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sukirichi · 3 years

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sweet lies [02]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. explicit smut, slight body worship, public sex, dirty talk, praising, toxic megumi, fwb dynamics, slight angst, body marking, sukuna bullying megumi, age gap, scratching, mentions of oral (m receiving) and mutual masturbation, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 also UHM do you guys want me to make the ending angsty or fluffy? i wrote out two versions so LOL let me know what you think! we’ll get more of the megumi scenes on the next chapter though~

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Sukuna isn’t kidding when he said he’ll have you unable to walk by the end of this.

You’ve lost count of how many times you guys have fucked.

Once more in the stalls when you thought of repaying the favor by sucking him off, followed by him growing impatient and hauling you inside his car. Both of you were too tired to go for another round, but were still very much addicted for the other’s touch that mutual masturbation seems like the best option.

Thankfully, Sukuna’s cut his nails, so having three of his fingers buried knuckle deep in you feels like absolute heaven. He’s not complaining about your smooth hands wrapped around his shaft either, especially not when you’ve had enough practice with Megumi to know just how to make a guy lose his mind. By the time you’ve made it back home, Sukuna’s grown hard again, too impatient to make it to the bed before he just fucks you raw against the wall. You’re trembling at his hold, left with no choice but to trust his strength to drop you on his cock and bounce you to his pleasure.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it on the bed.

His digital clock reads a quarter at three in the morning, and for a moment, you worry about how tired you’ll be in class tomorrow when Sukuna’s large hands grips your thighs sharply.

“Goddamn,” he hisses through clenched teeth, chuckling at the irresistible sight of your breasts bouncing before him. Limbs tangled, minds controlled with the primal need to fuck, and moans shared with his deep grunts – you somehow end up on top of him, your thighs feeling like they’re on the verge of giving up as you continue to ride his thick length.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he slaps your ass and causes your hips to rut deeper, forcing that delicious curve of his cock to meld with your walls. You throw your head back, palms planted on his chest, focused only on that burning pleasure between your thighs. “I could fuck you all night long.”

Even though you truly have no wish to, you shake your head, fingers balling into a fist. “I have class tomorrow, need to wake up early,” you protest, the words falling into deaf ears as Sukuna thrusts up into you. He must’ve noticed how you’re growing tired and took matters into his own hands, feet grounded on the mattress to pound deliriously into you. You’re debating whether to be thankful or frustrated he still has so much energy even after hours of fucking, but it honestly doesn’t matter. You’re falling into his chest, arms slipping on your equally sweat-covered bodies. Right now, you just wanted to cum – once more, again, one last time! “Ah, Sukuna, t-too much!”

“Too much?” he laughs and tangles his hand to caress your scalp, the gesture too soothing that you almost forgot he’s fucking you into oblivion. “Want me to go slow?”

“No…”

“Thought so, sweetheart,” his grin is absolutely cocky as he bends his knees in a fold, pushing you until your back rests on his muscular thighs. Your mouth falls open at his hands wrapping around your threat, keeping you right there, hips flat and grinding on his cock. “Come on. Come for me,” Sukuna urges, tightening his hold around your neck a little harder.

That’s all you need for your vision to blur and see stars, your body’s shaking uncontrollable. He’s thrusting with all his power and energy that it feels like you’re nothing but a hole on top of him, tongue falling open in a wanton manner as your drool trails down your chin.

You look filthy, you feel filthy, and yet, Sukuna sees it entirely different.

“So – fucking – gorgeous, fuck. I woulda fucked you sooner if I didn’t feel weird about it.”

“What?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he smirks at your half fucked out state. Sukuna rolls his hips in such a mind numbing manner that you end up staring at the ceiling, trying your hardest to decipher the colors of his room to get a grip of yourself. But he feels so hot, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, your puffy lips encasing him with a translucent ring of cum and it feels so fucking good you don’t really understand what he’s saying anymore. “Did you really think I never saw you in my dreams?” he slaps your ass again, the reflexive response of tightening around him pulling a deep groan from the beautiful man beneath you. “I have such a sexy roommate, I couldn’t help it.”

“Then why didn’t you – ah, right there, shit – tell me?”

“Cuz,” he snickers and finally lets you breathe, your pupils blowing wide from the sudden flow of air. Sukuna kneads your breasts greedily, never stopping his mind-numbing rhythm of ramming deep into you. Your body burns, your thighs ache, your pussy feels sensitive but you can’t find the energy to stop him. Instead, you fall prey, failing in your mission to keep him wrapped around your fingers because now you’re wrapped around his cock, and you were quite fucking addicted to it. “You’re my friend’s student. Felt so fucking wrong.”

“What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is,” Sukuna’s face contorts into something of discomfort for a moment before he leans forward, his sturdy grip homing in on your hips again. You feel his searing breath on your ear, so parching it puts the warmth of your pussy to shame. “Having you like this has never felt so right, and I’ll keep fucking you if you let me.”

“I-I’d let you,” you concede absentmindedly and capture his lips for a sloppy kiss, tongues giving up on a battle of dominance. You’re always so clingy when you’re about to come, something Megumi never fails to chastise you for, and you fear Sukuna might push you away as you wrap an arm around him, nails painfully scratching down his back. Red marks leave a trail on its wake until his blood pierces through the sheets, the pain manifested through the increasing roughness of his pace. Now it’s your turn to whimper in his ear, pulling the man close and tugging harshly at the ends of his hair. Gosh, were you actually crying? “Sukuna, I’m close! Yes, yes, right there!”

Sukuna groans at the erotic sounds you reward him with. “Come for me, that’s right, ohhhh,” he stills inside you, his seed spilling deep inside you. You wince at the burst of warmth spreading all over your belly and Sukuna chuckles at your bulging belly. He presses down on it to coax his cum to trickle all over his cock, and he’s fucking filthy – you learn easily – to watch you make a mess on his cock with a childish smile on his face.

You push yourself off him and fall to his side, him following suit not long afterwards. The room feels completely stuffed from your intense fucking, the bruises on your body and scratches on his back a huge attestment to that.

Your legs remain wide open as you clench around nothing, his cum oozing out like a waterfall. Sukuna (that damned pervert) dips two fingers into your hole for one last moment just to drench his fingers in it, his eyes lit up in wonder while he lets it web around his fingers. You snicker at his actions and roll to his side, eyes fluttering close from the wave of exhaustion that comes into full force.

The lingerie set you intended to wear for Megumi was now ripped at the other side of the room, discarded, forgotten – merely evidence of a moment that had never been given to him.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel bad, not even when Sukuna faces you, his cheeks squished by his soft pillows. “I’m spent. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. My gym sessions can’t compare to this.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t born this gorgeous, you know. I had to work hard for this,” Sukuna gestures to his body. You can’t help but follow the gestures and admire the hard planes of his muscle ripped above one another, the smatter of dark hair leading down his hips adding to his already immense sexual charisma. It makes you want to jump on him all over again, and you have to bite your lip to resist that urge, rolling your eyes at him in favor of letting him know you could totally go for another round.

“Dork.”

“Got me laid though, was worth the effort,” he jokes, and you both laugh.

It’s actually…weird, to laugh so casually with someone like this. It might be normal for Sukuna in his past sexual endeavors, but it’s totally a different thing for you. You and Megumi had never even bothered with aftercare. As long as he’s satisfied himself, he’d clean himself off in the bathroom and wear his sweatpants, winking at you before he leaves you alone all over again. The memory – albeit not really a regrettable one – is still painful each time you’re reminded you’ll keep coming back to him.

But are things different now? Could you go back to Megumi? You only ever wanted to fuck Sukuna because you’re sad and horny, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, especially when your roommate has been nothing but nice to you. Besides, him being a little more decent doesn’t immediately equate he’s different than Megumi.

For all you know, you could just be another cheap fuck. Sukuna is older and sexier, after all, he’s clearly had a lot more experience than you do.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna rests his head on his palms, elbows flat on the bed as he turns to you. The expression on his face is unreadable, but there’s some sort of softness behind it – a softness you’re not really familiar with.

“Hey. I don’t exactly know what you’re going through, not everything, anyway, but whatever we have right now, I want you to know it’s not because I see just as a pretty pussy, okay?” he says with a straight face, but you really shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up because Sukuna smirks, mischievous eyes darting back and forth to your soaked pussy and bare breasts. “Although you do have a pretty pussy. Can I eat you out again?”

With that, you snatch the pillow underneath him and whack it straight at his face. Sukuna laughs at your protests, the sound growing louder and a lot more mocking the harder you hit him. “Gosh, Sukuna, shut up!”

You end up hitting him way too many times in the face that he can’t get his words through, and before you could react, Sukuna’s ripped the pillow away from you. He cages you in his arms and hovers over you once more, his boneless dick grazing the insides of your thigh. It’s not meant to be sexual, and nothing about his stance gives off anything that shows he wants to do it again, but you can’t help but feel aroused, shifting your legs up and down the bed as you squirm.

“Seriously though,” he repeats, “We can be casual, or this could be a one time thing. Card’s all yours to play. If you want to forget everything tomorrow, I’d gladly do it. Let’s just go back to the way we were-”

“Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Did you really think I was only using you to distract myself?”

Sukuna’s lips flatten into a line. “I’m not stupid,” he says somberly, “I could tell you were still thinking about him. Not that I mind, though, you can’t stop yourself from loving someone,” Faintly, you’re distracted by his thumbs rubbing at your pulse point. It’s so lulling you want to fall asleep, but Sukuna isn’t done talking. “My point is…you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. We could just be friends with benefits, if you want, and not the kind you have with your boy toy either. ”

His blatantly catches you off guard and your eyes widen before they narrow at him, trying your best to hide your embarrassment. If Megumi was painfully honest, Sukuna’s ridiculously blunt that his mere words make your heart do weird things you’d rather not feel.

Careful, you remind yourself, Megumi is the one you want. You have to keep reminding yourself that before your feelings get the best of you. It’s Megumi, it’s always been Megumi and it always will be Megumi. Sukuna is just your roommate who’s nice enough to take your mind off things. You only wish you weren’t lying too much in case he gets the wrong idea you’re leading him on, but then again, isn’t that what you’re doing?

Friends with benefits or not – you still have no plans on getting involved with this guy any longer.

It’s always Megumi. You just really needed a quick fuck, someone whose dick didn’t belong with the guy you’re so hung up on over. The change feels nice and you definitely feel a lot better than the last time you met Megumi, but this guilt…it tastes bitter on your tongue, too heavy to swallow and ignore. It’s always Megumi, you tell yourself again in an attempt to relieve your pain.

Though it doesn’t subside and you huff in exasperation, turning away from Sukuna. You can’t stand looking at him right now.

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, but the tears – the guilt, the heartbreak of not being Megumi’s lover, the regret and the ironic need to be closer to Sukuna feels all so confusing – all threaten to burst through. You don’t want him to see you cry, that would be lame, so you scoot closer to him and kiss his shoulder as you shyly ask, “C-can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to sound too nervous to ask.”

“Sorry, it’s just-”

“He never does that?”

“…Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not him,” Sukuna answers confidently, surprising you when he grabs your ass to press you flush against him. You’re both sweaty and hot to the point it’s uncomfortable, but Sukuna smells so sweet with his lingering cologne that you can’t help yourself from planting your face in his neck, breathing in the little hums he makes. Sukuna kisses the crown of your head – which is a little too sweet than you’d like – while his other hand runs down your back in a slow, sensual manner. Hell, it feels close to body worshipping, and you hate that you silently want more of this. “I’d cuddle you every day if you asked me to.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet,” you voice with a smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles from the low laughter, and like that, you cling to him like he’s the only sturdy pillar in your life. It’s pathetic, maybe even desperate, but if he doesn’t mind, then why should you?

However, the moment is quickly ruined when the bell rings. “Shit, I forgot he was coming over!”

Sukuna glares at the door and holds you tighter, almost possessively, and refuses to let you go even as you squirm under him. “At three in the morning?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet him right now,” you groan helplessly.

Sukuna shoots you a blank look after that, then shoots out of the bed in an instant. You watch as he quickly dresses up in a fresh pair of sweatpants, grabbing a random hoodie from the back of his chair, presumably to hide the scratch marks. You have to hide your smile behind your hand because he looks so drool-worthy with marks littered on his already marked skin, and the fact he lets you mark him is even hotter.

He pauses at the door for a moment, pointing a finger at where you peered up at him curiously. “Stay there. I’ll talk to him and say you went out or whatever. Just make sure to silence your phone in case he calls. Better yet, turn it off.”

Sukuna closes the door behind him, already on the way to the entrance just as you press your ears against the door to eavesdrop. There’s a slight shuffling before the door unlocks, then, “Why the fuck did you lock-” Megumi pauses in his words, and you can perfectly picture his infamous scowl painting his handsome features already. Gosh, you wish you could actually see it, but if Megumi catches you sleeping with someone else, he might totally lose interest in you. That’s not something you could afford to happen.

“Oh. You’re her roommate.” You snigger at his usual what the fuck tone – how Megumi of him.

“Hey, kid, it’s a little too late for a visit, don’t you think?” Sukuna taunts, and it takes everything in you to not burst through the door at that moment. You’re stuck between wanting to laugh and crying, mostly because you would love and hate for Megumi to get riled up. “Do your parents know you’re here? Kids shouldn’t be out this late.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, I’m in uni,” he defends, “Do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her.”

Deciding fuck it, you open the door by an inch, just enough to peek. As expected, Megumi is glaring behind Sukuna’s shoulders in search of you. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s completely calm, checking his nails boredly as if Megumi isn’t fuming in front of him. And boy, do you know how much Megumi hates being ignored. “Oh, I think she went out, I don’t know why though. House was empty when I got here.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

At Megumi’s imposing tone, Sukuna tilts his head to scrutinize Megumi. Now that you’re seeing them together, Sukuna’s twice the size of Megs, their height and shoulder width too different to start comparing. But knowing Megumi, he’s not going to back down from a tattooed guy twice his size, not even as he sarcastically remarks, “Ain’t you her friend? She should be telling you that kind of stuff.”

Truthfully, you expected he would put up more of a fight. The two of them share a heated staring competition before Megumi scoffs, the first one to look away. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “Tell her to pick her damn phone up. I’ve been calling for the past hour.”

“I think I should tell her to get better friends.”

“What was that?”

“I said get home safely,” Sukuna chirps. Even with his back turned to you, you could tell Sukuna’s just further pressing his buttons with a grin that’s not meant to be inviting at all. Just when you think it’s done, however, Sukuna finishes off with, “Kid.”

Megumi rages. His blue eyes flame into something feral, his fists balled at his sides. He’s always had a temper issue and you nearly reveal yourself to stop whatever fight is about to ensue, but Sukuna’s already closing the door, ridding any opportunity for the younger one to retaliate. At the sound of the door closing, Sukuna leans against the door, his smile still plastered on his face as if he knows you’re watching the whole time. He meets your eyes from the slight peep of his door, waving his hands sarcastically.

“Sukuna, you didn’t have to be so mean.”

“Sorry,” he isn’t apologetic at all. “Next time I’ll be nicer to your asshole crushes,” he adds with a slight roll of his eyes and you punch his chest playfully. You don’t stop him from grabbing your wrists to embrace you in a hug that doesn’t seem so platonic – but not so suggestive either. Sukuna rests his chin on top of your hand while he sways you both side to side, his voice muffled in your hair. “I understand why you’re attracted to him though. He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” you agree sadly, thinking of how much it’s really all a waste Megumi has to be like that. “Just sucks his personality ruins everything.”

“A pretty face is always deceiving,” Sukuna suddenly pulls away and holds you an arm’s length away. “Hey, want to have early breakfast?”

“I think that would be late dinner,” you frown at him.

“Whatever, food is food,” he responds rather excitedly, and you watch as Sukuna rummages through the fridge. Now that you think about it, having sex so much really took a toll on you, and your stomach grumbles loudly. Sukuna hides his chuckles through the fridge but you hear him anyway, shouting at him that you’re not hungry. “Wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now go get cleaned and changed, I’ll make something for you.”

If anyone were to tell you that a good fucking is all that’s needed for you to immediately form a new kind of friendship with your roommate, you’d call them weird. Sukuna isn’t necessarily out of reach, you and him just simply didn’t cross paths.

But now, you’re dressed comfortably in his boxers and the oversized shirt you stole from him, eating the slightly burn cheese sandwich he’s made, sharing conversation and laughing with him like you’ve been doing it for such a long time. Your sandwich is actually half forgotten on the plate as you whack your palms on the counter, “That’s how you and Prof Gojo met? I never would’ve expected you guys fought over a girl!”

“He was fucking annoying in high school,” Sukuna grumbles over an angry bite, “He was getting all the girls that when someone confessed to me, the hottest chick, no less, he straight up punched me in the face,” you laugh as you imagine the memory of a younger, already rebellious looking Sukuna getting smacked by the even more intolerable Gojo Satoru. Sukuna is lost in his own memories as well, shaking his head from around the last bites of his bread. It’s clear he hates the burnt crust judging from the way he turns a little green, but he’s bragged about his cooking skills so proudly that he has to save face in front of you. “Ah, such good times,” he muses before wincing at his own words, dropping his bread in disgust. “Damn, I sound old, don’t I?”

“You’re only like, five years older than me, it’s fine,” you giggle, “I like the maturity that comes with older people. You’re a lot easier to be with than guys my age.”

“Please,” Sukuna smirks, “Just say you like fucking older men. I won’t judge.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would be jumping over the counter to strangle your roommate who’s now running like hell, your laughter bursting through the once silent apartment, you would call them a liar. But now, you and Sukuna are panting on the floor, too tired from sprinting all around before calling it quits. Maybe it’s a lie – maybe this connection will never really be that much of a big deal – but as long as this lie and play pretend of friendship lasts, you’ll just enjoy every sweet moment of it.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed) (bold can’t be tagged) @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna x reader romance #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader imagines #ryoumen sukuna imagines #sukuna imagines #sweet lies: part two

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newmusickarl · 2 years

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Album & EP Recommendations

The Line Is A Curve by Kae Tempest

The term national treasure gets banded about a lot, but I think in reference to Kae Tempest it very much applies. An immensely creative, multi-talented talent artist who always produces emotive, thought-provoking work - be it a play, a poem, a novel or indeed an album.

Just focussing on the latter, Kae has already proven themselves to be an astute songwriter, having gained two Mercury Prize nominations for their incredible first two albums, debut Everybody Down and their colossal concept record Let Them Eat Chaos. Their previous effort, 2019’s The Book of Traps and Lessons, was another mammoth work, with Kae taking a perceptive and brutally honest look at the state of post-referendum Great Britain. Now back with their latest opus The Line Is A Curve, Kae has delivered another stunning and poetic collection of songs, with this one arguably their most accessible work to date.

That’s because unlike their previous work which was very much narrative-driven, in that you had to totally immerse yourself in the record from start-to-finish to reap the full rewards, this one is far more immediate and easier to digest. Of course, Kae’s dazzling wordplay continues to astonish and inspire, but with Dan Carey’s production work better than ever, the synth-driven beats will have you grooving away, and the refrains will lodge in your brain until you find yourself repeating them. Also, despite not being fixed to a single narrative this time around, the album remains tightly cohesive with each track beautifully segueing into the next for a seamless flow.

Additionally, this is also a much more collaborative album too, with a host of exceptional guest features showing up throughout. From the gorgeous, soulful tones of Lianna La Havas’ voice on ambient piano number No Prizes, Fontaines D.C.’s Grian Chatten lending his signature drawl to recent single I Saw A Light, to Brockhampton’s Kevin Abstract delivering a killer verse on album highlight More Pressure, they all drop in to help further elevate Kae and Dan’s brilliant songcraft.

That said, even in the moments when it is just Kae’s spoken word and an intricately crafted sonic backdrop, the album continues to shine. From the anxious pulse of opener Priority Boredom, the epic and visually evocative Salt Coast, the late-Arctic Monkeys’ waltz of These Are The Days, the sublime string-tinged haunt of Water In The Rain, the thumping electronica of Move and the acoustic closing hymnal Grace – everything here is all just exceptional and (much like that last sentence, sorry) will leave you utterly breathless.

I had a hunch from the teaser tracks that this was shaping up to be my favourite of Kae’s records and one of the Albums of the Year so far, and it seems indeed that my gut was right. Stunning, exquisitely crafted instrumentation and delicate, spellbinding lyrical majesty – it’s been a busy period for great releases the last couple of weeks, but there’s no record I found more gratifyingly enthralling than this one. Give it a go because it really does deserve your attention.

Listen here

Fear of the Dawn by Jack White

Elsewhere this week, music’s chief mad scientist is back in business - and he’s got a very busy year ahead. Late last year, Jack White announced that he had not one but two new albums dropping in 2022, with the singles suggesting a definitive split between them - with one album containing his more acoustic bluesy cuts, and the other his more experimental rock tracks. The one that has arrived this week is the latter entitled Fear of the Dawn, and it is the sound of a frenzied genius keeping himself entertained by making whatever sound he damn well pleases – and it makes for a fun and invigorating listen.

Although lockdown would’ve undoubtedly drove Jack to messing about with his instruments in the way that he does on Fear of the Dawn, you could argue that his solo career was always heading this way anyway. With his debut Blunderbuss he produced a straight up rock record that followed on nicely from his work with The White Stripes, The Raconteurs and Dead Weather. On 2014’s Lazaretto he mostly stuck to that same formula, before 2018’s Boarding House Reach threw up a real curveball. The sounds were weirder, the structures more abstract and the production just sonically all over the place – although it wasn’t for everyone, I found it a bold and fascinating listen.

Now although Fear of the Dawn isn’t quite as psychedelic and out there as Boarding House Reach, it is closer in DNA to that record than arguably any other of Jack’s work. On Fear of the Dawn, Jack is still playing around and pushing the limits of his blues rock sound, but this time around it is more of a controlled chaos. Where Boarding House Reach would have you smiling in bemusement at the crazy sounds you were hearing, Fear of the Dawn will have moshing out with your jaw on the floor, as Jack throws humungous riffs and all kinds of playful studio tricks at your ears.

Lead single Taking Me Back is the perfect opener, with some scintillating distorted guitar, buzzy synthesizers, and all of Jack White’s signature swagger. The title track then follows nicely with its buzzy riffs, trippy guitar slides and more than a couple utterly hypnotic solos, making for a thunderous two minutes. The White Raven then takes things up a notch with its harsh stuttering guitars and earth-shattering sonic reverberations – without a doubt one of the highlights here.

White’s unexpected collaboration with none other than A Tribe Called Quest legend Q-Tip is up next, the brilliantly batshit Hi-De-Ho. From that point onwards, the album only gets stranger in the best way possible with the rhythmic funk-rock groove of Into The Twilight and the chainsaw-like riffs of What’s The Trick standing out. Eosophobia and Eosophobia (Reprise) are both also great, with equal measures of heavy Led Zeppelin influence, meandering jazz-rock like passages and jittering art-rock riffs. Album closer Shedding My Velvet is then both simultaneously the most traditional and most subdued song on the record, undoubtedly setting the stage nicely for his second upcoming 2022 album, Entering Heaven Alive.

I am yet to decide whether this is my favourite Jack White solo effort to date, but I do know for sure that this man simply doesn’t know how to make a boring record, and like his other work this one is well worth your time. Fear of the Dawn will have you glued to your headphones, with mind-melting guitar work and astonishing sonic wonderment aplenty.

Listen here

TILT by Confidence Man

Now, the other week I was browsing in my local Rough Trade record store, and the most delightfully infectious dance song I think I have ever heard in my life caught my attention. Instantly nodding my head with the biggest smile on my face, I was completely taken away by the rave nostalgia being invoked – if I thought I wouldn’t get asked to leave the shop, I would have started throwing some mad shapes there and then. Needless to say, I did a “Shazam” by the speaker (not a David Blaine move, I used a music recognition app) and it turns out it was Holiday, the lead single from TILT - the sophomore album by Australian-based dance duo, Confidence Man.

A few days later, I dove into the rest of TILT and was delighted to find the rest of the album is equally mesmerising and giddily joyous. Thriving with the warm, uplifting sounds of the 90s dance scene, be it house (the aforementioned Holiday and Relieve the Pressure), UK garage (Toy Boy), Eurodance (Woman, Push It Up) or soul-charged dance-pop (Feels Like A Different Thing), Confidence Man serve up a variety of jubilant electronic tracks that feel like instant classics.

Overall, TILT is just an absolute blast from start to finish and I’m certain even the biggest music snob would have a hard time not getting completely entranced by this one. Intoxicating sounds and a whole heap of shameless fun.

Listen here

Just Another Dreamer by Low Island

And finally on the Albums and EPs front this week, electro-pop outfit Low Island finally delivered their new EP Just Another Dreamer, and it is quite simply four of the best tracks of the year so far.

Opener Everything Before Us is one of their finest songs to date, boasting heartfelt lyrics, an enchanting beat and some wonderful electronic flourishes. The title track is equally sensational, with a captivating melody and a beautifully catchy chorus, before Down To The Furthest Point arrives with its playful bassline and synth-drenched swells. Life’s Work then wraps things up in poignant fashion, a stunning ambient piano number dedicated to a member of the band’s late grandfather, who sadly passed away just a couple of days before the EP’s release.

This a faultless effort from Low Island, whose work just continues to go from strength to strength. If you have a spare 15 minutes this weekend, definitely check this one out.

Listen here

Also out, also great: Ramona Park Broke My Heart by Vince Staples (read my review for Gigwise here), DISCO4: PART II by HEALTH, Normal Fears by Fatherson

Tracks of the Week

Toni / Something Changed by Interpol

On the tracks front this week, the big return was that of NYC rockers Interpol who announced their seventh album, and their first in four years - The Other Side of Make Believe, due out in July. Along with the announcement they have given us not one but two new tracks in the last couple of weeks, album opener Toni and track five, Something Changed. Both tracks are quite laidback and understated, with a distinct lack of classic Dan Kessler riffing meaning neither song totally lights up. However, they are still worth checking out for the cinematic two-part short film that accompanies the two new songs.

Watch Part One: Toni here

Watch Part Two: Something Changed here

Looking High by Foals

Due to head out on tour in the coming days, the campaign for Foals’ seventh album Life Is Yours is in full swing with new single Looking High joining previously released cuts 2am and Wake Me Up. After the dark rock sounds of Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost Part 2, Looking High continues to suggest a move over to a brighter, more shimmering and dancefloor-ready sound. Although it’s not quite as strong as the first two singles, it’s still another fun cut that suggests that their next album is going to be another winner.

Listen here

Bliss by Yung Lean & FKA Twigs

And finally this week, although Stardust the latest mixtape from Swedish emo-rap pioneer Yung Lean is a bit of a mixed bag, the collaboration with FKA Twigs that opens up that record is definitely worth checking out. With a playful pop melody, killer hook from Twigs and a fun retro video, it’s a great way to kick off the long Easter weekend.

Watch the video here

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

Pretty Voice

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, all canon-typical. these are just some angsty bois sometimes, huh. other than that, none. this thing’s pretty fluffy.

Pairings: Logince. Can be platonic or romantic you choose, I don’t know anymore.

Word Count: 6367

The Imagination has a theatre. Roman holds concerts regularly. The others are invited to perform but Roman is the star. Today, it’s just him and Logan. Logan’s never wanted to perform. He sits a few rows back from the stage so he can see better and so his eardrums don’t get blown out. Also so Roman can’t really see Logan.

In other words: this isn't the first time Logan's made himself hard to see. It isn't the first time he's struggled to be heard either. Maybe it's time Roman did something about that.

It’s been about half an hour. Logan’s been clapping after every song, offering honest feedback which just happens to be very complimentary. Roman adores his compliments, they’re so unique and genuine. Logan did confess a few songs ago that he is having trouble keeping up with how incredible the performances have been, always finding something new to compliment all the same. And yet when he finishes quite a spectacular rendition about ‘From Now On,’ Logan’s silent. No clapping either. In fairness, the end of the song does kind of fade out, so…but Roman thinks it’s something else.

“Well, if you didn’t like the song,” he huffs melodramatically, perching his hands on his hips, “you could’ve just said so.”

His joking demeanor fades when Logan startles terribly.

“Huh? Oh, oh, my apologies,” Logan stammers, “I just…I fear I lost focus. It was…an incredible rendition.”

Roman squints a little. It’s really…how has he not noticed that it’s pretty hard to see Logan? Has he really been so involved in the performance?

Well, he has to admit, it’s pretty intoxicating. Especially with the acoustics they’ve got in the theatre.

“…are you sure you don’t want to try,” he asks, gesturing to the stage, “just a little song? Just one?”

Logan shakes his head. “I’m perfectly alright.”

“One verse,” he bargains, “a chorus?”

“I couldn’t hope to follow you.”

“Well yes, I am magnificent, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be too.”

Logan smiles and shakes his head again. Roman frowns, coming right to the edge of the stage and crouching down so he’s closer to Logan’s eye-line.

“Are you alright?”

“Hmm? Yes, I am perfectly alright, thank you.”

“And here I thought Deceit was the living lie detector.”

Logan shifts. “Well, it follows that you would have some sense as well. You’re an actor, aren’t you?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“‘Focus on issues or focus on me,’ as I recall, is one of your favorite catchphrases.”

Yes, it is, but Roman would rather focus on the issues right now. “Come here.”

“What?”

He smiles, beckoning with a finger. “Come here.”

Logan does, standing up and walking down the aisle. Roman waits until he’s fairly close to stand up and jump down from the stage.

“And…up we go!”

Laughing as Logan squeaks in surprise, grabbing onto his shoulders, Roman picks him up and sets him on the stage. He rests his forearms on either side of Logan’s thighs, keeping a light grip on his hips. Even with the height of the stage and the slight downhill slope of the aisle, Roman’s still a little bit taller than Logan, so he takes a step back until they’re eye level.

“And…perfect,” he says, and leans forward until they’re almost nose to nose, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Hello.”

“…um, hello.” Logan glances around, still trying to work out why he’s no longer on the floor. “Why am I up here?”

So I can cuddle you while I ask you what’s wrong, of course. “Well, I figured shouting across the theatre perhaps wasn’t the best idea.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I believe ‘projecting’ is the correct term.”

“So you have been paying attention.”

“I do have some theatre experience. I am a part of Thomas, after all.”

Roman gasps, mock-offended. “And yet you still won’t sing for me?”

“Believe it or not, my prince, I have no desire to humiliate myself like that.”

Oh, we’re using pet-names, now, are we? Well, lucky for Logan, Roman’s an expert.

“Dearest,” he coos, “you really shouldn’t sell yourself short like that. After all—“ he runs a thumb over Logan’s pink cheek, smiling— “sweetheart, you’re lovely.”

Logan shuts their eyes, making Roman chuckle as they bury their face in their hands. “Did you have to do that?”

“Do what, my sweet?”

“You,” Logan says weakly, and oh, he must be flustered if he’s so far gone from his typical articulation, “with the pet-names.”

“Well, darling, you did start it.” Logan shakes his head, only to blush brighter when Roman winks at him. “And what kind of prince would I be if I didn’t flirt with every dashing fellow I came across?”

“You’d be you,” Logan says, “isn’t that enough?”

Roman’s smile falters and before he can stop himself it slips out.

“…is it?”

Logan frowns, blush receding as he tilts his head. “Of course it is, Roman. You…you are an incredible force. Your work ethic rivals that of anyone else, including my own. Your resilience is something to be admired as well, not to mention how hard you work to keep Thomas as the center of your efforts. And you…your abilities…and how selflessly you share them with us…”

Logan takes a deep breath and smiles. “Of course it’s enough, Roman, you’re enough.”

Roman may have the high ground when it comes to flirting, but he has nothing on Logan’s sincere eloquence. All he can do is bathe in the words, try and soak up every single bit of it Logan gives him.

“…you believe me,” Logan murmurs, “right?”

“You really are too sweet to me,” Roman says finally, “aren’t you, little bear?”

He’s rewarded with an adorably confused head tilt. “‘Little bear?’”

“I like to think of you like a little bear,” Roman says, regaining some of his confidence as Logan starts to blush again. “Because you’re an excellent cuddler, just like a teddy bear. You are unmatched in your ability to comfort the rest of us—though don’t tell Patton I said that—and you are fiercely protective of your cubs.”

“And with this jacket—“ Roman pats the thick, fluffy, light brown jacket just about swallowing Logan’s form he’d been given when Roman noticed him shivering in the chill of the theater— “you’re just like a fuzzy little teddy bear!”

To prove his point, he flips up the hood, miscalculating just how floppy it is and smacking Logan in the face with it, sending them both into a fit of giggles.

“And bears like honey. Honey is sweet. And you,” Roman says, leaning close enough to bump their noses together, “are very, very sweet.”

He chuckles when Logan makes a frustrated noise and pulls the hood further over his flushed little face. They’re so cute.

“Aww,” he teases, tugging at the hood, “don’t hide from me, little bear! Let me see you!”

A brief tug-of-war later—in which Roman totally doesn’t cheat by sneaking his hand down and scribbling his nails over his knee—and he pulls the hood away, revealing an adorably flushed Logan pouting at him.

“There you are,” he says, reaching forward to boop his nose. “If you don’t like it, Logan, I can come up with another one.”

“No,” Logan mumbles, “I…I like it.”

Roman takes pity on the blushing mess on the stage in front of him, helping Logan tug the collar of the jacket a little snugger around his neck. “Little bear it is, then.”

Logan, meanwhile, is having a crisis.

Because Roman couldn’t just invite him to spend some one on one time in the Imagination, no. He had to sing to him in the most incredible voice he’s ever heard and then ask if Logan wanted to sing. He had to ask Logan if he was alright in that soft voice that he knows he likes. And he had to pick Logan up like he weighed nothing and set him on the stage, curving his body around him like he was something to be protected.

And he had to give him a personalized nickname and tease him about how cute he is.

And he had to be really, really attractive.

He’s right here, he’s touching you, and you still want more? He made up a special little nickname for you and you aren’t satisfied? What else do you want?

Don’t burden him with your problems too. He’s got his own stuff to deal with. He’s got more of a right to be upset about these things than you do.

You’re not even supposed to be upset in the first place.

“Little bear?”

Logan shakes his head. “You’re going to use that every chance you get, aren’t you?”

“Well, that and depending on how you feel about pet names—“

Why did you nod, you useless gay?

Roman’s smile just widens. “Then yes. Yes, I am. So, my sweet little bear—“ internal screaming can commence now, thank you— “what’s got you looking like someone stole all your honey?”

“I don’t…I don’t want…if you are not in a good headspace—“

Rolling his eyes fondly, Roman resettles his grip on Logan’s hips. “Gorgeous, if you keep being as sweet as you are, I am going to get a toothache.”

And Logan thinks he can brush it off, toss some meaningless barb back that’ll either get Roman to talk about something else or at least flirt with him to pass the time instead, but then Roman says: “you can talk to me, little bear,” in a voice so gentle it makes his chest ache.

Where do I start? How do I start? What if I say the wrong thing? Do I even remember how to do this?

What if he changes his mind?

This is stupid, just talk. You know how. Just say something. Anything.

“Sorry, I am…not the most articulate right now.”

“If the bountiful praise you lavished upon me earlier is any indication, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you.”

Well, there goes that excuse.

Why is this so hard for you? He’s not a mind-reader, you will actually have to talk to him. Isn’t that what you’ve been preaching, you hypocrite?

Do you even have anything to say?

You’re not just going to make something up for attention, are you?

Or is that what you’re doing now? Stalling for attention?

What’s the point of you having a voice if you’re not going to use it?

Now you’re just wasting his time.

The lightest touch on the side of his head and Logan startles terribly. Roman shushes him, finishing tucking a strand of hair out of the way.

“…you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No!”

Roman blinks, taken aback by the shout. Shit. Logan curls his fists in the coat.

“No,” he mumbles again, “I…”

Great job. Say something.

Roman watches Logan war with himself, growing more and more worried as his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. When he hasn’t moved for a few minutes, he racks his brain for a way to help.

“Once upon a time,” he murmurs finally, smiling gently when Logan’s gaze flicks to his, “there was a forest. A small forest, not too big, where all sorts of creatures lived. Cats, snakes, spiders, frogs, owls, dragons, bears…all sorts.”

As he talks, he rubs soothing circles into their hips with his thumbs.

“And they all had secrets, because everybody does, and they all kept their secrets in different places. At the bottom of their ponds, tucked away in their burrows, hidden their nests…”

Roman steps closer, bracing most of his weight on one arm, wrapping it around Logan’s back to hold them close.

“Where does the little bear keep their secrets?”

He takes his free hand and carefully pushes the flaps of the jacket aside, laying it gently on Logan’s stomach.

“What about here, in their belly? Where all the sweet honey goes? Maybe if I poke it a bit—“ Roman gently prods at a few spots, smiling when Logan giggles and squirms— “the secrets will come out. No, no, that’s a giggle. Maybe over here? On their sides? No, those are more giggles. Hmm…well, this may just be a giggle button.”

A little squeeze here, a little scribble there. Roman smiles when Logan’s face starts to glow that lovely pink again, his giggles still flowing out. He’s more than happy to stand here and lightly tickle Logan until he feels better, but when Logan starts gently batting at his chest and shoulders, trying to push him away, he relents.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, “well, I think there are only giggles in here. Let’s just…pat them a bit to calm them back down.”

He rubs his tummy firmly to soothe away any lingering tingles, then raises his hand to lay over Logan’s upper chest.

“What about here, in their chest? Right here…next to their heart. Oh, I can feel it,” he says, pressing his hand a little firmer, feeling the reassuring thud, “it’s a strong heart. Which makes sense, after all, for our little bear. But…”

Roman searches Logan’s face. Not yet.

“…no. No secrets here.”

Moving slowly, slow enough that Logan can stop him if he wants, Roman tucks his hand against his neck, feeling his pulse against his hand.

“What about here,” he says, “in their throat? Right next to these lovely vocal chords they’re so shy about, maybe if they sing a little, their secrets will come tumbling out?”

It makes the tiniest smile come to Logan’s face but he shakes his head. Roman pouts, unable to keep up the façade when it makes the smile grow.

“Alright then. No. No secrets here.”

Roman takes his hand away, stroking down the fluffy sleeve of the jacket, feeling the soft material tickle his palm. He slides it down to the warm wood of the stage, straightening his posture—the only straight thing on him—so he can lean against the stage between Logan’s knees, hands going back to his hips.

“Well,” he says softly, “I don’t know where else to look, little bear.”

Please, Logan, let me help you.

A trembling hand takes his, guiding it up, up, up to press his fingertips carefully to the underside of Logan’s chin.

“…here? Under your tongue? Oh…oh, I can feel them…there’s so many, you’re so tense here…”

He carefully rubs and presses, feeling how tight Logan’s jaw is. Logan swallows heavily and Roman feels his tongue move.

“Does it hurt, little bear?”

Shake.

“No? Are you sure?”

He won’t meet his eyes. Oh, Logan…

“Well, it can’t be comfortable, holding them all like that. Is…is this why your head feels so heavy? Here,” he says, cupping his chin properly, coaxing him to rest his head in his hand, “let me hold it for a little.”

That’s it, he smiles as Logan’s head sinks into his hand. He gives it a soft squeeze.

“Now, why don’t we try and see if we can make this a little easier for you, little bear? In fact, I…I think I can feel one…right here.”

He takes his other hand and mimes plucking something from the air in front of him.

“I think it wants to come out.”

He moves his hand away, slowly pulling the secret away, drawing it up and out. Logan’s mouth opens, yes, come on, you can do it…

“…I’m scared.”

Roman rubs his fingers together and sprinkles the harmful secret away. “And…poof. It’s gone.”

He comes back, resting his hand on Logan’s knee. “Good job, little bear. And it’s okay to be scared, I promise. And I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Logan’s worried little brow relaxes and it makes the ache in his chest release, just a little. Then he feels Logan’s chin wobble.

“Oh…oh, here’s another one…feel it?” He plucks another one from the air. “I’ve got it, don’t worry, here we go…”

“…I…”

“…say it,” he coaxes, “go on.”

“…I haven’t…done this…in…so long, I…I’m not…I…don’t…”

Logan swallows. Roman brings his hand a little closer to their face but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if I remember how to do this.”

“That was a stubborn one,” Roman says softly, “wasn’t it?”

Logan nods. Roman turns to address his hand, still clutching the pesky secret.

“You’ve been living there for a long time, haven’t you? Well, I’ll have you know that’s quite rude,” he scolds. “You’ve caused my little bear an awful lot of discomfort. Now begone.”

He swats it away with a disgusted expression, softening when he feels the low rumble of a laugh in his other hand. Looking back, he sees Logan looking…a little better, at least.

“You feel a little lighter, my dear,” he observes. Logan nods. “Good.”

Taking Logan’s chin in both hands, he rubs his fingers along his jaw. “Let me see…feel around a little… any more loose ones?”

Anything else you’d like to tell me? Or talk about?

“…one.”

Roman nods. “Alright. Let me see…”

He waves his hand a bit in the air in front of them, as if he’s searching for something to grab onto. Finally, he picks a spot and forms a pinch.

“Ah. Here. Oh…oh, this one…” He gently tugs on it. “This one feels heavy. Like there’s a lot of it. Oh, you poor thing, shall we try and see if we can get this to stop hurting you?”

This time, Logan doesn’t hesitate and nods.

“Let’s see…it feels quite long…hefty. So, how about this: I will start pulling out the bits that feel a little loose already, and whenever it starts to come, you just say it for me, alright?”

Logan nods.

“Wonderful.”

With that, he begins to pull, miming retrieving a long, magician’s scarf out of Logan’s mouth. When his chin starts to wobble again against his hand, Roman frowns.

“Putting up a fight, are we? Well, this looks like a job for two hands.”

Standing at his full height, he starts doing the motion with two hands. One of the biggest parts of improv, apart from ‘yes and,’ is object work, and he coils the scarf neatly on the floor next to him, making sure he’s still pulling it out of Logan’s mouth, walking his hands along the scarf.

Logan wants to. He really wants to. But the words just won’t come out. So much so that when he opens his mouth his breath literally catches in his throat.

“Oh…oh dear,” Roman says worriedly, tugging a little, “it’s…it’s stuck.”

He mimes trying to pull it away with both hands but gets nowhere.

“It’s…it’s really stuck. I don’t want to hurt you but it’s being very stubborn.”

He frowns, keeping one hand tightly around the secret and using the other to cup Logan’s chin again.

“Maybe I can make it loose back here…maybe if I feel around…find where it’s stuck.”

The searching motions of his fingers under Logan’s chin make him fidget a little. Roman sees, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Maybe I can tickle it loose, hmm? If I tickle very gently,” he murmurs, scribbling his fingers lightly all over the sensitive skin, smiling as it coaxes more giggles out of him, “can I tickle it loose? No, no, that’s just getting me giggles. You really do have a lot of giggle buttons, little bear. Oh, oh no, it’s going back in, well, that’s not going to work.”

He stops, cupping Logan’s chin firmly, letting him calm back down. Poor thing doesn’t even have the strength to look embarrassed or flustered, no, he just looks frustratingly hopeless. If he wasn’t holding his chin, Roman’s sure Logan’s head would drop right to his chest and he’d never want to raise it again.

“…oh, little bear, is it hurting you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a bit…hmm…darling, will you listen to me for a moment?”

Logan nods.

“Close your eyes. I have this pesky thing, it won’t be going anywhere.”

The sheer amount of trust it must take for Logan to close his eyes, resting almost the entire weight of his head in Roman’s hand, makes Roman a little light-headed. But he has a job to do here, so he comes forward until his nose is just about brushing Logan’s forehead.

“You are not making me do this,” he whispers, “I’m here because I want to be here. I will keep your secrets safe, I promise.”

He lowers his head, pressing their foreheads together.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Logan. Not with me.”

Logan opens his eyes. It pinches in the little pouch where his chin meets his neck.

“…for as long as I can remember…”

Roman pulls the scarf out once and grabs it again.

“…I…”

His hand moves an inch.

“…have…”

Another inch.

“Are you seriously going to do that word by word?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Deep breath.

“…for as long as I can remember, I have never been a part of any kind of relationship where it does not hinge on how useful I am.”

Logan closes his eyes, feeling Roman’s hand leave his chin.

“I…I am a function that is indispensable but not one that is wanted.”

Swallows. Keeps going. The pinch doesn’t let up.

“My entire being is based on how much I know. What I can do. And…and if I cannot do the thing I am meant to do, I…I cannot exist. But there are so many things I cannot do in order to do the things I need to do.”

The pinch still doesn’t let up.

“And I…I let it happen.”

Has silence always been this deafening?

“Because I have no choice.”

The pinch spreads, turns to a clench.

“…I am useful. I can explain things to you when you need them explained. I can help you sort through things that you do not fully understand. I can provide solutions to problems when they arise.”

He tugs the jacket tighter around himself, trying to huddle in a cocoon of safety.

“I…I am Logic. I am Logic. That is my job.”

The words curl on his tongue and taste bitter. He briefly wonders if this is what Janus feels like.

“But it is not only my job when it is convenient,” he spits, “it is always my job. And I…I have to be able to do my job. B-because if I don’t, you’ll—“

He swallows heavily.

“…I understand that…there are many things that you and the others do that I do not understand. And I understand that I am…convenient. And when I am not, I—you—“

He huffs. “I understand that I do not understand.”

It’s hot. It’s too hot. The jacket is sweltering, trapping him now. But he can’t let go, can’t move. Can only speak.

“And I cannot understand. Because that would require me to have emotion. And I cannot have emotion. I am Logic. Logic cannot have emotion because logic falls apart when emotions come into play. But I can’t just be Logic!”

It comes out in a horrible burst of agony, ripping up his throat as it comes out.

It h-hurts.

It hurts.

“…you do not require me or Logic.”

He curls into the jacket, not caring about how much it hurts.

“I…I know that logic must always have a place. I know that sometimes you would rather not listen to Logic. But s-sometimes…”

The others don’t always want Logic. They don’t always want Logan either.

“I cannot be human,” he whispers, “I cannot be held to the same standard as a human.”

I am a being of Logic. I am the Logical Side.

“…I cannot have the same luxuries as a human.”

Emotion is a luxury I cannot always afford.

“…I have tried. For you and for Thomas, to…be Logic.”

They didn’t see. They never saw.

“And it has worked. It has worked so well that I—I—”

The line between Logan and Logic blurs so much that it is near impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. But now…

Now when Logic has been silenced, not even Logan can speak.

“…I am Logic.”

Who is Logan?

“I…I know I have feelings, but I…I can’t. I’m not—Logic is not equipped to deal with them. I know I have to be Logic, but I…I can’t.”

Logan was being an inconvenience. Because he was taking more time than I should be. Because everyone else was ready to move on…and Logan wasn’t. Logic was.

“…and I will stay. Because you need Logic.”

Logic would stop talking during a conversation because no one wanted to hear Logic. Logic didn’t care about my emotions, only how I could help them deal with theirs.

“Because you have always needed L-Logic.”

Logic. Logic. Logic.

There is no room for Logan.

I am so scared, so scared of not being useful that I let other people introduce me. Because you would know how I could be the most useful.

I must be useful.

I must be Logic.

There is no room for Logan.

They do not want to listen to Logic. They silence Logic.

They do not even know Logan exists.

“If…if I was smart…you kept me. If I was hardworking, you kept me. If I was useful, you kept me.”

And when I wasn’t enough, they replaced me.

I can’t be Logan. Not here.

…can I be Logic?

Will that be enough?

“…if I’m Logic, will you keep me?”

Silence.

His hands are balled so tightly in his jacket they ache.

He can’t remember the last time he’s talked so much.

He can’t remember the last time Roman was so silent.

What…what has he done?

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

“Don’t you dare, Logan.”

Logan’s head snaps up in horror. Roman stares at him, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. A blazing fury burns in his gaze and Logan shrinks, trying to make himself smaller.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he repeats in a low voice.

Is…are those…tear stains?

Roman tried. He tried to just pull the secret out, lend a sympathetic ear, return the favor Logan had given him so many times. But he couldn’t. Tears had welled up by the time he’d mentioned the others only keep him around because he’s convenient. He can’t…he can’t imagine…having to stifle something so integral to himself like emotions, being kept around only because he was useful, being tokenized and objectified over and over and over and reminded that he wasn’t enough on his own…

And not being able to sing? To do all the things that Roman can do, is permitted to do as Creativity?

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” he manages to gasp, “come here—“

He’s sobbing. He’s sobbing, the tears bubbling up as he reaches desperately for Logan, for his face that…that isn’t crying at all, how can he go through this much and not cry, do…can he not cry anymore?

That only makes him cry harder.

“You’re—you’re wanted, Logan, so—so much, I want you, I need you to—to stay, yes, we’ll—we’ll keep you, oh, darling—“

He understands. He understands so much and it hurts because there are so many secrets nested inside that big secret and it’s so much and he’s so proud of Logan, for surviving, for telling him—

He needs Logan closer. He tugs him off the stage, into his arms, holding him up, holding him close, scooping him into a tight hug.

And oh, it’s exactly the way a heroic knight should hug. Strong. Powerful. Protective. It’s safe as Logan clings to him. He feels safe. Cared for.

Loved?

It’s only when Roman goes to cup Logan’s head that he realizes he’s not really holding that much of Logan’s weight in his arms. Instead, he realizes Logan’s clinging to him just as tightly, their bodies curving into each other as Logan holds himself up by his legs wrapped over his hips.

“…well,” he murmurs, “aren’t you strong?”

“I can hold my own.”

“I know you can, Logan,” he says, pulling back a little so he can see Logan’s face, “but it’s okay if you don’t always want to.”

Logan looks at him, one of the few times where this means he has to look down, a soft smile on his face. “It’s fine for you too.”

Roman can’t help but shake his head in disbelief as he sets Logan—gently!—back on the stage. “How are you already back to taking care of me?”

Logan shrugs. “Instinct? Habit?”

Useful. Right.

They all need to work on that, to work on this, for Logan. Not for Logic, not for Thomas, for Logan.

“In all seriousness,” Logan mumbles, “thank you.”

“No,” Roman corrects, his arms still tightly around Logan, “thank you.”

And when Logan looks up he’s so hopeful that Roman has to lean forward and rub their noses together.

“Is…is this how it f-feels?”

Oh.

“Yes, Logan,” Roman breathes, trying to push the feelings across that little gap between them, “this is how it feels.”

“…I…I—“

“You don’t have to say anything, dear heart,” Roman soothes, “truly.”

Logan’s eyes drift closed and Roman frowns, worried when he takes another deep breath and squeezes his eyes tighter.

“…is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Make what up?”

“Pay you back then.”

“For what?”

“Roman…”

He relents. Of course he relents. Even if the question made him want to wrap Logan up in a warm blanket and tell him he’ll be safe forever, or leave them with the others and grab his brother and go teach whatever nasty beastly voices in Logan’s head caused this a lesson, he relents. He understands how hard this must’ve been for Logan.

“…yes, there is something you can do for me.”

Logan looks up and the plea in his expression is almost enough to break Roman’s heart all over again.

“When you say you don’t understand,” Roman says softly, still tracing idle patterns over Logan’s back, “some of the things we do, can you give me an example?”

“P-Patton bakes,” Logan manages, “I…I have seen Remus draw. Virgil listens to music or he…he runs. Janus dances.”

He gestures around the theater. “You sing.”

Roman smiles gently. “Will you sing something for me?”

Logan’s breath catches and he tenses, despite Roman’s efforts to soothe him. “…it’s not going to be any good.”

“Who said anything about being good?”

He reaches up to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“I don’t care if you’re too loud. I don’t care if you’re too quiet. I don’t care if it’s too high. I don’t care what key you’re in,” he says firmly.

Oh, he wants to go and make sure whatever put that unsure look on his face never happened.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs instead, “it’s just you and me. I want to hear you, little bear. And to prove to yourself that you can.”

A few moments later and Logan breaks out into the smallest of smiles.

“…so what am I singing?”

“Oh, no, that’s not how this works,” Roman says with a smile, “you choose the song, dearest.”

“I…”

“I don’t care what it is. It doesn’t have to be some big, meaningful choice. I’m not here for Logic, I’m here for Logan.”

He knows how hard it can be to be alone on stage, so he steps back to boost himself up to sit next to them.

“…would it help if I sing with you?”

“No.”

Roman looks down at the floor. Even though his feet can just about touch, it…it looks miles away. And he should know how hard it is to pick a song to sing, especially when he hasn’t sung in a while. There’s just so many to choose from, and if you’re scared about what you’re going to be able to sing, then…

Perhaps this was too much to ask.

For a moment, he thinks his phone’s going off, or someone’s computer outside the Imagination, playing an a cappella version of ‘Bright Lights and Cityscapes.’

Then…then he looks.

Logan’s voice, not quite polished, a little worn, makes him cry all over again. It’s just this side of warm, full of longing and heartbreak and barely restrained sorrow and so, so good.

He finishes the song and Roman immediately wants to clamor for another one.

“…you have been holding out on me, darling.”

“You…you like my voice?”

“Oh, dearest, I could write ballads about it.”

“You do not have to.”

“But there are so many songs you could sing so well, and I will never understand how we could silence you, how we could make you believe we don’t want to hear you…”

Logan blushes a pretty pink, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling. And Roman just has to shuffle a little closer to tilt his chin up to see it properly. It’s lovely.

He cups Logan’s chin, feeling the spot under his tongue.

“…still a few more in there, hmm?”

Logan nods, his fingers twitching and growing restless. He looks down to see Logan stimming with the gold trim on his clothes, running his fingers over the coarse twine. Roman smiles, shifting a little to let him work his way along the lines, up the seams, to the ones on his chest. The blush stays on Logan’s cheeks, obviously a little nervous about touching him this way, but…stimming is stimming. Roman understands.

“Do you like it?”

Logan nods.

“I like the sash too,” he says quietly, gently smoothing it right next to Logan’s hand, encouraging him to do the same, “smooth, right?”

“I seem to recall a song lyric about being buried in satin?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to sing it for me.”

“…I believe the song is called ‘If I Die Young.’”

“You’ll have to sing it.”

“Do you know it?”

“Yes.” When Logan looks up at him, he understands. “Do you?”

“Not all of it.”

“Most of it?”

“…most of it.”

“May I sing it with you?”

“If you like.”

He ruffles Logan’s hair gently. “You start then.”

His hand slows where it’s toying with his sash. Then…

“If I die young,

bury me in satin,

lay me down on a bed of roses,

sink me in the river

at dawn,

send me away with the words of a love song.

“Oh, oh…oh, oh…” Logan looks up at him. He smiles and sings the verse.

“Lord, make me a rainbow,

I’ll shine down on my mother.

She’ll know I’m safe with you

when she stands under my colors, oh.

Life ain’t always what you think it oughta be, no.

Ain’t even gray but she buries her baby.”

He raises his eyebrows, dipping to sing the harmony for: “The sharp knife,

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

The next chorus is smoother, Roman’s smile growing as Logan’s voice starts to ring. His harmony grows warmer.

“If I die young,

bury me in satin,

lay me down on a bed of roses,

sink me in the river

at dawn,

send me away with the words of a love song.

The sharp knife

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

Logan may have been lying about not knowing all of the song, because here Roman is, happily singing the harmony.

“And I’ll be wearing white—“ Roman raises his eyebrows, making them laugh—

“when I come into your kingdom,

I’m as green as the ring

on my little cold finger, I’ve

never known the loving of a man

but it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand—“

Roman covers Logan’s hand, holding it firmly to his chest, thrilling at the way it makes Logan’s voice stutter just a little on the next line.

“—there’s a boy here in town, says he’ll

love me forever.

Who would’ve thought forever would be severed by

the sharp knife

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

And damn can Logan hit that high note. He whistles in approval, grinning wider when Logan just…keeps it going.

“So put on your best boys,

and I’ll wear my pearls…

what I never did is done…”

The smile fades when Logan’s face drops, looking back at Roman’s chest. The hand under Roman’s begins to tremble as he keeps singing.

“A penny for my thoughts, oh no,

I’ll sell ‘em for a dollar.

They’re worth so much more

after I’m a goner,

and maybe then you’ll hear the words I’ve been singing.

Funny when you’re dead, how people start listening…”

No. Not Logan. Not on his watch. Not on any of their watches.

Roman shifts even closer, letting Logan lean his full weight on him, clutching his hand tenderly to his chest. For a moment, he thinks they’re going to just let the song end there, he wouldn’t blame him, Logan’s already made him so proud, then…

Then Logan takes a deep breath and raises his chin. A single tear stands out on his face. And it’s beautiful.

“If I die young,

bury me in satin,

lay me down on a bed of roses,

sink me in the river

at dawn,

send me away with the words of a love song.

“Oh, oh…the ballad of a dove,

filled with peace and love.

Gather up your tears,” Roman sings as he wipes it away,

“keep them in your pocket,

save ‘em for a time

when you’re really gonna need ‘em, oh.

The sharp knife

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

He’s so proud of them. He’s so proud.

“So put on your best, boys,” Logan sings, holding Roman’s gaze, “and I’ll wear my pearls…”

The last note fades out. They’re breathless, even despite the relatively easy nature of the song. Roman clutches Logan’s hand tightly to his chest, Logan leans against Roman.

Roman reaches out and gently trails a finger in an arc around Logan’s neck, creating a string of pearls that lay just over his collarbones.

#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #roman sanders #logan sanders #logan sanders angst #logince #romantic logince #platonic logince #you choose I don't know #sympathetic roman #sympathetic logan

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catbowserauthor · 5 years

Text

2003 Mikey Story: Captive Audience

Because Mikey is a lot smarter than people give him credit for. And a damn good ninja to boot!

TRIGGER: There is mind reference to potential unwanted advances in here. Nothing described but mentioned.

—-

Why do we keep going into space?"

Leonardo bit his lip to keep from giving his red banded brother a snarky response. Though, truthfully, he was wondering that himself. It seemed like every single time they went into space, it never ended well. The Triceratons (not once but MULTIPLE times), the whole Federation mess with the Professor, chasing Ch'rell into space and nearly dying...about the only time it had EVER ended well had been on the Utrom homeworld and even then, that had been to repair and recuperate from the clash with Ch'rell!

Yes, space was just bad news for them.

"It was hardly my idea, Raph," Leo felt inclined to defend himself because it hadn't been! "If you want someone to blame, blame Agent Bishop."

Raph scowled "Don't need a reason to hate that bastard." He shifted his eyes around but he saw no sign of his two younger brothers. Good. Donnie had the brains so that might keep them from joining him and Fearless Leader here. He and Mike would figure out a way to get them out, he was sure of that. Or at the very least, they'd meet up with them mid-way through escape.

Cause he sure as shell wasn't going to stay here! They were weaponless but not powerless! They needed to make their move and make it now.

Though, being forced forward with four of these aliens on each of them did make it a little more challenging. Least this stupid ship had decent atmosphere so they didn't need those ridiculous atmosphere converters like the Triceraton homeworld required. However, if the chattering amongst their captors were to be believed then apparently, they were well known amongst the planets.

Raphael didn't know if this was a good thing or not. Judging from their current state, he guessed not.

Leonardo didn't give a response to Raphael's remarks but they didn't have much more time to chat. A sharp cutting pain through his neck sent the katana wielding turtle sprawling forward and despite how Raph fought and snarled, when you were jabbed with a stick that shot electricity through your body, your muscles tended to simply react, regardless of your will and the cursing turtle fell to his knees next to his older brother.

The clamps around the neck were swift and sharp, almost choking but with just enough room to breathe but not quite enough room to be comfortable. Obviously, they were designed to not kill but make focusing and conversing extremely difficult. Leonardo, as was his way, immediately forced himself to slip into mediation mode. He didn't feel the need to utilize qi gong though it was definitely an option if need be. Right now, they needed to analyze their situation.

Raph was NOT helping.

"Let us...go...you damned...Jurassic Park...rejects..." The tightness of the collar around his neck kept him from using his more colorful terms of endearment for their enemies but if he kept it up, they might decide he was not worth the trouble to keep alive. While Leonardo could not move much, he managed to shift his arms enough to jab his sibling in the side with his elbow before the chains jerked them painfully back to his sides.

"Not...helping...Raph," he wheezed lightly.

Raphael gave his brother a dark glare but his lungs demanded air so he couldn't tell Leonardo exactly what he thought. It was curse at his brother or breathe and quite frankly, air was more important at the moment. Refocusing, he settled his tense muscles and let the air bring some clarity to his mind. These things weren't stupid, he gave them that. Best way to keep your victims still was make breathing a chore.

"Emperor!" The largest of the group of guards, clothed in deep black armor that resembled broken pieces of clay and stone, stated "We bring you the enemies of the Federation." He snorted down a long turtle beak at Raphael "And the one that struck my son."

Raph would have remarked that the guy's son had horrible reflexes but instead narrowed his eyes at the individual that sat at the head of this little party. It figured, really, the first planet they found where there were creatures that were like them, at least some what, and they turned out to be total asses. Okay, so maybe he had not made the best first impression by punching the soldier that leveled a weapon at him but that was New York and Ninja Survival reflexes! Someone points a weapon at you, you react. Don't point a weapon unless you're ready to use it!

"The smaller one is the Leader of the two. Pathetic." came the thick accented sneer from above Raph's head and it was a good thing they had bound his hands because he was fairly certain he would have knocked someone's teeth out otherwise. Much as Raph liked to pick on Leonardo, or heck, on any of his siblings on any given day, it was a right that only he and his brothers had. You didn't just waltz in and insult his brothers. Sibling rules.

Leonardo, to his credit, kept his face empty of emotion. While the jab at his lack of height or build compared to Raphael was a bit pride-dinging, he had grown up with three brothers. You tended to grow a thick skin. His eyes and full energy were on their opponents. Currently, they were in a dangerous predicament. He and Raphael had been captured and taken onto an alien ship, currently surrounded by at least forty five opponents. Large, armored opponents--large in size, probably twice their size with long tails, over sized shells with spikes and beaks that curved into wicked points. That wasn't even counting the large amount of weapons they were carrying--guns, lasers, swords and he and Raph were currently disarmed.

It was very apparent that diplomacy was not going to work either.

The man that these soldiers had called Emperor, stood from his large chair in the center of the room and approached with such an arrogant swagger that Leonardo was shocked his shoulders could support that huge ego. He was easily the biggest of the whole room and had four soldiers, two on each side of him, each one with large barreled weapons that they always kept leveled. They backed away only when he lifted a hand but still kept their guns at ready.

Two smaller of these creatures (Leonardo had heard them say Cyamodian a few times) clothed in sheer silk wrappings of different colors would approach occasionally and refill wine goblets. They never raised their heads and had horrible scarring designs up and down their arms. The soldiers never said anything to them except to bark out orders, swipe at them for not being fast enough or to made crude remarks about "pleasuring them later." Judging by the faint feminine quality to their voices, Leonardo guessed they were the females. His heart felt pity for them, being with these dishonorable creatures.

The smallest of them, wrapped in silver sheer garments from head to two with very elaborate white painted scars of the odd feather like plants they'd seen briefly on the planet's surface on her arms, kept close to the Emperor as he approached, refilling his wine with shaking hands whenever it slipped below half full. She'd spilled some on her first try and was rewarded with a backhand across the face and a "Stupid bala" She withdrew slightly and returned to the soldiers who were gawking at her for her assistance. She never said a word.

"So," the emperor addressed Leonardo now with a sickening slow smile "You are half of the enemies that gave the Federation such a headache before. Whisked away the Fugitoid as I recall..."

"What's..." Raph wheezed despite the restraint "It to you...Shellhead?"

The soldier behind them struck Raphael hard with the butt of his gun "Speak with respect to our Emperor, Weakling!"

Hissing lightly, Raph, in true Raph fashion responded in cheek "Show me...someone....who...deserves respect...and...I will."

It was a miracle that second hit didn't render him unconscious. But then, Raphael had always been utterly hard-headed. Leonardo redirected his efforts towards the Emperor. His ever calculating eyes were always glancing over the room but he needed this Emperor to leave them alive and conscious if they were to get out of here. He gave his immediate younger brother a half glare and responded "We...assisted...Professor Honeycutt...because...he wanted...peace."

The Emperor withdrew, laughing loudly before he took another swig of his wine, "Peace...what good is peace? War brings money, war brings supplies, war provides for our economy." He eyed the two of his prisoners, remarking "You two will be a perfect gift to the Federation. A little minor destruction, some blame on the Triceratons...war is quite easy to start."

"The Triceratons....have...a new...leader," Leonardo reminded him, quickly. "They aren't...war mongers...anymore."

One of the soldiers remarked as he pulled one of the serving girls wrapped in gold a little closer and laid a hand under her wraps. She whimpered, lightly but did not resist, "A new leader does not change the people, weakling." Apparently, dissatisfied, he yanked the poor girl over and slammed her onto the table, hard, "Submit Bala."

Raphael snarled "...bastard."

The Emperor eyed them, baffled but ultimately amused. "It's simply a Bala. No purpose other than service, entertainment and pleasure. You waste your emotions on them." He did set his eyes on the soldier though, "Not yet, Pelom."

The soldier, having tossed his weapon to the ground and nearly pulled the poor girl's wraps to shreds looked up.

"We still have a feast to prepare and I need her for that. Once we've eaten our fills, have your way with her to your heart's content." The Emperor strode back to the chair in the center of the room, stating "And I want fifteen of the soldiers from the bridge on the lookout. We only have two of them. There are two others. I want both found and brought here so I may deliver a whole package."

"Understood, Emperor." He stood, retrieved his weapon and yanked the girl up, pushing her towards the back of the room where tables of food were being laid out by her fellows. "Go, Bala. Make sure you're tight for me, later."

Raph growled and eyed Leonardo "We...gotta...get outta here. I...SO...wanna crack....these guys'....shells...open."

Leonardo was hardly one to disagree but they needed to plan. He diverted his eyes about. Three exits, with a collection of at least six soldiers at each one. Some small vents near the ceiling but far too small for any of them to move, and the binds that currently held them tight had no conventional lock that he could see. Some type of fancy electronics sure but no wires or anything.

Shell, we need Donnie. And Mikey.

#tmnt #2003 tmnt #mikey #captives #in space #BAMF Mikey #Mikey is smart #michelangelo is a sweetheart #Badass Michelangelo #Mikey saves his brothers!

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cedarmoons · 6 years

Note

hey totally understand if you're busy/not taking prompts but would you ever consider writing nadia/a male MC. I'm dying for content and your nadia/asra has all been insanely good and well written.

👀 nsfw, nadia x gen m!apprentice

After the dance, she is not expecting to be swarmed by partygoers in varying states of distress—though perhaps she should have anticipated such a thing. She is not expecting the nobles to argue with each other, their screeches drowning out her words, or servants to tell her of some new disaster that has happened halfway across the palace.

She is not expecting the apprentice to grab her hand and pull her from the room, taking her into a nearby empty salon.

“Finally,” he says, smiling. “Peace and quiet.”

Nadia laughs, lips curving into a smirk as she regards him. “Oh? Was peace and quiet your intention when stealing me away from the people I govern?”

“In part,” he says, resting his hands on her hips. She smirks up at him and he grins. “Didn’t think you were interested in some noble complaining about shrimp prices.” He dips down to kiss her throat, and her breath catches. “I’ll admit, though, mostly I want to see you out of this dress.”

Nadia’s smirk deepens, and she reaches around him to lock the salon door. “Get on the couch,” she instructs, and he kisses her cheek before replying. Nadia follows him, taking the long way to round the couch, allowing her an opportunity to run her hand over his shoulders. He shivers under her touch, and she hikes up her skirt as she straddles him, one hand threading through his hair and the other tilting his chin back.

“We cannot stay long,” she warns him. She can already feel him half-hard between her thighs; he regards her with lowered lids and blown pupils, and a thrill runs through her when his hands settle on her hips.

“Just want to feel you, Nadia,” he says, and begins to rock her against his body.

Nadia laughs at his boldness, tilting his head back, savoring his groan as he goes willingly, exposing the long stretch of his neck. She peppers kisses against his throat as she begins to grind against him, her knees bracketing his thighs. With one hand, she reaches behind her to ease off her heels.

“I thought you would like my dress,” she teases, and he groans, one hand smoothing up her side to cup her breast. He circles her nipple and she cannot help but arch into his touch, cannot help but grab his other wrist and guide his hand between her legs. She presses her mouth to his ear, listening to the gradual hitch in his breathing, and says, “But you, my darling, you are a feast.”

She had wanted him when he had stretched out over the couch in this same room, his shirt wet and reddened with wine, and drawled in that soft, rounded-vowel accent: my, Consul, if you can’t even handle a glass of wine, no wonder the city’s in such deep shit.

She had wanted him when he coolly dismantled Valerius’s and the courtiers’ coup attempt in the Coliseum, hands behind his back, the smile he’d worn when Volta confessed to the fraudulent “trial”. She has wanted him against a wall, or pinned beneath her, but she has wanted him to be hers.

She had wanted him when he accepted the fruit from her gateway, tongue chasing after her fingertips—she had had him then, unable to resist the temptations he posed. But that had not been enough. This—this is but a small portion of how she wants him.

“Nadia,” he groans, fingers gliding over the wet fabric of her underwear, “you’re—fuck. So fucking wet.”

“Are you so surprised?” she asks, voice low and husky, hips lifting into his touch, seeking out more pressure. “I have been since the gate.” He had resisted her attempts to feed him, at first, but that had made his subsequent submission all the more thrilling. And when she had hooked a leg over his hips and pressed him into the sand, body warm underneath her palms—

His eyes darken, pupils dilating, and she kisses him. He groans against her mouth, a sound she greedily swallows, and moves his hand, sliding it under the band of her lace and cupping her sex. He parts her folds with his fingers, seeking out her clit and circling. Nadia sighs, rocking against his hand.

“Harder,” she instructs, and he obeys, nodding. He wraps an arm around her waist to help her as she grinds against him, hand and clothed cock both, and Nadia feels her toes curl, pleasure running down her spine to coil between her thighs.

She gasps, lowering her head to his shoulder, and his hand squeezes her ass. She starts, hips jerking against his hand, his fingers slippery on her clit, and her laugh becomes a moan.

“Fingers,” she says, fingers curling into his shirt, and he nods, almost frantic. She is so wet that she takes his finger easily, and he curls it just as he had in her gate, quickly finding the root of her pleasure. She gasps, head tilting back for a moment before she catches herself and looks at him.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters, and she kisses him, tilting his head back. She rides his hand, grinding against the heel of his palm and his fingers both, shuddering when he curls his fingers and presses his palm just so against her clit. She breaks the kiss with a gasp, lowering her head to press wet kisses down the line of his throat.

“After this is over,” she rasps, “I will—I will take my time with you.”

“Yeah,” he groans. “Yeah, use me, Nadia, fuck—”

Use me. Oh, and that thought—of him on her bed, tied perhaps—certainly blindfolded, so he could not anticipate where she would touch him, where he could be at his most vulnerable for her—or him kneeling before her, hands behind his back—beneath her, her thighs bracketing his face as she rocks against his mouth and tongue, her slick wetting his cheeks and dripping down his chin—

She comes at that thought, tensing in his arms with a soft moan, her cunt gripping his fingers. Slowly, the tension leaches from her body, leaving her relaxed and flushed; catching her breath, she opens her eyes to see him grinning at her.

“Just like that,” he says. “Gorgeous, darlin’.”

She kisses him softly, and he pulls his fingers from her, holding eye contact as he sucks them into his mouth. He moans quietly at her taste, eyes slipping closed, and a second hot thrill runs through her. Her clit throbs, once.

“Mm,” she says, with a slow smile. She cups his chin, tilting it up toward her, taking note of how his gaze darts down to her breasts and then back to her face. He is hard between her legs, and their hips are flush, so close together she can feel his pulse in his cock. She kisses his jaw, snaking a hand between her bodies to cup him through his pants, and smiles at the hitch in his breath. She takes his earlobe between her teeth, tugging lightly. “Do you want your cock sucked, my darling? Is that how you would like to be rewarded?”

The apprentice stutters on a reply, some token don’t feel obligated, but she feels him throb in her hand. “You have worked so hard for me these past few weeks,” she says, and the shiver that runs through him is a full-bodied thing, one that makes her smile when he looks at her, his eyes nearly swallowed by his pupils. “And I did promise you a reward after the trial, did I not?”

“Please,” he says, and oh, she cannot resist politeness.

She gets on her knees, drawing him from the laces of his pants, and takes him into her mouth. He groans, immediately lifting his hands, but she takes his wrists and pins them to his sides, relaxing her throat and taking him as deeply as she can, hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard.

He shouts a curse, hips bucking, and she pulls back to tongue the sensitive head, looking up at him under her lashes. His breathing is as shallow as she’s ever heard it, though she has barely touched him. Nadia smiles and moans around his cock, more for his pleasure than hers, though it brings her great pleasure to see him holding himself still through sheer force of will, his body trembling with the effort.

She can hear the party outside, but her focus is on him: the veins on the underside of his cock that she licks and presses wet kisses to, the quiver in his body as he thrusts into her hand, the strain in his muscles when she sucks him deep, trying to keep himself in check. Nadia weaves her fingers with his and redoubles her efforts, sucking only on the head while she pulls one hand free to cradle his sac.

“Fuck,” he says, voice hoarse and dry, “Nadia, I’m gonna—”

She doesn’t move away, and he stiffens with a cry, hips bucking into her mouth. She fights her grimace at the taste of him, doing her best to swallow his spend; when he goes limp underneath her, she swallows again and releases him with a wet sound, delicately wiping at the corners of her mouth with a fingertip before climbing back into his lap. He makes a soft, protesting sound as she takes his cock in hand, one she hushes, pressing gentle kisses to the corners of his mouth as she tucks him back into his pants.

“You’re gorgeous,” the apprentice says again, dazed, and Nadia laughs.

“Thank you,” she says. “Now, we have a party to return to, much as I enjoyed this… detour.”

“Right,” he says, and reaches up. “Let me fix your hair. Got a little messed up.”

She feels his magic, a ticklish but otherwise indescribable sensation at the back of her neck, and when he is satisfied he nods. They both stand, and Nadia smoothes out the wrinkles in her skirt. Once they are both presentable, he opens the door and bows at the waist, pressing one hand to his chest.

“After you, milady,” he says, and Nadia rolls her eyes. She cups his chin, tilting it up to make him meet her gaze. He smiles, but remains bowed, and she strokes his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

“I meant what I said,” she murmurs. “After this is over, I will take my time with you. As you deserve.”

He smiles. “I’m counting on it.”

#nadia satrinava #nadia x mc #nadia x apprentice #the arcana #i am here for ALL nadia fans!!#anon i see u and i love u #i hope u like it

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holisticsoulhealer · 3 years

Text

Community - A Spiritual Story

When we think of community, we may consider pot lucks, gatherings, common interests, sweet reasons to find each other and more. It seems positive when we hear of the word community.

I like to split the word to discover within geographical areas for a reason for “Common Unity.”

During the time that I held a healing center in Southern California I had the distinct honor of hosting or holding space for small, intimate groups. They were groups of hikers, wedding parties, “red hat” organizations and more. It was always fun and a great learning curve for me as a business woman, as well as working on mastering the challenges of being a sensitive and a healer, in larger groups of mixed energies.

One of my clients was a director in a large lending institution. Her company were providing a massive give-back to the organizations that had supported them during the year. It was at that special thankful time of year right after Thanksgiving that they were holding their event in a gorgeous local hotel. They would have a murder mystery interaction, trays of gourmet finger food provided, and in the midst of all of this, she wanted me to bring my team of therapists to offer chair and seated foot massages.

We created a great price, so that each therapist was rewarded for their efforts. My mum and I would oversee and could jump in if it got very busy, as there were over 300 people going to be at this event. Of course, we anticipated only half or less choosing to mess their hair or have their feet pampered, but that still made it 150 participants for my 7 therapists.

Mum and I showed up and she set up the foot chairs, against the wall, with a small chair and table with sanitizer, our foot lotions, and a clip board to keep a list of who wished to receive their 20 minute foot or clothed upper body massage, and to gather emails. I set up 4 chairs for seated chair massages, with a disposable face holder chair, complete with sanitizers and tissues.

We were all ready when over 300 people descended upon us. The line began and didn’t stop. I observed all of this. Within 30 minutes of the 2.5 hour event, one of my massage therapists excused herself and let me know she had to leave. The line was waiting, so I nodded to my mum over on the foot massage station and stepped in to conduct the chair massage. I forgot that I may not give a ready-to-go massage and that the Angels and Guides love impromptu opportunities to share their insights.

The first woman who approached me was someone who knew the organizer and was totally delighted to have me be her quickie 20 minute chair massage therapist. I closed my eyes and placed my hands flat on both of her tight shoulders. Suddenly I saw a vision of two little girls on either side of her.

I leaned into her and whispered in her ear that if I had any spiritual information for her, would she wish to hear it? She lifted her head and nodded, telling me she had heard something about my helpful insights and welcomed them. I leaned into her ear to whisper what I was getting, at the same time as the murder mystery had an actor drop down with fake blood, right in front of me.

It was ironic that we were so deep, while something so utterly superficial was happening at the same time in the same spot. I was describing the two little girls, one a little older and more faded, like a spirit, with a hand on her heart, and the other a tiny bit younger, and solid like a human here on this earth plane. She was quietly weeping in that public massage chair. I handed her a tissue and continued to massage her, reminding her that we don’t lose anyone, we all simply change form.

I left her to gather herself, while the pretend dead guy on the floor of his murder mystery was getting loud applause. This distraction allowed my recipient of the spiritual work to get up and find her way to the restroom to gather herself. She stopped by my chair and held my hand with bright eyes. She had a gorgeous little girl, and had become pregnant very soon after her first daughter died of heart complications. It was a loss she hadn’t had time to fully grieve and she didn’t understand. The session really helped her to make peace with the truly harsh reality of losing a sweet child.

She sent a whole slew of people to my chair and I was busier than I wished to be, however, the greatest story had already happened in such a loud, unexpected public community event.

We all had a very good evening and that one lady found peace in the midst of a murder mystery.

You have to love the ironies of life here on this plane.

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Ruth

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8duffels2mutts-blog · 7 years

Text

I sat up in the stillness of the night, taking in a deep breath of the brisk, tonic air. The moon seeped through the clouds, sending a glow across the curtain of condensation that clung to the windows. I watched as one tiny sliver of rain lost its footing and slid down the glass like the last drop of mercury in the atmosphere.

Cautiously, quietly, I moved closer to the door, careful not to wake anyone. Silently, I pressed my finger in a tiny circle against the pane. Peering through the eyelet, I gazed onto streets pooled with water dimpled by the rings of carefully laid cobblestone. I took in the simple muddy hovels with dried grass roofs and cozy wooden benches that glowed turquoise in the moonlight.

The village of Quilotoa

I smiled to myself knowingly with the understanding of an artist. The vibrant, misplaced benches were a subtle hint at what lay beyond. I wondered to myself how many steps beyond the truck it would take to reach the trails of the Quilotoa Lagoon. We had arrived just after nightfall, following a tortuous but beautiful detour from the coast.

It had taken us 9 hours to reach this place, our first destination in our exploration of the Valley of the Volcanoes in Ecuador. Nearly twice as long as expected. We had wound our way through the desolate, humid back roads of nameless jungles. Beyond isolated banana and mango plantations. Through mud and muck, and downpours alternated with the unforgiving sun.

By the time we had landed here, we were exhausted and instantly bewitched by the cool, mountain air. All six of us (me and hubby, our two kids, and our two dogs) had scurried into the back without supper and collapsed. I took a moment to reflect on the 5 lumps of life squished half hazard together beneath a tossed mess of blankets and coats and muddy boots. This was our first night together in our old truck, Magma. This was the first night of forever that would begin our life on the road.

The village around us was deep in slumber beneath the high, night sky. I decided to tuck myself back in, too, eager to wake with the early morning sun. I buried my nose in the soft, caramel hair of our youngest one. Even at almost three, he still reaches out in the night to curl his toddler palm around my smallest finger. I slipped into a deep slumber, dreaming of places near and far; leaping over mountains and soaring over seas.

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When daylight pushed back the covers of the long, dark night; we opened our eyes to a place where time hovers in the days of yesteryear. Little, dark haired ladies bustling about: calling after sheep ‘n roosters; and hauling big buckets of water to the front stoop. Bushy faced old men with the wrinkles of a good life, peeling open the creaky doors of ancient helms. Curly swathes of smoke rising to kiss the sky from the brick stacked chimneys of tiny restaurants and shops.

Little heads popped up from the pillows, grins smoothed over well-slept faces. Our children lifted their rosy noses, ready for the day to begin. They discussed rain boots and jackets, and traded for the other’s color of fuzzy, cotton mittens. It is incredible the delight children experience in something as simple as a different kind of weather. One thing was clear from the mouths of babes: this day MUST start with hot cocoa and toast!

So off we went in search of a friendly face who wouldn’t frown on messy hair and wet, dogs pacing behind us. It didn’t take long, only one denied our mutts. But, the second young man shrugged it off and left his cafe door ajar to let them lie at the entrance. They huddled up together just feet from the neighborhood pets, as if they had lain right there the same on any other day.

We delighted in that morning, of the rickety club house steps that led to the dining area. Dust on the window sills and air that smelled of burnt coffee. Golden, yellow napkins thoughtfully placed with crisp, white dishes atop a century wood table. It felt like a grandmother’s kitchen and we felt like the family of long ago. The best bread we’ve had in Ecuador, the best cocoa of my life, and best breakfast companions anywhere on the globe. We slurped up our offerings and felt sure we had just been served the stuff that gave mountain climbers their bravery.

Our little clan moseyed through the town, taking our sweet time to relish over the Andean sentiments of alpaca sweaters, leather dream catchers, and pretty clay pots. We were pleased to learn that the gates of Quilotoa..the lake, not the village, were just a few steps over the hill. We trotted along, expecting to find a trail and a morning jaunt that would lead us this masterpiece of nature.

Temporary hand painted and sculpted mud carvings in the hillside.

After what seemed like just a few steps of hopping and humming along, we found ourselves startled to be standing on a large wood deck overlooking the scene just as it appeared on the postcards. Even the dogs stopped in awe at the sudden total invasion of the senses. We hadn’t expected such a grand reward with so little effort. Never have I seen a blue so true, a perfect replication of any imagination of what turquoise might be.

Looking over the canyon, irony settles in as we feel suspended in time between something powerful and beautiful. The air feels like thick with trickery in a perfect spell of witch craft. The lake, in its grandeur imitates the scene of an old antique mirror complete with flecks of aged imperfection. The clouds overhead look back at us in simple symmetry, only skewed by the jagged edges that spill past the lips of the crater. The darkness they cast is mysterious and alluring in contrast with the serenity of the flawless blue bliss.

We watch from our perch as several kayaks in primary colors drift to and fro next to the shore. Our youngest catches sight of them. He finds himself mesmerized by the prospect of touching them. Intoxicated by the allure, he quickly insists that we get started on our downward quest. The rest of us giggle under our breath. Even his big sister at just four years old, can sense the illusion that could easily taunt the best of us. In the moment it seems as if one could simply lean over the cliff and pick up the kayaks with the tip of a finger.

But, that is not so. The trek to the water’s edge is a steep descent of nearly 2,000 feet in right around thirty minutes. It seemed best to simply distract our over-achiever, and to playfully make our way back the other way. But, in that instant, an adventurer was born and there was no denying the intent in his soul. He was adamant as he had ever been; determined to find his way to the bottom of this volcanic crater. It felt wrong in every sense of the idea to deny him the feat, to squash the first blossoms of his wandering spirit.

We took to the trail that mimicked the ornate, curved handpiece of the heirloom mirror. It was steeper than it appeared and was slick as silver from the cleansing rains of the night before. Our little adventurer skipped and squealed, filled with bravery and endurance. I tried to hold him back, urged him to go a little slower, pleaded with him to somehow understand that the air is thinner.

He would hear none of it, he was utterly spellbound, determined to conquer the impossible.

And then all at once, the magic left his lungs and he fell to a heap right at the feet of an alpaca. His eyes filled with big dollops of disappointment and he suddenly began to wail. Quite uncharacteristic of him, I found myself startled and paralyzed for a solution. His father desperately motioned for the man with the alpaca, and cheerily asked the kids if they would like to sit on the animal for a photo. He heard none of it, and his sister only added to the misery when she too flopped down with a pout and a long list of lamentations.

One of the mutts started pacing nervously, and the other took off in the opposite direction. Each of their reactions: exactly what I was trying to keep from doing myself. At first we tried brushing off the complication, ignoring the outbursts and pretending to be fascinated by the strange, fluffy animal. But our indifference only escalated the situation. We had no choice but to scoop up our transgressions and hurry up the mountain.

We pretended that we couldn’t see the other hikers scouring our faces for an explanation. It was as good of a time as any to feign ignorance and pretend we didn’t know a lick of Spanish. My husband wound up tossing one kid over each shoulder, hauling them up the trail like sacks of rice. I scrambled to keep up, incessantly looking back to check that the dogs were following us. Thank goodness we had only made it 10 minutes down the trail, at that distance it took us at least twice the time to retrace it.

We made it to the top and plopped ourselves willy-nilly over the first painted bench. I lay back with my head against seat, exasperated and looking to the heavens for some sort of consolation. As I turned to sit up again, I saw the inscription etched in the wood “Quilotoa”. In a moment of delirium, I let out a big chuckle that echoed out far into oblivion. Eye to eye with our daughter, I asked her “Did you Kill-A-Toe—uh?!” And with that burst of laughter, we all found the gumption to get up and pace ourselves back to the caravan.

Our adventure comes with the memories of trial and tribulation. Not failure, but success. Our memories glow with the achievements of places we have seen. The prize itself is in having been there and experienced it together. We don’t need to reach the peak of every mountain, the base of every valley. Together we sing the songs of merriment, tell the stories of bewilderment, and cherish the moments that are distinctly our own. They may not be perfect, but they are ours. We own them as fiercely as any footprints that we have left on the path. We claim them as justly as our voices in the canyons.

The iconic painted benches and traditionally dressed Quilotoa native.

Lured by the Jewel of the Andes I sat up in the stillness of the night, taking in a deep breath of the brisk, tonic air.

#travelwithkids travelwithpets parenting dogs travel ecuador travelfamily travelstory southamerica

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