 years

Text

Okay so I’m just gonna post this now I guess. I was waiting until it was more “done” but???

Edit: omg I forgot to credit @yeenybeanies for inspiring me to just throw this idea out to the public instead of hoarding it and waiting for it to be perfect

I’ve been kicking around the idea of a Cinderella story where the prince doesn’t let her leave at midnight. They’ve hung out at a few balls because magic or whatever. Ella is her name, society is a mix of humans and elves. Elves are like maximum 20 inches tall, half elves take after their elf parents like 25% of the time. Bases covered? Cool.

Ella’s heart seized in her chest when she realized that the doors back into the ballroom were locked. She ran quickly for another pair, but they were locked, too. They were all locked. She was trapped out here on the balcony.

“No...” she murmured to herself, glancing back up at the clock tower in the courtyard. She only had a few minutes left until the spell broke; if she couldn’t get away she would be stranded at the palace. Her family would find out that she’d been sneaking away, and if she wasn’t killed for treason for using magic inside the palace surely her stepmother would do it herself, like she’d been threatening to do all Ella’s life. After all, it would be too easy...

“Something wrong, my lady?” came a voice across the cool garden air, and Ella spun around to see that the prince had joined her. How did he get out on the balcony? Had he come out before her?

“Y-yes,” she said, finally letting go of the door handle to turn towards him. “I’ve been out much later than I intended, and I need to go home. Can you open the door?”

For just a moment hope bloomed in her chest when he nodded, but the slow smile that stretched across his face made her heart sink. “I can, but I won’t. You’ve proven far too elusive, my lady. I can’t let you go when I’ve finally got you right where I want you.”

Any words she might’ve been able to muster caught in her throat as she realized his meaning—he’d done this deliberately. He’d trapped her out here to prevent her from running away. She had known that he was getting frustrated at her disappearing, but she never imagined he would take this much interest in her, a nobody who hadn’t even given him her name. She didn’t really think she deserved this much attention.

“I c-can’t stay, your highness, please,” she said, horrified when her voice started to break. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t hold in her fear. “There w-will be—t-terrible consequences if I don’t go—“

For a moment the prince seemed equipped to give her a snappy response, but then he looked down at her and he could see the genuine terror in her eyes and it seemed to strike something in him—the teasing disappeared from his face, replaced by concern. He reached out for her and steadied her shoulders.

“Easy, it’s alright,” he said, trying to go for a soothing tone, rubbing at her arms over the sleeves of her dress. “Nothing’s as bad as all that. I can protect you from anything that happens.”

“I d-don’t think you’ll w-want to for long...” she murmured, and he frowned. Her lip trembled and she let out a soft, pained little wail as the clock began to chime, lifting her hands to her mouth. It was over. It was all over.

The prince was still touching her shoulders when it started to happen, when her dress started to glow and magic started to swirl up in the air around her. He had to let her go as it whipped around her body and dissolved all the careful work that had been put into her appearance, taking away her fine hairstyle and makeup, taking away the fine fabric that made up her dress, taking away the human stature she had gained through her fairy godmother’s magic. When the magic was gone and the light had faded, all that was left was Ella, in her true form.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though that would cover the ragged scrap of a dress her family had given her for daily wear, or the stained apron tied around her waist, or the fact that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her ears were just slightly pointed, the freckles on her cheeks caught the light like glitter, and if she stood up straight she would be no more than sixteen inches tall. She was part elf, like her mother had been.

She could only dare to glance up at his face once and immediately regretted it. Those eyes which had once been able to light her on fire from the inside out were now horrified as he looked down at her and she clenched her eyes shut, holding her hand over her mouth as she tried to restrain a sob.

“I’m s-so sorry, your h-highness,” she managed to choke out on a ragged breath. Her chest hitched and she had to pause to catch her breath again. “I n-never wanted you to s-see me l-like this—“

She was covered in a thin layer of soot and grime from the backbreaking work she did to keep her stepmother’s household running and her hair was a mess gathered at the back of her head. She knew how absolutely wretched she looked—a creature like her would never be allowed in the palace like this. Shame burned deep in her gut and she finally just collapsed on herself, falling into a crouch as she tried to make herself as small as possible—as if she weren’t small enough already.

For a long moment there was silence, and then she couldn’t help flinching as she heard him getting closer. He paused when she did, but when she didn’t actually try to run, he started again. He put a hand on her back and it covered her from her shoulders almost down to her hips. His fingers were so warm and she was so damn touch starved that she let out an entirely involuntary noise at the contact—a soft, aching sound from the back of her throat that apparently stirred him into action once more and he moved so quickly she didn’t have any chance to stop him. He scooped her up in his arms, tucking her securely against his chest, and started walking.

Ella didn’t have the courage to ask him where he was taking her, and even if she did she was so stunned by how quickly and securely he had picked her up and held her that she might not have been able to form questions anyways. Mostly her mind was whirring and trying to think of any way she could get out of this situation with her life. She wasn’t coming up with much.

It didn’t help that she was pressed right up against his chest and could hear his heartbeat thrumming through his body, which could have soothed her off to sleep if she weren’t so goddamn frightened. Instead it just clouded her head, made her lose her train of thought, and made her feel like she was about to doze off.

Finally he came to a stop and she realized that he had taken her some hidden way back into the castle. She had never been in this room before, but a quick glance around said that it was...it was most likely his bedroom. Oh, god, what had she gotten herself into?

He walked over to his giant four poster bed and, much more gently than she expected, set her down in the middle. He gave her a look as he took his hands away, trying to communicate without words to ask her not to run when he let her go. She nodded, and he gave her a brief smile that looked exactly like they used to before he walked off to a closet and started pulling out clothing. She watched him warily as she wrapped her arms around her knees where she was sat in the middle of the bed. He still hadn’t said a word about her true form since the spell had broken.

He came back without his jacket or his waistcoat, bootless, and holding a tiny bundle of fabric in his hands. He offered it to her with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to change into this?” He kept his voice soft and low for her and her breath caught when she realized what he was offering her.

A traditional elvish robe. She hadn’t seen one since she’d had to sell all of her mother’s to help with costs at the manor. It was simple, but clean, and she reached out a trembling hand for it. He allowed her to take it from his fingers and turned around.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he said, and Ella’s eyes widened. Change here? In front of him?

But she didn’t have much choice, did she? She took a deep breath and quickly whipped off the ragged dress and apron to put the robe on over her undergarments. Despite remembering how to tie the waist tape behind her back, it was made difficult by her trembling hands. She finally dared to look him in the face again when she was finished. Only—he was still turned around. She struggled for a moment for what to say before she finally settled on, “I’m done.”

For a moment she thought she said it too quietly for him to hear her, but then he turned around and tossed her old clothes aside and her breath caught once again. It hadn’t truly, fully struck her how much bigger he was than her now, but with him further away so that she could see more of him, the difference was stark. And it wasn’t the prince who had changed. It was just her. She found herself again struggling against tears and ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes. She didn’t know how he could stand to look at her after she lied to him. She didn’t know how he didn’t hate her. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just that kind that even though he couldn’t stand the sight of her he still wanted to make sure she survived the night.

One long, massive digit hooked under her chin and tilted her face back up to meet the princes gaze. His skin was warm and she could feel the strength in his hand just from this one small touch, something that he could barely feel. He leaned down to see her better, making himself look even bigger, and she trembled as his eyes bored into hers, questioning and curious.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, and she knew that she could no longer evade him.

She took a deep breath and swallowed. “Ella. M-my name is Ella.”

“Ella...” He repeated it softly and she closed her eyes for a moment, pulling back from his hand. The way he said it sounded far too intimate, far too much like something she had desperately been wanting to hear, and it hurt her heart like a stab to the chest. A lump had formed in her throat and it was getting more and more difficult to swallow down. “Where are you from, Ella?”

She flinched as he sat in the bed beside her, but he took extra care not to jostle her, holding a hand out by her side in case she fell from his movements. The level of care was startling and Ella didn’t know how to take it.

“I’m f-from the T-Tremaine estate, y-your highness...” she said, though her voice was strained. She watched warily as he lifted his hand, but he just brushed his fingertip against her cheek. It was so gentle and tender and for a moment—for a moment she thought—maybe, maybe she had been granted the greatest gift she could ever ask for. Perhaps, there was a chance, if he could spare any affection, she would take even the barest scraps he could offer, she didn’t care as long as she could stay by his side and get out of that horrible house—

But then that moment shattered. She realized when his finger came away that he had been brushing away a smudge of soot on her cheek, and that was when she finally broke. Her face crumpled and the sob that had been building in her chest finally released. She lifted her hands to her face with her last shred of dignity, to at least try to muffle herself, but it turned out to not be necessary. Her body was just too small for her humiliation—she couldn’t physically sob as hard as she needed to, so she couldn’t even make a sound. She staggered as she gasped for air and that was when the prince finally decided to intervene.

Enormous hands seemed to appear out of nowhere and curl around Ella’s form. She let out a startled little yelp at the suddenness of it, and the sensation of being lifted off her feet, but it was short lived as in the next moment her head was nestled in the crook of the prince’s neck and he was stroking her back with his fingers while he held her securely in place with his other hand.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and his voice was deep and bassy and inside and outside, filling her head and the air around her. “You’re okay, it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

She was too overwrought to question it anymore, so she just let herself be swept away, burying her face against his neck and crying every tear she had never let herself shed. She clung to his neck with one hand and reached under his collar with the other, almost as though she was trying to work her way under his shirt. He didn’t seem to care, as he hadn’t stopped trying to soothe her.

“Please don’t be frightened of me, darling. I would never hurt you,” he murmured down to her, as he stroked the shape of one of her legs through her robe with his thumb. “You’re okay. I’ll protect you from anyone who tries to harm you. You’re safe with me.”

And she felt like it. Pressed against his neck and chest, with his hands on her back and her legs, she felt so safe. He was so gentle with her that she couldn’t help trusting him, and she was warm and surrounded by his skin and the beat of his heart and his breathing and his scent. He was heady and spicy, with a sweet undercurrent of vanilla. She closed her eyes and turned to nose at his neck, looking for more of that scent. She thought the gesture small enough that he wouldn’t notice but he did stiffen just slightly, and she drew back immediately with a murmured apology.

“No, darling, stop,” he said, and he stroked her hair with one finger to encourage her to lay her head back down. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting you to...trust so quickly. But I’m glad.” He stroked her hair again and she couldn’t help melting under the soft touch. “Ella, what...what happened out on the balcony? You changed.”

Immediately any relaxed feelings disappeared and she stiffened in his hold. She looked up at him, leaning back to see his face, and she could see the curiosity burning in his eyes. After a long moment she quietly began to tell her story.

“It‘s... a long story. It started when I was younger...” She hated how small her voice sounded, but she carried on and told the whole thing. Her mother’s death as a child, the arrival of her stepfamily, her father’s death and her subsequent misery. How the balls and meeting him had been a lovely escape, and she’d never intended to lead him on. She had grown to know and love him, but knew he could never be with someone like her.

The entire time she spoke he kept a hand at her back, supporting her silently through it all, and every now and then he reached up with a finger to brush away a tear or two or to find her tiny little hand. When she got to the end of the story he brushed hair behind her ear with one finger and gave her the softest look.

“I never could have imagined you were going through so much,” he said quietly, and she blinked. That was far from what she’d expected him to say. “You always seemed so—happy. I thought there might be something more, something underneath you didn’t want me to see, but I never...I never thought it was this.”

“I didn’t want to—to hide, or to lie, but I never would have been allowed into the palace otherwise,” she said. “My stepmother would have recognized me instantly, and then I never...” She paused, and her cheeks heated until she was sure he could feel it under his finger. “I never would’ve gotten to meet you.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant male #tiny female #my writing #ella and the prince

61 notes · View notes

candychronicles · 4 years

Text

quarantine // k. bakugou

A/N: this is my take on the kink experimentation bnharem server collab! hope you enjoy!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,534

WARNINGS: face-fucking, pegging, smacking, dom reader, implied knife play

SYNOPSIS: being stuck in quarantine is not easy, especially for heros who are so used to being active. in order to help your anxious boyfriend, you hatch a plan, one that will allow him to be relaxed while delving into your desires.

Want to enjoy more kinks? Head on over the the masterlist!

things had taken a turn for the worse: people were getting sick, people were dying, over a novel virus. panic had settled in thick as the world raced to gain control of the situation. many had begun to hoard things like toilet paper and hand sanitizer, while many simply ignored what was going on and continued to party the night away.

strict protocols were put in place to curb the spread of the virus like closures or revisions of rules over places like restaurants and bowling alleys, gatherings of 100, 50, then 10 or more were prohibited, guidelines and updates were constantly being blasted so people could stay aware of what was going on. eventually, it came to a point where stay in place orders were mandated and eventually enforced. nobody was allowed to go in and out, distribution of food and water were manned by national guards, and only the most essential of workers, like police and government employees were allowed out of the house.

the only other exception to the rule were pro-heros, who were invited to news, police, fire stations to report the facts and quell anxiety about the virus. villains were still flooding the streets, even more so with quiet streets and empty buildings, and with police and national guards being split so thin to begin with to care for the citizens, pro-heros were forced to take in an extra workload.

however, things with the virus only continued to get worse, and as more and more villains congregated with their newfound freedom, many got sick and decided that their life wasn’t worth galavanting around. and so the time of needing an influx of pro-heros dwindled out and with that came shifts, just enough to keep the peace and help where it was needed without risking any spread. even though these men and women were heros, many were still susceptible to illness and it was important to take precautions as much as possible.

this meant that Bakugou was stuck inside, subjected to the same punishments as anyone else who tried to leave the house without good reason. it would be another three weeks before it was his turn to work again and you could feel the frustration boiling under his skin. you had attempted to console him, to get him to relax, but his energy was too much and your words were fruitless.

your brain had worked tirelessly to attempt to figure out what you could do to help. he needed something different, something that would stimulate him enough to release his energy while also keeping within quarantine guidelines, something that would make him feel alive within these four walls. with those thoughts in mind, your body moved of its own accord, padding around your small house, attempting to find something that would help.

massage? no, he wouldn’t sit still long enough for that. working out? no, he does that every day.

just as you were about to give up all hope, you stumbled upon your box of toys Bakugou had used the other night on you. all sorts of fun things were in there and each one got plenty of use. while he prided himself on being more than enough to satisfy you, he was more than happy to experiment and have fun.

hmm, experiment?

that one thought sent you spiraling. you wouldn’t be able to get any new toys, and a new sex position was boring enough. a new kink needed to be experimented with. it was backbreaking work to get Bakugou to listen to you in the bedroom, but you knew with the right tools, combined with his frustration, it just might work.

your plan was thankfully enacted only a few short hours later. Bakugou, finishing a shower, had exited the bedroom with nothing but a towel slung low over his hips, his happy trail curly and glistening from the water on his body. you had found your favorite orange lingerie, the color similar to his hero costume, lacy in all the right places and hugging your frame deliciously.

“well, well, well, what do we have here?” you heard his husky voice approach you, tracing his finger appreciatively over the fabric.

“what we have here is a stress reliever. i know you’ve been anxious about being pent up in here. so have i, so i figured we might have a little bit of fun tonight, try something new.”

you stood up slowly, the fabric rustling as you reached up to cup his face in your hand, bringing your lips together in a soft kiss. you began backing him up to the bed until his knees hit the mattress and he sat down with a soft thud. you followed his body, pushing him back until he was flat on his back, crawling over him, feeling the hardness of his cock through the towel that was dangerously close to falling off.

you positioned yourself so you were level with his eyes, leaning down to ghost your lips over his ear, whispering, “do you remember our safe word?”

he nodded in response, too lost on the way you felt on top of him.

“good, because you’re going to need it.”

you got up without warning, reaching towards the bottom of the bed where you pulled out your toys, skimming your fingers over the various rubber and plastic figures, hand settling on a bottle of lube.

“what are you up to?” he asked, unusually meek sounding.

“do you trust me?”

“yes,” he responded instantly, breath hitched as he watched you continue to rummage around the box, pulling out both the blindfold and a long forgotten strap on, something that you had kept hidden for quite some time and never had the chance to use it. but tonight, tonight you would ravish your boyfriend.

you only nodded out in response as you brought the items over, dropping them on the bed unceremoniously.

“sit up,” you commanded, crooking a finger towards Bakugou.

he obliged without question, though his face looked like he had a thousand he wanted to ask. you pulled the blindfold slowly over his eyes, running your fingers up through his hair as you straddled him, effectively removing the towel from his waist, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his neck, biting and sucking as you went along.

Bakugou was unusually quiet, only breathing heavily. you placed a hand over his heart and felt that it was racing.

“are you okay? do you want me to stop?”

“fuck no. i mean, yes, shit, i’m okay,” he answered.

you only hummed in response, continuing your worship of his body, feeling the way his pulse jumped as you bit down on a sensitive point on his neck. you pushed him back down again on the bed, this time adjusting him so his head was on a pillow and his body was fully laying down. when he was fully settled, you adjusted yourself so you were straddling his head, lingerie pulled to the side and cunt dripping in anticipation of what was about to go down.

“i need to hear you beg,” you stated simply, looking down to see his reaction.

“i think i should be telling you that,” he retorted with a cheeky grin.

“oh no sweetheart. i can take care of myself better than you, i think.”

with that statement in mind, one of your hands found its way to your cunt, experimentally flicking your aching bud, collecting the juices and going back in, harsher this time. your whines and the sloshing sounds of your pussy were all the indication Bakugou needed to know what you were doing. he brought one hand up to attempt to bring you down but you swatted it away, continuing to tease him as you teased yourself.

“no touching. not until i hear you beg.”

you whined at the feeling of your own fingers against your clit, rocking yourself to create more friction.

when Bakugou scoffed and tried again, you slapped his face, hard.

“i said beg.”

if you were able to see Bakugou’s eyes, you would’ve known that his pupils were blown wide with lust and desire. while he often wanted, no needed, to take control, this was nice, he had to admit.

“yes, mistress. please let me taste you, please,” you heard him, a whiney undertone to his sultry tone.

you immediately lowered yourself onto his face, murmuring how good of a boy he was as you felt his tongue lick up all your slick. his hands came experimentally up to your waist, wanting to see if you would swat him away, but when you only encouraged him, he gripped tighter, almost as if you were his anchor.

you continued to ride his face, praising him and yelping his name, getting lost in your own high. with one swift slap to your ass, he commanded you to cum and you did, leaking all over his face. he licked up every inch, hungry as a dog for your essence.

when you came down from your high, you tutted, upset at how he flipped the situation around so easily. you removed yourself from his face as he pulled off the blindfold, hair wild from you grabbing it.

“get on all fours,” you commanded, eyes blazing fiercely in the dim light from the bathroom that he forgot to turn off.

“what? why?”

“if you want to act like a dog, barking out commands, acting like you’re starving for my pussy, then you’ll get fucked like a dog. on all fours, now.”

when he didn’t comply immediately, you yanked his body to the edge of the bed, flipping his body over and sticking his ass in the air. Bakugou was too dumbfounded to realize what was going on, not even realizing that you had the strength to manhandle him, but before he could regain his composure, he felt something warm and sticky on his asshole.

you had warmed up the lube in your fingers around his ass, watching as the hole puckered around nothing. slowly, you inserted one finger, watching for signs of pain, but all you saw was a confused yet extremely pleased face. experimentally, you crooked the finger around, in and out, watching as Bakugou’s breath quickened and his hands fisted the sheets.

you pulled your finger out, smirking as he whined at the loss of your digit but quickly realized what was coming as you began inserting two fingers back into his fluttering hole. he gritted his teeth at the intrusive feeling but quickly relaxed as you continued to pump in and out of him, scissoring to loosen him up, applying more lube to keep things safe and pleasurable.

once you were satisfied with your work, you removed your fingers, wiping them haphazardly on the sheets, not caring. right now, you were too excited about what you were going to do to your boyfriend. he looked so innocent, eyes boring pleadingly into your own. you were so used to being dominated, tossed around like a ragdoll, and though you never really complained because Bakugou always took care of you, it was an exhilarating feeling to be in control of someone usually so stubborn and hard headed.

you lubed up the strap on, warming it up in your hands. it felt awkward on your body, but you took a few experimental thrusts in the air and got the hang of it quite quickly.

“hurry up already and fuck me,” Bakugou half pleaded half demanded.

without hesitation, you raised your palm and smacked his ass, hearing him hiss in both pain and pleasure.

“you’ll get fucked, don’t you worry.”

slowly, you lined the tip up to his ass, watching as he shook it in the air, clearly desperate for some sort of friction. you pushed the tip towards his waiting hole, feeling immediate resistance.

“relax baby. i’ll take care of you, i promise.”

you continued to push, making sure to take your time, until you felt the strap on bottom out, sinking into his gaping hole. amazement crossed your face as you watched the fake dick slide in and out of him, as you watched Bakugou clench up and then release all the tension in his body. soft whines and pants were heard from your boyfriend and you watched as he began thrusting himself back on your cock.

“i’ll go faster if i hear you beg,” you cooed, tracing your fingers down his back and over the curve of his ass, smacking it once more and then soothingly rubbing circles over the now red skin.

“fu-ugh, nnh please fuck me. please fuck me so hard (y/n), mistress, ma’am, fuck, i’ll call you whatever, just fuck me.”

you arched your brows in shock over hearing your boyfriend beg so freely, but who were you to deny a pretty man with a pretty ass? picking up your pace, you began slamming into Bakugou again, telling him how good he was doing, how pretty he was, how good he felt.

he seemed to appreciate the words, whining and stuttering through his emotions, too caught up in his own pleasure to be able to string coherent sentences together. you continued to thrust in and out, building up a sweat but enjoying the sounds and sights of your boyfriend being demolished to even really notice. you felt him tense up, his whines getting louder, and with a cry, he came, sticky ropes of cum shooting out onto the sheets. he collapsed on the bed not soon after, too spent to even care about laying in his own load.

you carefully pulled out, watching as his hole puckered and clenched around the sudden emptiness. you removed the strap on, throwing it on the floor and crawling onto your boyfriend, laying your slick body on his own.

“how was that?” you asked, hopeful yet concerned.

“s’fucking good,” he mumbled back, still reeling from what had just happened.

once he gained his breath back and his senses, you clambered off of him and plopped down, too tired to care. he got on all fours and slowly climbed over to you, pulling you into a searing kiss, murmuring his thanks against your lips.

when he pulled away, you saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes that meant he was up to no good. you gulped in anticipation, waiting with baited breath for what he was about to say.

“you know princess, you really surprised me tonight. hell, i even surprised myself. but tomorrow, tomorrow i will get back at you.”

you looked up at him through hooded lids, lashes batting innocently as you pondered what he had in store.

“i know you’ve asked before if we could try some riskier kinks. i’ve been hesitant because i wasn’t sure you could handle it, but after tonight, i know better. you showed me tonight that i belonged to you,” he started, chuckling at the thought,” but tomorrow, i’ll carve my fucking name into your back, just so you’ll know that you really belong to me.”

your pussy clenched immediately at the thought, eyes open wide at his suggestion. sure, you had fantasized about, er, riskier kinks but never had you thought he would agree. maybe, you thought, maybe this quarantine won’t be such a bad thing.

TAGS: @redbeanteax @softforshigi

Want to be a part of my taglist? Message me!

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

2K notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

Kinktober #8: under his loving gaze: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

In which Steve discovers it’s possible to love two people to the bone and still be crushed by loneliness.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers (sort of) x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) VOYEURISM of the truest, you-don’t-know-you’re-being-watched kind. Vaginal sex. Male masturbation. Lots and lots of pining for not so many words.

Notes: Another one for my Marvel friends today :) The prompt for day eight is ‘Voyeurism,’ and does he ever watch. Somehow this one turned angsty. I... don’t think I’m sorry, though.

Kinktober Masterlist

Friday nights never used to be this pathetic.

Steve’s not completely sure when he got so boring. Even when he was a kid, Bucky always had one place or the other to drag him on the weekends. He’d stumble in from a backbreaking shift at the docks, c’mon Stevie, the city awaits, and Steve never really wanted to go, but it was Bucky’s sweat that paid for the roof over their heads, so he never felt good about saying no.

These days, though, his idea of fun is an evening pouring over his briefings. Letting the security footage from the compound flick idly across the monitor. He doesn’t need to watch it. Not when there’s an AI system more sophisticated than any on the planet monitoring their premises.

But Steve’s always been a little old-fashioned.

Tonight, there’s something else on his mind. It’s not something that should be plaguing his thoughts, but his brain doesn’t often listen when he decides he doesn’t want to think about something.

“Gonna be taking your post again tonight, Captain?” Tony’s voice, no matter how genuine, always felt edged with an air of mockery. Tonight’s dinner had been no different. Above the idle chatter surrounding plans for the weekend, he’d decided to speak up.

“Whaddaya mean?” Sam had asked, quirking an eyebrow in Steve’s direction with a bite of chicken-something (prepared by Vision) halfway to his mouth.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve remembers low dread curling in his gut at the snappy response from Tony, knowing he was setting up for a lethal blow. “Steve’s been watching all of you do the nasty.”

After his cheeks had gone an appropriate shade of maroon, Steve sputtered through the rest of dinner, insisting that there weren’t any security cameras installed in private areas of the compound.

Then again, based on the way that Tony’s eyes had sparkled once he let the subject drop, Steve isn’t so sure anymore.

The mystery of whether seems hell-bent on keeping Steve from getting any work done tonight. Any time he so much as lowers his eyes to the page, the question plagues intently at the corners of his thoughts, forcing him to re-read the same briefing line at least a dozen times before he gives up and pushes the papers aside.

He’s just going to have to figure it out. Once and for all. He slumps over the edge of the desk, taking the mouse in one oversized hand and navigating to the edge of the window that he’s got open- flicking through the normal course of security footage. Front door, hallways, kitchen, gym, garden, repeat.

Steve is not blessed with extensive computer knowledge. But he knows that the black bar at the top of the screen, scrawled with words like file, edit, preferences, refers to a list of possible commands. So he keeps clicking through them, scrolling through each option until he finds something that points him in the right direction.

Under the view tab there’s another series of options. After mousing over one called ‘cycle settings,’ he realizes that the current feeds cycling through the monitor are only one option of many.

His eyes find ‘quarters’ far more quickly than he would care to admit. For an honest moment he sits there, cursor highlighting the option. He chews hard at his lower lip.

It wouldn’t be right. It would be a violation of privacy. But it’s Friday night. Steve’s willing to bet that hardly anyone is even home at the moment. What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?

Oops, he thinks to himself as he clicks, curiosity getting the best of him. My hand slipped.

The feed that pops up before him is, as he expected, mostly empty. Some of the bedrooms are unused, showing bare rooms with bare mattresses and naked walls. Even the ones that are designated to his teammates are mostly unoccupied right now, some beds neatly made, some haphazardly rumpled.

There’s a flicker of motion out the corner of his eye that draws Steve’s attention. His heart clenches. Hard.

It’s your room. And you’re there, but you’re not alone.

The relationship that you have with Bucky is no secret. You connected with one another right away, finding peace in one another and happiness. You’ve turned Bucky into a shred of the man he used to be- smiling, grabbing for you in the kitchen, holding you close when you gather in the common room to watch movies or binge Seinfeld.

Steve’s supposed to be happy for you. Both of you. The two most important people in the world to him have found happiness with one another.

But he can’t help the rush of greed that consumes him every time you’re in front of him. Every time you put that love so proudly on display.

He wants you both for himself.

He clicks on the feed and it quickly expands to fill the entire monitor. This way, it’s easier for him to see the way Bucky looks, laid out on top of your stretched body. His knees are between your thighs, and though his hair hides your faces in a sweep of chestnut, his body doesn’t hide the way his hands are currently working themselves under the edge of your tank top, crawling up your ribcage as he kisses you like a man starved.

Based on the angle of the feed, Steve can surmise that the camera is probably situated in the control panel by your door. He should have guessed. Tony’s a sneaky bastard at the best of times. And the concept of boundaries has always been a foreign one to anybody named ‘Stark.’

Bucky rucks your shirt up over your bare chest. Steve swallows hard. He glances over his shoulder to make sure the door to his study is closed, then turns his attention back to the screen. Bucky’s palming one of your breasts, but he’s already kissed his way down to your chest and sucks attentively at the other one.

He’s worshipping your body. God, he’s so in love with you. Steve’s not sure which one of you he wishes he could be. Both. Neither. He wants to be in the middle.

His cock is already beginning to twitch to life inside his stiff chinos, and he shifts a little to palm the growing swell of it down one thigh. His mind is working a mile a minute- wrestling between how badly he knows he shouldn’t be doing this and how badly he wants to anyway.

Bucky tugs your sweatpants down over your hips in one swift motion and Steve reaches for his fly. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

It’s not like you’re going to look over and see him there, peering at you from the other side of the camera.

He’s just thankful that there’s no sound, or he would have definitely lost it by now. He can see the way your lips are moving, though, and imagines what you might be saying to each other. Are you tender? Dirty? He wants to know it all.

Bucky’s got your pants off now, and he’s shimmying out of his shirt, too. Steve tries hard not to admire the graceful dip and swell of his best friend’s muscles. He’s loved Bucky since he was a chubby-cheeked kid, and he wished that neither of them had ever been touched by any of this. But Bucky’s beautiful now, gorgeous in a way that Steve will never be. He handles his new mass with elegance.

The dull silver glint of a dog tag dangles from Bucky’s throat as he crawls up your body again, shucking down his pants. Steve’s already digging through the fabric in his lap, pushing the folds of his pants aside and pulling out his cock. He can’t stop. It’s like his limbs are moving all their own.

You’re both naked now. To Steve, it’s like a trip to the Louvre. Priceless artwork laid out for him alone. Both your bodies are so perfect. He never knew that he could want two things, two people so badly, but to choose between you would be to choose between breath and heartbeat.

He grips the base of his cock and groans as he watches Bucky line up. He’s so careful with you, worshipping your body at every turn. He slips his metal hand beneath your thigh, intertwining his flesh fingers with yours. He leans down to kiss you, so slow and soft it makes Steve’s chest ache to watch.

He’s seen the two of you kiss before. But this is an intimate moment, meant to be shared by just the two of you. For an instant it hits Steve how intrusive this is, to be looking in on a ritual as tender and sacred as this one.

Bucky’s hips ease forward, clean lines of muscle sinking into the sides of his thighs. Steve’s hand gives an involuntary jerk. He needs this- no- deserves this- and what you never find out won’t hurt you.

For all the softness that Bucky’s shown you in the lead-up he settles into a brutal rhythm, pounding rhythmically into your body as your legs twine around his hips to pull him in. It’s even more beautiful to watch from afar, and Steve quickly matches the rhythm of your lovemaking with his fist, pumping his hips into a closed hand and slicking the fluid that leaks from his tip up and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he gasps, despite himself. “fuuuck.”

Bucky lasts longer than he does.

Steve can’t help himself. Bound by nothing but his own pleasure, he cums fast. His thighs hit the underside of his desk as he swears and jerks and tugs on his cock, bucking his hips into nothing and spurting quick bursts over his fingers and palm. The pleasure that rushes his system is little compared to what he’d feel if he were with you, but… it’s all he can bear to take for himself.

He stays to watch the two of you finish, transfixed by the way Bucky’s hand slips between your legs and your mouth pops open in a silent cry. Even without hearing you he can tell when you’ve hit your peak- your whole body shivers and he fucks you through it, calm and steady as the tide.

He doesn’t last much longer after that, though, and Steve watches in awe. Bucky draws up so tight before he cums it looks like he’s going to snap, all the tendons and muscles in his body stretched to the breaking point. And when it hits him, he collapses forward, thrusting madly into you before his knees go shaky and he just buries himself to the hilt and stops. He trembles against you. Trails kisses down your whole body. And when he pulls out, his softening cock is followed by a handful of fluid- so much- and Steve comes back to himself so quickly he closes the entire security program and unplugs the desktop.

The weight of what he’s just done settles over his shoulders. But, fuck, he loved it. The image of you and Bucky and your bodies moving as one is printed permanently into his mind.

As he cleans himself up and gets dressed again, he wishes there was a way for him to make you both see. If he could just show you how much he adores you, both of you, maybe you’d let him in. If you knew that he didn’t want to come between you, maybe things would be different.

For tonight, though, all he’ll have is stolen memories. And for now, it has to be enough.

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #MCU #captain america x reader #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky

222 notes · View notes

jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

Enchant Me

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.5K (sorry!) Warning: None Author’s Note: AU where Ethan is the one asking MC questions for the fMRI scan (book 1, ch 6).

Catch up here.

_____________

Green eyes meet his briefly before hurriedly glancing away, the movement so fleeting that he could have attributed it to his imagination. Except, the way his stomach flutters as a result is very real and very annoying to Ethan. When at last he forces his treasonous mind to the task at hand, he determines she is nervous, the tense energy radiating from her almost palpable in the bright imaging lab.

Guilt takes root in his stomach as he begins to regret asking this of her. The flimsy request for her help, blurted out after he reluctantly turned down her party invitation, seems downright embarrassing now. What the hell had he been thinking?

He pauses to consider that therein lies the problem: He hadn't been thinking. What a dangerous and inane side effect of being in her presence. What a humbling yet disconcerting notion that all it takes to disarm an intelligent, highly educated man is a pair of clever, emerald eyes, a lovely dusting of freckles, and a pretty smile.

Ethan opens his mouth to offer himself up as the subject instead, but Lilac gives him a brave, determined half smile. Her cheeks flush and he can see the visible effort she spends in getting the words out. “There is no dignified way of saying this, so please don't fire me,” she begins, not looking at him.

“I won't fire you for changing your mind, Rookie.”

Lilac shakes her head. “It's not that. It's just that I'll need an injection of the magnetic contrast media…” Her eyes swivel to meet his pointedly, as though expecting him to catch her meaning from it.

Ethan is not following and that much must be evident in his face because she sighs.

“I can't have any metal on me,” she continues, face growing bright pink to the root of her dark hair. “So I'll have to remove my bra.”

Silence.

“I… Erm... That's…” Ethan's ears flare with heat, his throat feeling suddenly dry. “That's true. I'll leave the room.”

“No need,” she assures him, already peeling off her coat. Before Ethan can even react, she reaches behind her back and under her blouse.

He is momentarily frozen, eyes watching her expertly work the clasps, before hastily turning his back on her and busying himself with the gadolinium. The way his heart clamors wildly at his ears is guarantee enough of the sinful thoughts his mind will torture him with later, thoughts of Lilac undressing in many different ways for him.

Get it together, Ramsey.

“I'm ready,” she announces to his sheer relief.

That relief is short-lived, however, when his eyes catch a glimpse of the lacy, bright red garment on the floor, unsuccessfully concealed by her discarded lab coat. Every inch of his traitorous body reacts on sight, reducing him to just another weak-willed man, uninhibited by the mere sight of a bra.

Lilac, meanwhile, watches him from where she lays on the table, decent enough in her loose fitting blouse. That lopsided smirk of hers makes a reappearance and it only makes his thoughts sputter further.

“Stay still,” he manages to instruct, his voice quiet and gentle.

When his fingers palpate the veins in her arms, Ethan struggles to think of much else but the feel of her soft skin against his, incinerating his fingertips. He makes the mistake of meeting her eyes, finding that all traces of humor are long gone as she watches him, lips slightly parted. A white hot current of tension crackles between them, dangerous and capable of consuming him whole. With a surge of recklessness, he finds that he wants it to. The blazing look she fixes him with makes Ethan wonder if she wants it too.

Swallowing hard, Ethan forces himself to glance away.

After a brief pause, she teases, “You do know how to perform an intravenous injection, don't you?”

“Ha. Ha,” he returns sarcastically. Her own genuine laughter rings around the imaging lab.

Ethan injects her with ease and presses the button to slide the table inside the magnet enclosure, hiding that infuriatingly distracting smile from view. Soon after, he sits at the workstation, checking on Lilac through the glass and powering up the magnet.

“How's it looking up there, Doc?”

“Like a brain,” he says dryly.

“So...average?”

“Very average.”

“Ouch.”

Ethan allows a resigned grin, shaking his head and feeling a wide lightness spread in his chest. Silence ensues after their banter and he realizes she waits for his question.

A thrill shoots through his core at the ocean of possibilities before him. At last, he can catch a true glimpse of the mystery she has proven to be. Isn't that what he longs to know the most ? Isn't the enigma that is Lilac Allende the true allure for him? Isn't that the reason he can't stop thinking about her?

He can ask anything, and finally know the answer.

“Do you prefer cats or dogs?”

There is an anticlimactic pause and Ethan wants to slam his head against the console.

Really, Ethan? Cats or dogs?

Lilac is silent, so silent Ethan wonders if the speaker system is working.

“That's the type of question you have for me?”

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Just answer it, Rookie.”

The image shows activity in the temporal lobe at the use of the nickname.

“I like them both,” she answers before Ethan can interpret the previous reading. “Though dogs tend to love me almost instantly.”

An uninvited mental image of Jenner, paws on her chest, tail wagging at blurring speed upon meeting her, crosses his mind. Ethan dismisses it as an impossibility, unable to think of a scenario where both creatures would meet.

“We have a family dog back in LA named Lobo,” she continues.

“Wolf?”

“The third,” she adds cheerfully. “My parents name all of our dogs Lobo or Oso.”

The memory elicits notable activity in the hippocampus. Ethan is unable to see her face but he finds the reminiscent lull of her voice utterly endearing. Catching his own reaction with a flare of annoyance, he dismisses it, clears his throat, and moves on to the next question.

“What inspired you to become a doctor?”

The longest pause yet befalls them. Already there is activity in the right temporal cortex, peaking his own curiosity. Every second that she doesn't answer is agony.

Finally, she says, “Pass.”

“Excuse me?”

“I pass on this question. I plead the fifth.”

“Overruled.”

“You can't do that,” she protests, though he can hear the laughter in her voice.

“Just answer the question, Rookie.”

There is a loaded, tense silence that slowly tapers to a boiling point, then—

“You.”

Ethan blinks, speechless.

“Don't you remember?” she says, an edge of embarrassment dripping from her voice. “You signed Landry's book for me.”

“Who?” he blurts out. Not waiting for an answer, he asks, “Wait, so you didn't keep that book, Rookie? I am offended.”

“No, my copy is much more worn, annotated, and well-loved,” she explains with a chuckle.

A small whirlwind of emotions takes root in Ethan, who is still at a loss for words.

“In a literal sense, your research inspired me to go to med school,” she continues, interpreting his silence as encouragement to go on. “I read your book from cover to cover as an undergrad and was so inspired, for once in my life I knew where I had to go. I wanted to be here, at Edenbrook, working alongside the best.”

Ethan's throat is tight as he listens, the activity in the scan completely forgotten.

“The more sentimental reason I was inspired to be a doctor is, of course, my parents.” Lilac pauses and clears her throat as a pretense. “They– They came to this country in pursuit of a better life, leaving their family and everyone they loved behind. All to be in a brand new place, not knowing the language or the culture, often taking up backbreaking jobs for miserable pay...to be looked down by many as inferior. All that sacrifice, for us.” Her voice cracks at the last few words. It takes her a moment to recover. “That sacrifice drove me through my worst days in medical school. It's what drives me today.”

She says this with a renewed, fierce pride that evokes a surge of admiration from him. It tears through his chest unlike anything he has ever experienced before, but then again, she is unlike anything he had ever seen before. Wildly, he wishes they were sharing something so precious face to face. His hand flexes reflexively as his mind imagines sweeping a thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone.

“If not a doctor, what career would you have chosen?” He is surprised by the gentleness of his own voice, the sound foreign to his ears.

When she speaks, she sounds almost like her usual, cheeky self. “A beauty guru.”

“A what?”

“It's people online filming their makeup routines.”

Ethan has never heard of anything so pointless in his life. “Be serious.”

“I am! There might still be some videos online of my failed attempts,” she says, laughing. “But in terms of a realistic career, I would've probably chosen to be a homicide detective or a forensic pathologist.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, stunned for a moment at their shared interest in detective work. “Why?”

Lilac mulls over her answer in a characteristic silence. “Obviously, there is the allure of gathering evidence and solving a mystery.” A deliberate pause, then—“But I always thought that was a bit selfish.”

“Selfish?”

Ethan can't help the outburst. After all, connecting the pieces of an unknown puzzle is precisely why he once considered that career.

“Yes, some doctors want to deliver the perfect diagnosis in a self-congratulatory way. To help the patient, yes, but to walk away with the gratification of having conquered a mystery.”

His itch to argue is quelled by his curiosity and so he says nothing.

“I wanted to be a detective to solve the mystery as a way to fight for the voiceless.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper as she admits this. With a rush of satisfaction, Ethan realizes he is probably the first one hearing this reasoning. “There is something sick about being able to name notorious serial killers without a problem, but we can't do the same for their victims. They are the ones whose stories should be told, whose memories should be celebrated. They are the ones who deserve the accolades and the justice of finally solving that mystery.”

Ethan has no rebuttal for the first time in his life.

As his brain struggles to reconcile the young doctor's words with the inexplicable thundering of his pulse, Lilac laughs.

“No offense, Dr. Ramsey, but I was expecting a different line of questioning here.”

Ethan forces himself to recover. “How so?”

“If I were asking you questions, I'd be a lot noisier,” she says, unabashed.

Ethan allows a chuckle. “That's not surprising,” he comments. “What type of questions would you be asking?”

“I don't know…” She trails off pensively. “Maybe your type?”

Ethan's mouth goes slack. He recovers enough to say something, though he is not sure what. Luckily, he doesn't have to know because she continues, “I'd definitely ask about relationships, past and current.”

By this point, his heartbeat is an uproar in his hearing. The brash comments should be concerning coming from a subordinate but he feels like a fraud when he considers chastising her. Though he would never admit it out loud, the answers to those questions intrigue him to the point of restlessness.

“Fine,” he allows quietly. “Answer those.”

A surprised little laugh comes through the speakers. “Really?”

“Yes, let the record show this was your idea, Rookie,” he says in what he hopes is a casual tone. “What was the first one you mentioned? Ah, yes—What's your type?”

The image of her brain activity, which Ethan had forgotten to glance at until that moment, lights up at the amygdala. An emotional response.

He can sense the reluctance in her silence.

“Tall. Definitely taller than me,” she begins at long last, her voice dignified, as though she is forcing herself to push past any bashfulness. “Dark hair.”

The answer is exasperatingly vague. The descriptors easily fit the surgical intern he saw her kiss all those weeks ago and the muscular paramedic who glances at her with besotted eyes every chance he gets.

“Intelligent,” she continues.

The diagnostician in him almost discounts Lahela on the sole basis of being a surgical intern.

Lilac clears her throat so subtly, he almost attributes it to static in the speakers. “Someone with a dry sense of humor and sarcastic to a fault,” she says, a lot softer now. “Someone who can keep me on my toes.”

The scan displays activity in the frontal lobe, similar to what he saw when he called her “Rookie”. The small media room, despite having the air conditioner at full blast, feels suddenly sweltering.

“What did I say next for my questions?” she asks, saving his mind from traveling a dangerous path.

“Relationships.”

“Right,” she says with an exhale.

Ethan says nothing, afraid even the slightest sound will discourage her.

“Past relationships are… complicated and mercifully ancient history.” On his screen, he sees the most activity yet. A visible reaction in the right hippocampus, the amygdala, both sides of the prefrontal cortex, and the insular cortex— undeniable anger.

Lilac, however, does not elaborate any further. Instead, she hurries on, “Current relationships are also complicated, frustrating, and nonexistent.”

The words hang between them, like a pendulum. He is convinced they carry more meaning but Ethan's own brain feels abuzz with activity, too tumultuous to formulate follow up questions. When his eyes fall on the clock, he notes they have been at this for almost an hour.

“I think we're done here,” he says.

He leaves the media room, deliberately pausing outside the imaging lab to give Lilac enough time to put all of her clothes back on. By the time he enters the room, she is throwing on her coat, hands raking through her shiny hair.

“Everything working okay?”

“Like a charm,” he responds, mind still spinning.

An incessant stab of dread begins to pierce through him as they prepare to go back to work. His mind wanders to Naveen, weak and alone in his room, and icy twines of fear take root deep in Ethan’s stomach once again.

“Thank you… for the assistance.”

Lilac flashes him an easy smile. “Any time.”

Ethan manages an awkward nod turning to leave. Something powerful holds him back before he can take another step. As full fledged panic about facing Naveen's new symptoms grips him, he wants nothing more than to confide in her.

He stops and turns to face her.

Lilac tilts her head to one side, watching him curiously.

The magnitude of what he is about to do hits him like a train and his newfound courage vanishes at once. With a grimace, he waves the idea off and exits the room.

______

Author’s Note: A HUGE thank you to everyone who sent me questions Ethan could ask. I tried my best to include them here.

“Do you prefer cats or dogs?”-- @drethanramslay

“What inspired you to become a doctor?” -- Anon and @scorpiochick8

“If not a doctor, what career would you have chosen?” @scorpiochick8

The not so subtle questions about her love life-- @eramsey28

Answering the career question wit banter, then with a serious answer. -- @whippedforethanramsey

Ethan’s slightly jealous thoughts about Bryce and Raf-- @schnitzelbutterfingers

Sorry if I didn’t include all requests! This would have been 20 pages long if I hadn’t trimmed some of it lol.

I swapped some of the dialogue from the original. Also, I’m so sorry to @takeharryandgo for the horrible brain science here. Forgive me, Doc.

What Lilac said about her parents is exactly how I feel about mine. So I just had to include that here.

Finally, I intend to continue these from Ethan’s POV. However, for personal reasons, I will keep my next few projects under wraps.

______

@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #My writing

303 notes · View notes

mariamegale · 3 years

Note

Ok, ok, but listen. Subby Babe is a mood but I'm feral over the thought of subby Gene. Gene, who never allows himself to relax. Who fusses and worries and takes care of everyone else to the point of exhaustion. Then, when he and Babe are finally alone, Babe takes his time with Gene. Pouring his affection over him. Making sure Gene knows how appreciated and loved he is. And the aftercare? THE AFTERCARE? I need all your HC's when you have the time <3 [Room to rent gifs did this to me, ps]

oh anon, darling dearest, you have no idea about the can of worm you just opened. first of all: room to rent, im gonna cry, i absolutely love that. also shoutout to @rillalala and @anthrobrat and @dansssks for being my discord dm headcanon babes and helping fuel the monster that is: me having baberoe thoughts (also spina/julian bc i l o v e them)

BUT OKAY. subby gene. subby gene getting taken care of. allow me to raise you, subby gene being subby as pseudo-therapy.

I'm imagining a situation like... Gene has had a really fucking long week, an even longer day, regrets going into trauma medicine after nine hours of endless backbreaking emergencies to save people's lives and he didn't even have time to appreciate the cute note Babe left in his lunch box. and then clocked overtime, because he felt bad over the night shift nurses coming in to find the store room understocked.

gets home, is absolutely exhausted, wants to curl up into a tiny aching ball and sleep forever or possibly just die a little bit. preferably on top of babe, or not, because babe is in a good mood and Eugene had promised to make lasagna. it's friday night, and friday nights are pasta nights, and it's the one night of the week that Gene isn't allowed to tell Babe that he needs to have more vegetables. Also, he should call his parents, because it's been a while, and Ralph had that thing--

But, because Babe is Babe, he takes one look at Eugene on the sofa and knows his tired lump of a boyfriend is not being soft with himself right now, and thinks maybe he could do with someone being soft at him for him instead.

Sits down next to him, and when he puts his arm around Eugene's shoulders, Gene leans in. Babe kisses the crown of his head, his temple, asks "long day, Genie?"

(THIS GOT LONG AS DICKS SO A READ-MORE IT IS)

Eugene hums a tired, "yeah," in response, closing his eyes and leaning his head on Babe's shoulder. "I'll start dinner in a moment, I just wanted to sit down for a sec."

"You could do that," Babe agrees, running his hand up and down Gene's arm slowly. "Or you could stay here with me. I missed you, baby, missed you a whole lot this week."

"We gotta have dinner." It's a weak argument, in part because Eugene is entirely sagging into Babe's side at this point, and Babe just keeps going with his plan to kiss Gene's head a whole lot.

"We can order something," he argues. The hand that's been stroking Eugene's side moves up, two knuckles tracing over the skin of Gene's neck instead. "And I can take care of you, if you want me to." There's a beat of silence, neither a yes or a no coming from Eugene, so Babe runs his fingers through his black hair, leans his forehead against the crown of Gene's head. "Are you tired, sweetie?"

Eugene nods a little bit, and Babe's heart aches in a very familiar way. "Yeah?" He continues, scraping gently at Eugene's scalp. "Want me to take you down a bit? Yeah? Tell you what to do?"

Another nod. Babe is trying really hard not to smile, because Gene is fucking exhausted, but he's also starting to show that very specific brand of vulnerability that makes Babe's heart palpitate a little bit.

"Okay," he says, moving his free hand to Eugene's legs, tugging on his knees a little bit. "C'mere, pull your legs up, over my lap. I'm not joking when I said I missed you, Gene, I know you're doing good things but these long weeks kill me a little bit."

"Sorry," Eugene mutters while scooting over to put his legs across Babe's lap, arms going around Babe's neck. Babe shushes him.

"None of that. You're wonderful, baby, I just miss when you're not with me. But whenever you aren't, I get to know it's because you're off being wonderful somewhere else, with someone else, and that makes me happy. Got it?"

Eugene nods, and Babe hugs him very close. With a smile, he closes his eyes to just take a moment to let himself feel this, Eugene's weight on his lap, the warmth of his body against Babe's, the slight tickle where his breath ghosts over his neck.

"Good boy," he says happily. Eugene squirms a little. "But now, you're with me, and I'm gonna make you feel very good and then come on your face, because I love you and think you look great like that."

It makes Eugene laugh, which was the point, but also draws out a happy sigh from him as he leans in a little more, fully relaxing against Babe's body, letting him call the shots from here.

It feels like consent, it feels like excitement. It feels a lot like being loved, and Babe loves that.

---------------

WELL THAT GOT VERY LONG ANYWAY HERE IS THE REST IN BULLET FORM:

Eugene has a real hard time asking for things, so a lot of these scenes are centred around babe either aggressively caring for him or aggressively making him ask for things he need

imagine all the times babe has absolutely destroyed his ass with paddles or other instruments of pain in order to get to the point where eugene just cannot say "green" when babe asks anymore, and then proceeds to get VERY heavily rewarded for being a brave boy who told his boyfriend when he couldn't take anymore

furthermore, imagine all the times when eugene has asked for babe to do things to him so that the faint aches from the bruises can help him feel grounded when he does intense or taxing tasks the next day

imagine the third, eugene being forced to echo back the nice things babe say to him until he eventually start believing them to be true

a f t e r c a r e

there are SO many snuggles in the bath! far too many, their friends think! their friends can jolly well fuck off!

babe wiping or kissing the tears from eugene's eyelashes

babe telling eugene how well he did and how proud babe is of him, only for gene to cry more

babe cooing at his still-crying boyfriend as he bundles him up into a little pile

(babe just really likes it when eugene cries, alright)

eugene's incredibly soft aftercare pyjamas that he only wears for aftercare. they have happy little fried eggs and sheep on them. also a lot of novelty t-shirts because he's tired enough and happy enough to allow himself to find them endlessly hilarious

babe giving him all the kisses and towel-drying his hair after their bath-or-shower, making sure he's FLUFFY and WARM and SOFT before they go to bed (if it's late and/or eugene is particularly Tired) or the sofa (if they have a day to spend after this) to cuddle a lot

babe has a kink and it's called "making my tired anxious boyfriend forget that there's a world outside my dick and his ducky pj's"

thank you for your time

#anon i love you so much #this was a ride #i went from rambling to drabbling to just listing headcanons #anyway #headcanons #baberoe #i will talk about these two any time #fight me #or no pls dont #just send me asks #band of brothers #babe heffron #eugene roe #doc roe #my writing #i guess #sub gene #kink stuff

17 notes · View notes

debbiechanclub · 3 years

Text

Brutalizer - Orange Cassidy x Reader

Prompt No. 98: Massages but the sort that are actually practical and helpful. Like babe, you’re so uncomfortable let me help because you’re clearly in pain.

Words: 1,660

So I went looking for Orange Cassidy matches to make this prompt about and when I was reminded that his first AEW singles match was against Pac at Revolution I was like, “Yup, that’s what’s happening.” And then this became way longer than I intended 🤣 Anywho, I’m moots with SO many Orange simps, so I hope y’all enjoy 😁 (And I enjoyed writing about Pac being a dominating bastard ANYWAY-)

Find more of my fics here.

Tag squad: @hotyeehawman @freshlysqueezedmox @gabbynorth98 @librathepheonix13 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @exe-sadboi-exe @comeasyoudar @champbucks

Words could not express how unbelievably proud you were of Orange. Tonight was his first singles match in AEW. Against Pac. On pay-per-view. His years of hard work had finally paid off, and you were so happy for him that Tony and the EVPs had recognized his potential enough to give him a match of this caliber.

But you were also extremely nervous. Again, he was wrestling Pac on pay-per-view - you knew it would be a brutal match. And, at the moment, you could barely even watch what was happening in the ring.

Orange had held his own for the first few minutes. People didn’t realize just how good a wrestler he actually was because he so rarely showed off his luchador skills. But then a vicious tilt-a-whirl backbreaker from Pac had stopped his momentum dead. The bastard had been in complete control ever since.

You winced as Pac delivered a a superplex from the top rope into the middle of the ring. He pinned Orange, not even bothering to hook his leg. The ref started to count - but before he could get to three, Pac deliberately pushed Orange back up into a seated position.

Your mouth dropped, watching as Pac taunted the jeering crowd. He was just toying with Orange now, like a cat playing with a caught mouse. He was having too much fun to end it just yet.

He rolled Orange onto his stomach and dragged him to a corner. It was obvious what he was setting up for: the Dark Arrow. He climbed the turnbuckle, crouching on the top rope like some sort of murderous gargoyle; but then the crowd started to cheer. Orange had come back alive and rolled underneath the ropes out onto the floor below.

“That’s it, stay alive,” you said. If Orange couldn’t beat his opponent in strength, he could almost always beat them in quickness and wit. But Pac was no idiot; didn’t give him any chance to rest. He jumped to the floor, stalked around the ring, picked Orange up, and threw him back underneath the ropes. Then he ascended the nearest turnbuckle, setting up for Dark Arrow again -

But Orange kept on rolling across the canvas, until he went right back out underneath the opposite ropes again. The crowd cheered. A smile pulled at your lips. Classic Orange Cassidy.

Pac, on the other hand, was not amused. He went after him again and tossed him back inside the ring. And again, Orange kept rolling. But Pac wasn’t going to let him get away with it a third time. He stalked around to the other side of the ring and met him before he could roll back out again. Orange gave him a nervous smile, caught - and then he started rolling back in the opposite direction.

“Jim,” you let out a frustrated huff and hung your head in your hands. You adored Orange’s comedy act; it was one of your favorite things about him. But Pac wasn’t the opponent to jerk around. They didn’t call him the “Bastard” for nothing.

But then the crowd suddenly let out a roar. You looked up just as Orange launched himself through the ropes and sent Pac crashing into the guard railing.

“Yes!” you proclaimed. A flurry of action happened next. Orange tossed Pac back into the ring and climbed atop a turnbuckle before you could blink. He jumped off and hit Pac with a diving crossbody, got to his feet, rebounded off the ropes, and delivered a beautiful tilt-a-whirl DDT. He went for his first pin of the match - but Pac kicked out at two.

The crowd heaved a collective sigh of disappointment. Best Friends were at ringside, and Trent started banging on the apron, hyping them up. They clapped in time as Orange staggered to his feet. But so did Pac. He hit Orange with a hard lariat and they both collapsed back onto the mat.

The ref started counting. Pac was first to get his legs back underneath him. He grabbed Orange by the back of the head and picked him up; but Orange pushed him away. He chopped Pac across the chest. But not with a regular chop - with an Orange Cassidy chop. It didn’t do shit.

“Stop playing around!” you shouted at the TV in frustration. Pac was done with the games, too. He nailed Orange with a hard forearm to the face. Orange fell to a knee. But then he got back up - and he stuck his hands into his pockets.

“Oh god,” you breathed. Pac grimaced, what little patience he had complete gone by now. He ran at the opposite ropes and rebounded, going for another forearm - but Orange ducked, jumped into the air, and punched him hard across the jaw.

“Yes!” you shouted again. Orange bounced around the ring like a pinball, hitting one variation of DDT after another, even reversing Pac from the top rope after he’d managed to stifle his momentum again. He climbed back to the top rope and jumped off, driving Pac’s head into the mat with a vicious diving DDT. He reached out, trying to pin him - but Pac rolled away. He crawled underneath the ropes out onto the entrance ramp. Your eyes widened. He was trying to get away.

But not if Trent had anything to say about it. He grabbed Pac by his trunks and threw him back into the ring. Orange picked him up and hit a Beach Break. He covered him. He kicked out at two.

“Dammit!” You didn’t know how much more of this you’d be able to take. And just as you thought that, the Lucha Bros decided to join the party.

Rey Fenix ran down the ramp, rebounded off the ropes, and kicked Trent in the jaw, spinning him around right into a second superkick from Pentagon Jr. Trent collapsed onto the ramp. But as the Lucha Bros stood triumphant, Chuck launched himself over the ropes and took them both out.

Back in the ring, Orange had used the ropes to pull himself to his feet. But he was paying more attention to what was happening outside the ring than he was his opponent. Your eyes widened as Pac staggered to his feet behind him. Waiting.

“No, no, no,” you nervously said. “Turn around!”

Orange did turn around - but it was too late. Pac flicked him down onto the mat with an arm drag and locked on the Brutalizer. Orange quit near-instantly.

“Fuuuuuck,” you breathed out. Pac wouldn’t let go even after the bell had rung and he’d been announced as the winner. You stood up and left the room, unable to stomach another second. All you cared about now was making sure Orange was okay.

********************

It was obvious that Orange was in real physical pain by the time you got back to the hotel. The adrenaline of the match had completely worn off and the fatigue and soreness had started to set in. But, Orange being Orange, he didn’t want to admit just how much he was hurting.

He sat down on the bed and you hurried over, fluffing up the pillows behind him as he leaned back. “Can I get you anything?” you asked.

“No,” he returned. “I told you I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips. “I can tell you’re not by how stiff you are.”

“Yeah, well Pac really locked on that Brutalizer.” He reached across to his right shoulder to massage it, but his left one was just as sore. He winced, only able to move his arm so far. You’d seen enough.

“Okay, scoot up.”

You motioned for him to make room on the bed. He gave you a confused look. “What?”

“You can’t massage yourself with two stiff shoulders. Scoot up.”

He scowled up at you, stubborn. But he relented and scooted forward so that you could climb on the bed behind him. You balanced on your knees on the mattress and lifted the hem of his shirt, doing your best to work it over his head as gingerly possible. He winced again as he tried to lift his arms. You abruptly stopped.

“Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Just take it off.”

You could hear the pain in his voice. You pulled the shirt off as quickly as you could. He let out a breath as he relaxed his arms once more. You frowned. You hated when he was hurting after a match, and you hadn’t seen it this bad in a while.

You maneuvered so that you sat behind him, your legs stretched out on his either side. You decided it would be best to focus on one shoulder at a time. “Which side hurts worse?”

“Right.”

You reached up and gripped his right shoulder. You could feel just how tense the muscle was underneath his skin as you applied gentle pressure with your fingers, moving them in concentrated circles to work out the knots. Orange winced again, but out of relief.

“I’m really proud of you, you know,” you said.

“I got distracted,” he dismissed.

“Maybe. But you impressed everyone with all those moves you pulled out. Pac included.”

He didn’t say anything in return. Jim had never really been good at taking compliments, especially from you. You’d come to take his silence as acceptance.

Satisfied that you’d addressed his right shoulder as best you could, you moved to his left. It wasn’t as stiff as the right, and it didn’t take as much pressure to work it out. Once it was good, you moved your right hand back to his right shoulder and massaged both at once. He rolled his neck and let out a sigh.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” You leaned forward to wrap your arms around him. “Anything for my favorite wrestler,” you said with a kiss on his cheek.

“Shut up,” he groused; but you just smiled. He was feeling better already.

#orange cassidy #orange cassidy fanfiction #orange cassidy imagine #orange cassidy one shot #orange cassidy x reader #aew fanfiction #aew imagine

123 notes · View notes

alarawriting · 3 years

Text

52 Project #33: Amaldis

Yikes, I completely forgot to post this! Hard day at work. -------------------------------------------

The prince was young and handsome, as they all were, with the sort of arrogant good looks that wealth and power almost always brought. It was a tragedy that so many of these young men had to die, the old woman thought. Such a waste. She stepped out into the road, into the pathway of his horse.

The horse reared up as the prince pulled on the reins. "Out of my way, old woman!" he shouted.

"Are you going to the capital?" the woman asked. She was over 40, but well-fed, clean and well-dressed. His eyes flickered over her, as if trying to decide her station.

"Yes. What business is it of yours?"

"Have you come to join? To swear allegiance to the sorceress Amaldis?"

"No." The prince's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as fury darkened his features. "I've come to kill the witch."

"Are you a fool, young man?" The woman's eyes blazed, and she stepped up to his horse, glaring up at him. "Threescore young men, brave and noble, have come to Cythia to kill the sorceress, and all of them have died. Are you so arrogant and foolish as to believe you'll succeed where so many have failed?"

"I don't fear the witch's sorcery," the prince said firmly. "I have a good sword and a trusty mount. That's all I need."

"Oh, you are a fool. A younger son? Expendable? You need to do something impossible, to make a name for yourself?"

"She stole lands that belong to my father!" he shouted, his face purpling. "My family's honor is at stake!"

"And so you'll die for your family's honor."

"If I die, at least I'll die in glory."

"Glory?" There was cold fury in the woman's voice. "Let me tell you what glory is, boy. Glory is a corpse rotting in a field, the crows plucking its eyes. Glory is your lover weeping, knowing her man will never come home. Glory is children bereft of fathers, crops burning, women raped, people enslaved. I spit on your glory." And she did, spitting on his boots.

The prince drew his sword, provoked beyond endurance, and swung it to behead the woman. But she wasn't there. Startled, he looked about himself, trying to find her.

The ground rumbled. The trees lining the road shed leaves in a storm of colors, and the earth began to shake. The prince's horse reared up in terror, and tried to run, paying no heed when the prince pulled at the reins. Then a chasm opened at the horse's feet, and horse and prince tumbled in together, screaming.

The chasm closed, and all was normal again. Except for hoofprints that led to the midst of a meadow and vanished, it was as if the horse and rider had never been.

***

The scene vanished from the focusing crystal as the woman leaned back. Her apprentice, Joraine, asked, "Did you have to kill him?"

Amaldis turned. She was a stout woman of peasant stock, appearing to be a well-cared-for dowager of over 40 or so, with wavy black hair and blazing black eyes. The fire in those eyes died slightly, to be replaced by sorrow, as she spoke.

"Sometimes it can be avoided," she told Joraine, a large-boned woman in her late twenties or early thirties. "But not this time. You heard him. I tried to get him to turn back, but no. He was bound and determined to die gloriously."

"It seems so cruel," Joraine said. "All these brave young men, in the prime of their lives..."

"Yes. It is cruel, and a waste. But it's them or us. If they had their way, they would make you a serf; condemn you to backbreaking labor all your life, with only the bare necessities of life in return. Some would demand the right to rape you on your wedding night, or whenever you took their fancy; others would allow their priests to torture you for refusing to spout their doctrines; still others would conscript your sons to die in their wars." Amaldis shook her head. "Sooner or later, a group of these young heroes will come together and raise a truly massive army, perhaps a thousand men or more. That will be tragic. Because my powers won't be enough to hold them off entirely; and our people will have to fight and die."

"Why do they keep coming if you keep killing them?"

"You heard the one just now. Honor and glory are worth more than their lives, and they think we stole their land."

"We did steal their land."

"Who gave them the right to own it?" Amaldis looked hard at Joraine, and some of the fire came back to her eyes. "We asked people if they wanted to be ruled by lords, or if they wanted to rule themselves. They wanted to rule themselves, so we extended the borders of Cythia to their areas and let them. As far as I'm concerned, the land belongs to the people who work it, not the nobles who get fat off it."

"Yes, but I'm saying, from their point of view we stole it."

"Yes. And so they'll never leave us alone." She sighed. "That's why I want you a master sorceress as soon as possible, Joraine. Our defenses are strong, but they all rest on me, and I'm only one woman. The most powerful sorceress in the world will still die if someone gets close enough to put a crossbow bolt through her throat."

"We have a militia, Amaldis. They'd die to defend you, and so would I. Anybody in Cythia would-- all of us love you."

"But everyone else in the world is trying to kill me."

"Don't talk like that!" Joraine got up, distressed, and looked down at Amaldis. "Remember the First Rule? 'When a magician and a swordsman fight, the magician will always win, provided she is smarter.' You're certainly smarter."

"Amend that rule. 'Provided she is smarter and makes no mistakes.' I'm 200 years old, Joraine, and I'm tired of being paranoid. I'm tired of constantly scanning to see if anyone is after me. But I can never stop, because if I die, Cythia dies with me. Unless you can protect it."

"I'm only 35," Joraine said quietly. "You've got 8 score more years of power built up in you. Even when I turn master in a few years, I won't have nearly the power you do." She walked around to Amaldis and put her arms around her mentor's shoulders. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes..." Amaldis stared into space. "I've had a premonition."

"Of what?"

"I don't know. Something terrible. I don't know..."

Abruptly, awkwardly, Joraine hugged Amaldis. "I won't let it," she whispered fiercely. "Nothing's going to happen to you, so long as I have breath in my body to prevent it. You're the only mother I ever had, Amaldis, and I won't let you die."

***

Mor rode through the fields and woods of Cythia, heading steadily for the capital.

He was a big, brawny, barbarian type, proficient in any weapon but best with his broadsword, which was unbelievably large. He came from a country many, many miles away, where he had successfully killed over a dozen magic-wielders. He had also been offered the position of heir to the kingdom of Lowellan, if he could kill the sorceress Amaldis. And he had no doubts about his ability to do so.

All this Amaldis could gather just from watching him through the focusing crystal. It had been three days since the last prince had come, and she'd dispatched him; three days since she'd told Joraine about her premonition. A chill went down her spine, watching Mor ride. Something about his aura frightened her terribly. A dangerous man, moreso than any of the others. She was tempted to kill him now, without even trying to persuade him to turn back. But she had vowed she would always give them a chance.

So she focused herself, and appeared as an astral image, as solid as flesh but less real, standing in front of his horse's path. The horse didn't even slow down. It kept trotting on as if it would run her down, and Mor made no attempt to stop it.

Hastily she stepped back from its path. If it went through her, it would do her no harm-- but it would reveal her as an illusion. "Will you stop, Mor, and listen to what I have to say?" she said.

"There is nothing I need to hear from old women," he said.

Well. That settled it, then. She had given him a chance, and he had spit in her face.

Amaldis came back to herself, letting her astral image vanish. She looked deep into the crystal, focused, and spoke a Word. It resonated in the air around her. The resonation through the crystal was even greater. There, the Word whipped the trees and caused the ground to shake.

Mor's mount stood firm, holding in one place as Mor stroked its head. When the chasm started to open, the horse bolted as fast as it could go in the opposite direction, which happened to be the direction of the city. The chasm stopped widening before it could catch up to the fleeing beast, the power of the Word spent, and Mor and his animal made all possible speed for the city.

Amaldis threw another chasm in their way. They leapt it, outran its expansion, and kept going. She summoned demonic familiars and hobgoblins to waylay them. Mor slew them all. She cast illusions, which Mor paid little to no attention to; she summoned elementals, which Mor defeated; and she threw murderous obstacles in his path, which he destroyed, overcame, or bypassed. Amaldis had never seen anything like it. The man was at the outskirts of the city already, and still moving. Nothing magical had done more than slow him, and she was exhausted from rapid spellcasting.

Grieving in her heart, she called for a messenger, and told him to tell the militia about the threat. Good men and women would die at Mor's hands, she knew, and if it were merely her own life at stake, she would gladly die in their place. But she was founder, governor and defender of Cythia. Without her, morale would be destroyed, the government would become unstable, and Cythia would be wide open and vulnerable to whatever conqueror wanted to take it.

In her crystal, she watched as the militia went forth. Then she began preparing for the possibility that Mor would reach her. She set up some powerful and terrible binding spells, summoned a few invincible creatures from the lower planes, and set them to guard her door. Then she sent a messenger to Joraine.

"Tell her I want her to go to the belltower and prepare a Spell of Unbinding of Truths," she told the messenger. "When it's complete, I'll examine it." This particular spell took several hours to complete, and required its caster's full attention. Joraine had been telling the truth, 3 days ago-- she would even sacrifice her own life to preserve Amaldis'. Which would leave Cythia without a sorceress, if both of them were killed. Joraine had to be tricked into leaving the battlefield before the fight began.

That done, Amaldis turned to watch the battle in her crystal.

The militia were getting decimated. Amaldis sucked in her breath. How was this possible? Few of them were very good swordsmen, and Mor was the best of the best, yes. But still. It was impossible that one man could be doing such damage, and taking so little in return. One man, and not a magic-user at that. It wasn't even an enchanted blade he held-- Mor's contempt for magic was legendary. Without assistance from magic, it was just not conceivable that one man, no matter how skilled, could cut his way through an army, no matter how green. And yet Mor was doing it.

He had to be getting some sort of secret assistance. Amaldis focused in, looking for an invisible familiar, an enchanted item, something. There was nothing so obvious. If he had magical assistance, it was subtle and ran very deep. Sick at heart, Amaldis forced herself to watch the slaughter of her people. Here is your noble glory, all you young heroes. Here is what you wanted!

When she felt strong enough, she struck again, after sending a messenger ordering the decimated remains of the militia to retreat. It looked as if Mor would pursue them, and continue the combat until they were all dead, but he changed his mind when she called a thunderstorm down on him, as if remembering that she was his real opponent.

She rained lightning at him, but somehow, impossibly, he always managed to avoid them, fortuitiously moving at the same split-second she initiated the bolt. As he headed deeper and deeper into the city, people fled, knowing from the stormcloud that their governor was trying to stop the man, and failing. Amaldis sent all sorts of creatures at him. He killed them all, and kept coming. Even when one of her creatures managed to kill his horse, he leapt off the beast and kept coming.

If he were not in her city, she could swallow him with a chasm now, or put a ring of fire around him-- without his horse, he was more vulnerable. But this was her place, and she couldn't cause such damage to it. She notified the palace guard that he was coming, hoping desperately that he would be tired from the constant fighting, and easier to take down. She had given the guard strict instructions that if casualties were too heavy, they were to flee. But she didn't truly believe they would obey.

The palace guard met and fought Mor. He was still impossibly skilled-- his battles seemed to have barely blunted his edge. Again, Amaldis scanned him for magic, and this time she did catch a faint whiff. Quickly she focused her probe, sweeping him up and down, but at this range it still eluded her. When he got closer, perhaps she would be able to find it, and negate it; but of course, when he got closer she would have other things to worry about.

She began to scream into the crystal, ordering the guard to retreat, as Mor destroyed them. She appeared to them astrally, pleading with them to run and save themselves, but they ignored her. Mor was only a swordsman-- they should be able to take him down. The fact that they obviously couldn't meant nothing, when it was honor at stake. Tears burned in her eyes. How many more good people would die for honor's damnable sake?

Now nearly all her guard were dead. Amaldis steeled herself. He was coming this way. One way or another, even if he kills me, he won't live to enjoy his victory.

Then the door slammed open, and slammed shut behind as Mor strode into Amaldis's chamber.

"Time for you to die, witch," he said, advancing on her.

Amaldis released the demon guard. Invincible and tireless, the two launched themselves at him, battering him. The air rang with the clash of his sword on their metallic armor. While he was occupied with that, Amaldis searched him magically-- and finally found what she was looking for. There was a magical luck charm on him, cast before his birth, woven throughout his entire being. He had never failed at anything. And there was no way to remove the charm, not without negating her own power.

At this point, Mor defeated the invincible demons by thrusting his sword's point into their mouths. That shouldn't have killed them. But by now, Amaldis knew that the universe was on Mor's side. If an improbable occurrence was necessary for his survival, it would happen. If an impossible occurrence, even, was necessary, it would happen.

How could she defeat someone like that?

She spoke a Word, to activate a binding spell. He hated magic so much-- if she could make him see that he was using magic, perhaps he could renounce the spell, or perhaps he would leave her alone. It was not very likely, but the only other alternative was to negate all magic, and that would destroy her power, too. The spell caught Mor tight, holding him motionless. He struggled against the spell, as Amaldis spoke coldly. "You have such contempt for magic. But you yourself are a magic-user, Mor of Savann."

"You lie, witch," he grated out.

"No lie. How do you think it's possible that one lone man can kill over 50? That you miraculously survived everything I attacked you with? It's impossible. No one else has gotten even as far as the city, much less the palace, except for you--"

She sensed the bonds shattering before it happened. Somehow, he had broken her binding spell by flexing his muscles. That's not possible! Amaldis thought, and then remembered that Mor's luck charm could do the impossible. She leapt out of the way as he grasped his sword and swung it at her.

Amaldis cried a Word of power, and a bolt of light flashed out from her fingertips-- but he dodged. The laws of reality seemed to be breaking down to accomodate him. She threw up a magical shield, and his broadsword cut it in half. That wasn't possible, either.

Amend the rule, she thought, gasping, as she dodged another broadsword swing at her head. The magician will always win, provided the sword-wielding barbarian doesn't have magic of his own. It was getting harder to dodge, and there were fewer places to dodge to. Amaldis truly understood then that no magic could stop him. Even a sudden death spell would unravel against the luck charm placed on him. There was only one thing that could possibly work, and the notion filled her with horror.

There was a secret spell, jealously guarded by the few magicians who knew it. It was a last-resort weapon in magical combat, intended to take one's enemy down with one. The secret spell consisted of a single spoken Word, which could negate all magic within a certain radius. Mor was certainly within that radius. Unfortunately, by definition, so was the caster-- which was why it was a weapon of last resort. Amaldis had built up a great deal of power in 200 years. If she negated Mor's advantage, she lost all of that power, which might end up dooming Cythia as surely as if she died. And without her magic, she would be no match for him in combat anyway.

The sword smashed her crystal, scattering pieces everywhere, as she ducked behind it. Then there was a wall at her back, and nowhere to dodge to. Terror gripped her-- this was it. Only one chance-- and even that was more likely to see her avenged than saved. But it would be enough to be avenged, if that was all she could have.

She said the Word.

The magic drained out of the air. Amaldis sagged against the wall, feeling suddenly a thousand years old. For the first time, she could hear the pounding on the door, and realized it had been going on for some time.

Mor hesitated. He had sensed the change, apparently, though doubtless he couldn't understand what it signified. In that moment of hesitation, Amaldis flung herself to the side, and so when the broadsword came down it pierced through her shoulder, slicing away her arm, not her head. Amaldis screamed.

The door slammed open behind Mor, and there was a flash of light. Mor dropped, an expression of disbelief on his face. With rapidly glazing eyes, Amaldis saw through the pain that Joraine was running toward her. Then it became too dark to see anymore.

***

Amaldis wakened to the sound of Joraine weeping. "It can't be too late," Joraine was saying. "Come on, heal, Amaldis, heal! Please!"

Amaldis swallowed, and croaked in a hoarse voice, "I seem not to be dead. How surprising."

"You're back!" Joraine wiped her eyes and looked at Amaldis. "I brought you back! Oh thank you, Goddess, thank you, thank you..." She hugged Amaldis and began to weep again, this time for joy.

But as memory filtered back, Amaldis could see little cause to be joyful. She was alive, yes, and Mor was dead... but the cost had been her power. The only defense Cythia had had to keep it from a bloody war, and being overrun and conquered, had been her power. And now it was gone.

Tears welled in her eyes. After all her hard work, all the energy and enthusiasm her people had expended to make her dream a reality, one man with a magic charm could bring it all crashing down. What was the point to living, if her dream was dead? In a voice like ash, she said, "Joraine, my powers..."

Joraine lifted her head and looked down at her. "I know. I know."

"Cythia is finished." There was no strength, no life in her voice, just ruins and despair.

"No-- there's a way. There has to be a way."

"That's wishful thinking. " Amaldis changed the subject. "How did you find me? I told you to prepare a Spell of Unbinding..."

"The guard-- what was left of it-- broke in and told me you were fighting with that creature." Joraine's voice had an edge of fury to it. "I couldn't get the door open, at first--"

"His luck charm. It must have kept the door locked."

"When I got it open and saw he'd cut off your arm-- I almost went berserk. But it's all right now. I healed you. Your arm's fine."

"My arm's irrelevant, Joraine. My magic is gone. Without that..."

"No! We can buy time. We can keep going on a bluff for a while. I won't let your dream die like this!"

"Buy time for what?" Amaldis wanted to be swept away by Joraine's youthful determination, but 200 years of experience had told her that when something was doomed, it was doomed. There was nothing they could do. "It'll be another hundred years before you're powerful enough to defend Cythia by yourself..."

"Then we can't rely so much on magic. We need to find other solutions." Joraine got up off the bed. "We can buy time, like I said. And in that time, we can recruit more people. We can train all our citizens to fight and defend the country if they have to. We can try to recruit another magician. If we could get two or three magicians my age, we could all band together. Besides. Once people hear you killed Mor, they won't be eager to try you for some time. No one needs to know you're injured-- and as long as they send in their heroes one at a time, we can pick them off ourselves, the militia and I. We can send emissaries to other countries, and see if they have superior weapons or magical techniques we can use. There are all sorts of things we can try, Amaldis. You can't give up!"

"I'm old," Amaldis said softly. "I had a dream once, a revolutionary new idea, when I was young. But I'm no revolutionary anymore."

"You can't give up--"

"No. I'm not giving up. I'm passing the torch to you." Amaldis forced herself to a sitting position. The change made her dizzy and she swayed. Joraine quickly moved to prop pillows behind her. "You're right, of course. I'll continue to govern Cythia and to teach you magic-- I still know the techniques, I simply haven't got the power for them anymore. But you'll be in charge of devising our defense, Joraine. You're young and creative enough to see new ways of doing things. I can't anymore."

"I don't think you're as old and decrepit as you think you are, Amaldis," Joraine said. "Is this because you lost your magic?"

"Yesterday, for all my years, I was a young woman. Today I feel older than time itself. It has to be you, Joraine. I-- lost something vital when I lost my power, I think. Cythia's future is going to rest on you."

"You should rest," Joraine said, moving the pillows back so Amaldis could lay down. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you're recovered."

"I doubt it," Amaldis said softly, but allowed Joraine to put her to bed. The last thing she saw, through slitted eyes near the edge of sleep, was Joraine sitting by her bed. Her face seemed to Amaldis to look like her own had, when she was only thirty and had grandiose dreams for saving the world. Yes. The torch was in capable hands.

Amaldis slept.

#52 project #magic #wizards vs barbarians #democracy and self-rule vs landed interests and their mercs

42 notes · View notes

mitchbeck · 6 months

Link

#AHL #AmericanHockeyLeague #HartfordWolfPack #NationalHockeyLeague #NHL #SpringfieldThunderbirds #XLCenter

0 notes

squidproquoclarice · 3 years

Text

So I had a request from someone: “I would love to hear what you think a typical day in the circus would be for Sadie and Arthur. Between caring for two small children, training and performing I wondering how they would manage to find a balance to it all.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I didn’t get to delve as deeply into researching circus life (alas) as I’d have liked, and seems like most of the historical circus “slice of life” out there is more concerning the 30s-50s. But overall, they did stay pretty busy. Many circuses would take the winter off and typically go somewhere warm (Florida was quite popular, so guess the circus people were some of the original snowbirds), and winter was a good period to rest up, recoup, and possibly have more dedicated time to train a new act, or aspects and tricks to an existing one. Stellar and Spangler doesn’t have that luxury, since I write them being year-round performers balancing some pretty precarious financials thanks to a theft by Ned Spangler, one of the original partners, that left them on the edge of collapse. They would go to Central and South America once fall hit in the US. But by early 1907, Tom Stellar having TB and being unable to travel and go on is pretty much the end of the circus, sending the artists elsewhere to join another circus (or in Arthur and Sadie’s case, setting them at liberty in Lemoyne to pick up the 1907 plot threads). Training in a traveling circus like that would have been done in what time they had. That could be numerous opportunities: days off from performing entirely if weather meant the crowd that would show up wouldn’t be worth the performance and so the tent would be empty all day for performers to train, taking a little extra time at a site before breaking the whole operation down and moving on, the day or so while the big top and other infrastructure was being put up to establish the show at a new location, or perhaps mornings on single-show days (for example, a Sunday matinee would have been a bad bet in many places due to the prevalence of church attendance at the time, not to mention it would have been culturally frowned upon.) It wouldn’t be as easy as having three or four months each year off of travel and performing, but the performers would have found time to keep sharp and to refine their acts. In terms of performances, there would be some days with two performances (Saturdays particularly), and some with only one performance in the later afternoon/evening. It would all depend on the location and the ringmaster’s read of the place whether to put that second show on, and when it was time to pull up stakes and head to another place. And of course, there would be days without performing at all while breaking down, moving, possibly being the ones to go to the next town early to hang posters and promote the show, setting up, or for bad weather. Raising two small kids wasn’t easy either. In 1907, Bea’s five and Mattie’s four, so neither of them is quite school aged yet, which would have made it tougher in years to come. Arthur and Sadie are of course doing their best, and compared to the dawn-to-dusk effort of a hardscrabble farm like Sadie grew up on, or being migrant workers or coal miners or the like, the Griffith kiddos probably actually get a decent amount of dedicated time from their parents. They’re working hard, yes, and as they’re not all that young--Sadie’s turning 39 and Arthur 44--they have to be aware of their limits. There’s not a huge amount of regular scheduled leisure time, but it’s not endless days of backbreaking labor like many working class people endured. Plus the circus had sort of a “it takes a village to raise a child” philosophy going on, and so the Stellar and Spangler circus kiddos had a plethora of honorary aunts and uncles to look after them when their parents needed time away from childcare to focus on training or performing or the like. There would have been a certain quid pro quo element there as Arthur and Sadie would step up and look after other peoples’ kids other points. It was probably usual to find the children under 10 all in a sort of daycare group being watched by whoever was free to take it on, and that responsibility might change hands several times in a day. Older kids were more able to look after themselves, or even start learning a few tricks of the trade if they were planning to continue the circus tradition themselves. During performances, the ones old enough to behave would get to watch sometimes, but other times they’d likely be looked after by a non-performer and be doing schoolwork or the like. This also does mean that Bea and Mattie accept getting numerous new aunts and uncles in 1907 (Abigail, John, etc.) as a matter of course, being as they’re very used to the idea of a large family of choice and “Oh, they’re your Aunt/Uncle (Name)” already. So it’s hard to answer what a “typical” day in the circus would be, as it could vary so much depending on what they were doing and where they were. Assuming we’re talking a day where they’re already established at a location and actively performing and choosing to do a two-performance day, they’d probably get up early, get the kids ready and off after breakfast to whoever was doing the minding at that moment, do some training time in the big top when it was available and taking turns with the rest of them, likely looking after the kid group themselves for a while, and then in the early afternoon put on a matinee performance, have a break to probably spend with the kids and tend to any urgent act issues (mending gear or costumes, checking any problems with the animals, addressing any minor injuries to themselves, etc.), and then back to put on the evening performance, then supper, putting the kids to bed, probably a little bit of social downtime with their friends, and then to sleep themselves. Back in late summer 1904 when Sadie and Arthur were newly joined, I imagine they might have been allowed to be a sharpshooting act pretty quickly, even on horseback, since that mostly meant looking intense and intent, and Bob and Buell are already both reliable and used to gunfire. But animal acts are complicated, and showy horse acts were such a centerpiece of a circus that they couldn’t be half-assed. They likely had to spend a couple of months training as an actual horse act before being allowed to perform it. As Stellar observes, they’ve got some impressive skills, but no polish of showmanship and performance sense on them. During that time, they probably would have been consulting with others for what would look good vs the skills they could reasonably perform or learn, developing the choreography of an actual act, training the horses for it, and practicing it in the training periods I talked about above. They probably also pitched in on what communal work they could to help earn their keep. A rookie was known as a “first of May” which they probably got a kick out of, given their wedding anniversary is May 1st.

#rdr2 #may the sunrise #sunrise ama #the griffiths in the circus

11 notes · View notes

sinceileftyoublog · 3 years

Text

Robert Finley Interview: Ready for the Race

BY JORDAN MAINZER

At the risk of sounding cliché, it’s truly been a long, often hard road for blues and soul singer Robert Finley. On his new album Sharecropper’s Son (out tomorrow on Easy Eye Sound), he delves into his past. Ever since he hooked up with Dan Auerbach on 2017′s Goin Platinum!, Finley’s 60-year backstory has been more often chronicled in the mainstream, from being born and raised in Bernice, Louisiana and enlisting in the army as a teenager to suffering from a car accident, a divorce, and eventually ending his carpentry career after being deemed legally blind. And yes, he never gave up and eventually got lucky, being discovered busking by Music Maker Relief Foundation, touring, releasing an album, and eventually establishing a long-term collaborative relationship with Auerbach. Yet, until now, Finley hasn’t written about his early childhood, being raised along with his 7 siblings on a crop share in Louisiana.

Sharecropping refers to an agricultural legal arrangement where a landowner allows a tenant to use land in exchange for the share of the crops produced. It was a popular arrangement in the South from the Reconstruction to Jim Crow years following the abolishment of slavery; in reality, it was just another way for white Americans to maintain economic hegemony over Black Americans. “You get all the work, and the money never seems to come,” Finley told me over the phone in March from his home in Louisiana. “You always break even, and unless you own the farm, you really didn’t benefit. The checks from the cotton and from the corn didn’t come in your name.” In other words, Finley said, “Sharecroppers don’t get their share.”

Sharecropping was backbreaking, “out in the hot red sun,” Finley sings on the album’s title track, “where the work is never done,” Auerbach’s blistering guitar and keyboards shimmering like rays from the sun. That said, Finley never realized how rough things truly were. “We were poor and didn’t know it,” he told me, citing the fact that because they were never hungry, he actually thought they were rich. “We had cows. We had chickens. We had hogs. We had fresh milk...It was like we were really living it up!” he said. Moreover, since many of their neighbors didn’t have direct access to fresh food, Finley’s father would share their bounty, from meat to vegetables. And, as the youngest son, he spent a lot of time helping his mom in the kitchen, citing that experience as partially inspiring his love of cooking to this day.

With Sharecropper’s Son, Finley is not trying to provide a list of lamentations. “It’s not a pity party,” he said. Even more than not going hungry, Finley cites his father’s optimism and generosity as formative. “My dad, in his religious beliefs, always hoped for better things and a brighter tomorrow...at the end of the day, after picking the cotton, or pulling the corn, we had plenty to give away. I don’t know if my dad sold some of it, but I think he did way more giving than selling.” Eventually, his father “wised up” and gave up sharecropping, and to this day, Finley’s brothers and sisters, despite only his oldest and youngest sister graduating from school, live comfortably. Notably, Finley also holds where he grew up near and dear to his heart. On “Country Child”, he juxtaposes harsh memories of cotton fields with yearning for the more comforting aspects of the South, especially country girls who “give you a country smile.” He mentioned me that the sparse population of rural Louisiana meant that he had to cross rivers just to see his neighbors, but also that folks in a many mile radius knew each other well, to the point that “you could get a couple boards and put them in front of your house, and someone would ask you what you’re doing with them.”

Above it all, Finley learned from both his father’s mindset and his own ability to overcome. “That’s why I tell my story / So you could start dreaming too,” he sings on “My Story”, while the hand percussion-laden “Starting To See” details the symbolic perspective on life he gained after losing his sight. And the album ends with spiritual gospel waltz “All My Hope”. Even better, Finley offers himself up for his listeners, on tracks like “I Can Feel Your Pain”, a church organ hymn where he empathizes with folks suffering from everything from COVID-19 to police brutality. It’s why he stays positive and keeps on keeping on. As someone who walked again after an accident despite the odds and who was “discovered’ so late in life, he doesn’t let practicality tamper his ambitions. “Like a horse in the stall,” he said, “I’m ready for the race.”

Below, read my conversation with Finely, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: What made you want to sing more autobiographically this time around?

Robert Finley: I guess it was a chance to express myself and talk about these true stories. It’s not a made-up fantasy. It’s real life. It’s a chance to tell what life was like being a sharecropper. I was talking to all my siblings--4 brothers and 3 sisters, so there were 8 of us. My youngest sister doesn’t remember that much about it, but I’m the second youngest, so I wanted to get it out while all of us siblings would be able to form their opinion on it.

SILY: Would you say that the pandemic and the reckoning around the Black Lives Matter movement and subsequent increased awareness among White Americans gives these songs extra resonance?

RF: Yeah, I feel like it really opened the world’s eyes to what’s really going on. A lot of times, things happen we just don’t want to talk about, but that don’t stop ‘em from happening. In this case, it was a blessing to be writing about the right thing at the right time.

Even me and Dan Auerbach meeting, that was heaven intervention, too. What do a 30-something year old man and a 67-year old man have in common that can reach the people? It would have to be the music. Music is not a racial thing. Music, to us, is what comes from the heart and goes to the heart. If you need a blood donor or kidney donor, you’re not gonna ask what color the person was or what race the person was who’s giving the blood and giving the kidney. The whole purpose is for you to get the kidney and stay alive. Music is pretty much the same thing. Even if people can’t speak the language, they can feel the vibes of the music. There’s always somebody that can translate what the artist is really saying, but if the music is right, and the message in the music is right, it really doesn’t matter what color the person is or where they come from. It’s all about what comes from the heart and goes to the heart.

That’s where my songwriting comes in. To be able to reach out and touch people, because you want to give people something they can feel, that they can relate to. Not just a cool beat, not just a pretty voice, or whatever. The song needs to have a message that people can relate to. [And] as far as whether it’s soul, blues, country-western, jazz--if you’re looking for rock and roll, you can find it on the album, if you’re looking for soul, if you’re looking for country and western. It’s got a little of everything. That was the goal, and hopefully it’s being accomplished.

SILY: It seems like everybody who works with Dan has a musical connection and shared love of the same thing, even if not a widely known song or album. Do you feel that connection?

RF: Yeah. You gotta have something positive going even for Dan to reach out to you. Dan is looking for originality. People who want to stand out, not someone who’s trying to fit in. He looks for raw talent and gives them [opportunity] to express themselves. He’s open-minded and open to suggestions. He wants to know Robert Finely and produce Robert Finely and not to make me into something I’m not.

SILY: On “Country Child”, you talk about driving by a cotton field as an older man and still feeling your back hurting. But on the same song, you talk about preferring a country girl to raise a country child. Was it important for you to talk about that complex relationship with where you came from?

RF: Yeah. Don’t get me wrong--I don’t have a thing against city ladies--nobody in the city smiles because it makes them look tough and look hard. In the country, they wave at everybody whether they know ‘em or not. It doesn’t matter because everybody’s just saying hi! In the city, people live across the hall or across the street and don’t know their neighbors. It’s a whole different lifestyle. They don’t let their guard down. I was trying to keep it as real as possible.

The country girls, they just wave and smile, and if you say something they don’t agree with, they move on. But they’ll talk for a while, and they give you the benefit of the doubt.

Sometimes, if you’re too friendly, you can become a victim. If you go in the city smiling at everybody, they automatically know you’re not from the city. It’s not what they do. Unless you’re properly introduced, the person across the hall won’t talk to you or know you. It’s all about the approach. But I have learned that a smile is universal. It doesn’t matter what country you’re in. If you smile, people will smile back. If you’re open-minded and open-hearted, there’s always somebody. People will be glad to see somebody who looks at them and smiles. It breaks barriers and opens doors, even for people trying to look hard and tough.

SILY: On a couple songs on here, you improvised the lyrics, calling it “speaking from the heart.” Do you find that the way to go when the subject matter of the song is more difficult to talk about?

RF: Yeah, I mean if you stay real with everybody, it’s not a problem. You’ve gotta be open-minded and open-hearted. Put yourself in anybody’s situation. If you do that, you can see it from their point of view. With all the stuff that’s negative in the world today, it’s good to be positive every chance you get. It needs to be something people can relate to in the real world, or that people can say, “I’ve been through that or I’ve done that.” It’s not something that’s been made up like a fairytale. It has to have meaning where people can say, “Yep, I remember those days.”

I have 7 siblings. They all have to tell the story from their point of view. I try to leave the door open [in case] they want to tell what they remember, because they might remember something I don’t or had to experience something I didn’t. So when I was writing [the title track], I talked to them about it. In reality, I wanted it to be a true song that dealt with real life. Not made up. It needed to be something real they could identify with and their friends identify with where people could say, “I remember those days.” I also definitely didn’t want to make it seem harder than it already was. I only went back to the cotton field and put on the overalls for the video because nobody was wearing shiny shoes in the cotton field. They might have had a pair they put on on the weekend, but they definitely didn’t wear them in the field. The video could have been done anywhere, but to keep it real, I thought we needed to take it back to the country.

SILY: What did it mean for you to play with so many of the same session players as on Goin’ Platinum?

RF: It was like a family reunion. We toured together in the East Coast and West Coast. It was really an honor because everybody knew everybody. Everybody was excited to get back together because of the success of the first album. We built more or less what you could call a family relationship. Everybody knows everybody, and getting back in the studio, we got straight to work, what everybody came for. I don’t know how much time Dan spent with the musicians before I got there. When I got there, it was to lay the vocals down.

What I really noticed is that all the musicians played what they feel. They listened to the groove. And all the local musicians were in a 50-mile radius of each other. I could have them all together within a couple hours.

I was probably the youngest person in the band, besides Dan--I’m almost twice his age. When you’re with the band, it breaks out the best in you. Learning from their experience, everything they’ve done and who they’ve done it with, it makes you feel privileged to be in the company of them. They’re not on big ego trips and nobody has a big agenda. I’m easy. I don’t put no pressure on nobody--I just want the best out of everybody.

I love working with the Easy Eye Sound label because to me, I walk in, meet and greet, we break bread together, and we go to work. The work is hard, but I don’t know if you’d even call it work.

SILY: What’s the story behind the album art?

RF: The label mostly [does it] and asks me for approval. There’s not much I’d object to anyway. It’s a picture of me. I seldom walk outside even to go to the mailbox without my hat on. That’s one of my trademarks. I always wear hats or caps. I love the artwork. To be honest, I haven’t met the individual that did the artwork on it, but it very much had my approval when I saw it. Meeting everybody, sometimes it’s way down the line where I can actually meet them face to face.

youtube

#robert finley #interviews #music maker relief foundation #sharecropper's son #easy eye sound #dan auerbach #goin platinum!#covid-19 #black lives matter

3 notes · View notes

automatic-palletizer-machine · 3 years

Text

Excessive Automatic Palletizer Machine Stage

This course of repeats till a full layer of products and products are configured to be placed on a pallet. The system is designed to ensure full performance even in heavy seas. The outcome is a robust computerized palletizer machine of excessive quality that saves an unlimited quantity of area. Columbia's conventional high level palletizer machines set the industry normal automatic palletizer machine.

Because your specifications for palletizing are reliably met, hundreds are much less likely to incur damage during loading, cargo and unloading. Roll feed, Hot soften, Cold glue, Self-adhesive and shrink sleeve labelling machines in standalone or mixed variations for various formed bottles. Linear and Rotary Rinsing, Filling & Capping solutions utilizing Net weight, Flow meter and Level filling technologies. A low friction curler transfer desk is out there to allow easy handling of heavy and shrinkwrapped circumstances.

Feed and orient empty plastic containers of various shapes & sizes to the filling line mechanically. Achieve maximum output with minimal downtime for peak effectivity and machine profitability. Our palletizing consultants help with each step of the method and stand by 24/7 to resolve any questions.

No lifting, stooping or strolling around the pallet is required to operate this case palletizer.

An automatic palletizer can present up to 60 baggage per minute, nonetheless, it's nonetheless potential to extend this fee by integrating a second robotic to the cell which optimizes velocity.

Wearproof steel guides make positive the curler bearings roll efficiently.

In some palletizing stations, when a pallet layer is full, the operator lowers the work surface as required to hold up a comfortable working height.

The Science of Palletizing is a 72-page educational introduction to the basics of unit-load forming and is designed to familiarize you with the basics of automatic palletizer machine.

The use of 6-axis robots allows most flexibility in palletizing schemes, structure and built-in extra functions. Compact and strong design combined with a laterally mounted vertical linear axis system result in a low general machine peak which permits the use even with low ceiling heights. Multi-axis automation products together with H-Bots, T-Bots, Gantries, and Cartesian Robots. Our palletizer is a perfect alternative for palletizing aboard factory trawlers, because the stretch movie is added while the machine palletizes.

Of course, product is transferring all the time and often has to go very far before reaching its destination. But getting it there is only half the battle; the other half is getting it to the ultimate automated palletizer consumer in an interesting, salable condition. This design permits three pallets to be stacked on the ground on each side.

Trust in our four-station palletizer with supreme operating consolation. The pallet magazine is built-in with a switch system that enables for a completely computerized pallet dealing with process. Automatic conveying and palletizing system is used for palletizing unit load, together with various carton bins in paper-making, food and medicine business and so forth. Depending on package deal weight and load configuration, manual palletizing may be backbreaking work. [newline]Automating these processes can scale back publicity to continual injuries and potentially severe accidents. An automatic palletizer can decrease worker’s compensation prices and enhance employee satisfaction on the same time.

Excessive Stage Palletizers

In some cases, pallets are moved away from the machine and packed/wrapped both by hand or by another machine. Columbia Machine offers the most innovative and flexible palletizing options available. Columbia standard palletizers deal with nearly any bundle sort together with trays , shrink-only bundles, RPCs, Totes, tab-lock instances, milk crates and a lot extra.

In the top, robotic computerized palletizers supply extra flexible and dependable options than standard methods. These solutions make it attainable to evolve with the rising needs of an organization. Low upkeep costs and easy palletizing sample changing add to the advantages of a faster return on financial investment. Their excessive reliability and low maintenance demand give them a transparent advantage over standard methods. Nowadays working with palletizing equipment is of a crucial significance in numerous industries worldwide. Therefore, palletizing machines are generally utilized in wooden and paper industry, metal industry, construction trade as properly as in beverage and meals business.

Commonality of part techniques allow cost financial savings for end customers, rapid supply and proven performance with future flexibility when required. Equipped with a forty one" Wide x 48" Long x fifty three" High pallet stacking part, seventy two" long chain infeed conveyor extending 12" past body with a 34" infeed top. Equipped with a forty one" Wide x forty" Long x forty eight" High pallet stacking section, one hundred twenty" lengthy chain infeed conveyor extending seventy eight" past body with a 37" infeed top.

The use of a collaborating robotic permits an open layout with out safety fences. This ensures greatest accessibility and minimizes the house requirement on your shopfloor. Proven drive technology with frequency controlled AC motors guarantee excessive reliability and are easy to keep up. Compact and robust portal building allows a small foot print and good accessibility.

In order to acquire a complete solution, additional options could be built-in to the top of the production line getting ready your pallet for storing or transport. Conveyorized palletizers have a feed area that receives the products which are to be palletized. The packaged items are obtained by curler conveyors and are continuously transferred and sorted to the pallets by automated conveyor rollers, permitting higher packaging speed than robotic palletizers. Robotic systems also can offer several advantages over conventional machines.

There are 5,447 palletizer machine suppliers, mainly situated in Asia. The top supplying country or region is China, which provide 100 percent of palletizer machine respectively. Easy to make use of, with superior options including easy pattern edit/creation. Our palletizers contribute to an efficient processing course of and preserve the standard of your powders. You have selections in relation to packaging supplies and on this webinar, we'll walk via totally different materials and the way it impacts your provide chain.

Innovative automated gripper that ensures precise positioning on the pallet. Safe and stable transport is a prerequisite to ensure that your product reaches its destination whereas safeguarding the standard. TopTier Sales Engineers provide price range quotes in a matter of days. Cost is based on particular products to be handled, fee requirements, layout, and desired features. Format vary subject to feeding and collating system and features of machine.

Robotic palletizing arrived later and introduced with it many advantages in comparability with standard techniques. Reliability and flexibility are some of the property these techniques have to offer. Additionally, if you need upkeep and repair, Robopac USA offers full help through our components and service division. We also can advise you on potential upgrades to improve your machine’s effectivity and presumably lengthen its life. View our TopTier palletizer machines for sale to find out the finest option on your facility.

For these larger footprints and attain conditions a user can simply add a further axis to meet any problem. To obtain the improvements automation techniques produce, it is essential to select one of the best combination of robot fashion, gripper and auxiliary equipment to match the production need. An automation options integrator can provide the proper answer for any palletizing software. Conventional palletizers usually use a layer approach that forms the pack pattern of instances, squeezes them into form and deposits them one layer at a time onto the pallet. This palletizer may be broken down into two categories – a low-level or high-level palletizer.

Dairy Products

Accessible and highly sensible respecting operator security with the photoelectric obstacles. The robotic or choose and place is customised to delicately deal with the product and turn it to the appropriate place before placing it into the pallet. Simple configuration called “GROUND PALLET” the place the empty pallet is positioned by an operator with the pallet truck by hand. Picking the stuffed pallet takes place in the identical means with the pallet truck by hand by an operator.

Fully Automatic 25kg Kraft Paper Valve Bag Filling Production Packing Line Palletizer

Brenton engineers and manufactures case packing, palletizing and built-in packaging systems. Robotic automatic palletizers are designed to adapt to present traces and area to have the ability to enhance production rates or adapt to new merchandise. An automated palletizer can present as much as 60 bags per minute, however, it is nonetheless possible to extend this fee by integrating a second robot to the cell which optimizes speed. Safety systems are the most advanced within the trade, with the highest attainable security score.

Semi-automatic palletizing tools, which is well-liked in area of interest markets the place merchandise are heavy and troublesome to palletize manually, can deal with as much as 20 bags or instances per minute. This tools is nicely suited to low-speed operations that can’t justify the worth of full automation however require a solution to help forestall worker damage. Aagard is an engineering company that builds custom packaging automation techniques. Our group of inventive problem-solvers utilizes our progressive expertise and proven technologies to create the exact solution that our prospects must win.

Fully automated mannequin consists of pallet handling, stretch wrapping, load exit conveyor, and security access doorways. Fully automated model includes pallet dealing with, stretch wrapping, load exit conveyor, mezzanine, and security entry doors. They are excellent for medium to excessive pace vegetation and multiline functions. Hamer absolutely automating palletizing techniques utilize automatic in-feed conveyors to tempo product in-feed to the pick-and-place palletizing station. The product is then stacked on empty pallets with or with out slip sheets, that are automatically fed to the stacking space. Once a pallet has been accomplished it is prepared for forktruck pickup or it is transferred to the in-line stretch wrapping/hooding equipment to mechanically complete the pallet for cargo.

Palletizers are mostly integrated in a much bigger packaging system line, which ensures quick and environment friendly packaging for a spread of products. A hydraulic robotic arm lifts circumstances, bottles, bags or drums using flat pincer arms or suction cup arms in organized rows onto a pallet, stacking items with near-perfect precision. Massman Automation integrates ABB, Fanuc, or Motoman robots into the robotic palletizing cell. These techniques deal with a quantity of packaging strains with a number of SKUs that includes ALBA pallet dispensers and pallet conveyors that are appropriate with many custom-designed case and pallet dealing with methods. PalKombi is an computerized palletizer suitable for crates, cartons, trays, shrink-wrapped packs and all kinds of packages in general. Designed for medium to high speeds, PalKombi works with a gentle low-level infeed pallet.

This compact structure provides minimum house usage and works well in slim spaces. If your workers are engaged on different strains on different days, they'll take the palletizer to their workplace. Movable on rollers and with pallet guides folded up, PalTeq Cobot suits via doorways from 900 mm width.

Manually putting bins on pallets may be time consuming and costly; it could additionally put unusual stress on employees. PalTeq Robot is our fully automatic robot palletizer for palletizing of shipping instances or trays, or almost all type of stackable products. Due to our modular building platform the layout can be designed almost freely and extra features can be built-in easily. Macron Dynamics presents a Cartesian fashion MGS-UC2 linear robot kit that can be built-in into palletizing systems. The Macron MGS-UC2 gantry product is a sturdy and sturdy 2-axis system with broad payload capacity. This ready-made kit, in pre-configured commonplace travel lengths, contains integrated cable management, low profile T-slot sensors and MPG gearboxes ready for any motor mounting.

The VPG palletizer is designed with a particular gripping head, so to stack the bags in an overlapping manner. This palletizer version has a special rotating head, so the product may be imported at excessive pace. We are a professional manufacturer & exporter specialized in numerous tin cans making machinery. [newline]We are always able to develop long-term and good relationship with abroad customers. If you want to know more about us, please don’t hesitate to contact us at any time. SPLX MKII High Level Palletizer’s key parts are primarily maintenance-free, and are simply accessible via detachable guards and doorways.

Manual palletizing may be carried out by people and without any mechanical help at all. Furthermore PalTeq Cobot offers tool-less kind change and changeover between totally different pallet sorts. By using totally different robot sizes we are in a position to all the time offer you the ideal space-optimized structure for every product weight. Proven technology with frequency managed AC drives guarantees high reliability and straightforward maintenance. Using a novel, flexible belt based mostly “rack and pinion” design and structural aluminum MacFRAME parts, our Robotic Transport Units can handle all kinds of lengths and payloads.

1 note · View note