#the (not so much) love letter disguised as an article. the return

[iswearfealtytolexa]

(7) This is the part where I brag about Suzanne Brigit Bird.

I won’t lie….. I might be a little proud of her.

A few reasons why, in no particular order:

Union Sue. So much cool progress was made in the W’s most recent CBA. This current leadership — with Nneka as President and Sue as VP and so many other genius women involved — has set the players up for a lot of success, I think, both immediately as well as down the road. Average salary is way up. Rookie salaries are way up. The max is way up. They locked in family-planning reimbursements, fully paid maternity leave and a child-care stipend. I know how much all of that means to Sue: not just the particulars of the deal, but the bigger picture. The legacy stuff. Sue’s the kind of vet who looks out for the younger generation — who is trying to leave the league better off than how she found it.

Comeback Sue. Don’t fact-check this, but I googled “how many days from september 10th 2018 to july 25th 2020” and it spit out “684 days.” That’s the amount of time that passed between Game 3 of the 2018 Finals and Opening Night of the 2020 season, i.e. the amount of time that my girl spent on the proverbial shelf. Wait. What!!!!! That’s so many days. I almost still can’t believe it. And let’s be real: with COVID, it’s not exactly like Sue was able to go through a state-of-the-art rehab process. Actually, THIS is how improvised it was: With social distancing making it impossible to get real runs in, Sue was forced to train by playing 1-on-1 against……. moi. I won’t share the full scouting report on myself (need to keep a secret or two in my bag), but: You know how, in that interview, Tyler Herro said “I’m a bucket”?? Well — I’m a foul. Still not sure how Sue managed to overcome the adversity of being stuck with me.

Sniper Sue. Fun fact: The Bird is hitting 46.9% from three this year. (Let that sink in.) 46.9%!! That’s her CAREER HIGH. And before you dork off on me about sample size or whatever: This is her second straight season posting a new career high from three. So basically what I’m trying to say is we’re either dealing with a freak of f*cking nature, or one of the best players of all time, or both. I was listening to the J.J. Redick Podcast the other day, and he had Steve Nash on, and Steve was talking about how he sees now that he probably should have shot it more, considering how efficient he was and all of that. But at the same time, he came from this generation where the point guard’s main role was to be a floor general, and a distributor….. and nothing was supposed to get in the way of that. And I think Sue’s sort of built the same way. Like, she’ll go down as one of the best point guards to ever play the game. But I also love how she’s been showing over these last few years that — if she’d ever wanted to — she probably could have been a Steph / Dame type of scoring machine as well.

“This Is 40” Sue. Alright, here’s the deal I’m willing to make — I’ll make it with anyone who wants it. If you get yourself onto the cover of SLAM, accompanied by the headline “ICON”…….. then you can talk about Sue being 39 as much as you want. But until you do? You can’t say sh*t.

#the (not so much) love letter disguised as an article. the return #THE PUBLIC CORRESPONDENCE #please someone tell these women the postal office is indeed still working #binoe #megan rapinoe #sue bird

[twoticky]

hm okay. so i said i was gonna write about this and idk if anyone else actually cares but im Thinking About It.

from what ive seen abt the general tumblr analysis of malvolio (which i certainly dont claim to be an expert on. im just here!), there's a lot of talk abt neurodivergence, particularly autism, as it relates to his character. which is rad obviously! but as someone currently playing malvolio myself, i feel the one of the most important, maybe THE most important factor for me in interpreting malvolio is class, and how he relates to it.

nobility and status is, more broadly, A Thing that comes up in twelfth night. although the primary part of viola's disguise is that she's dressing as a man, she's also a noblewoman dressing as a servant. in shakespeare's time, class lines were pretty strictly defined and relationships between nobility and servants were strongly disapproved of, so viola's position in the class ladder certainly isn't irrelevant to her romantic prospects. (hence why olivia asks about cesario's parentage in 1.5 -- she's not just making small talk, she wants to ensure that he's not impossibly below her). while actual servants having relationships with nobility was considered scandalous, the idea of love as service was common and appears throughout shakespeare's plays; viola calls orsino olivia's servant because of his love for her, for one example, and antonio's extremely homoerotic devotion to sebastian manifests itself through his dedication to service. and of course there's viola herself, who literally serves her love orsino, until her true identity is revealed and she becomes "orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen," the roles of servant and commander switching through their love. and then we get to malvolio!

(from here on out i'm gonna talk a lot about my personal analysis of his character, which you can feel free to disagree with. every actor who plays him does it differently and i think that's one of the great things about his character!) malvolio is frequently considered a parallel to the various lovers in the play, most often compared to orsino as their semi-obsession and courtship of olivia is similar, but i think, because of a lot of the stuff about master/servant relationships i talked about above, he's also comparable to viola in some ways. what makes him different, though, is that his love for olivia is almost secondary to his love for what she can give him -- power and respect. malvolio, presumably, was born to a lower class family, and has attained the rank of steward because of his obedience and commitment to rules. and he believes that through this obedience he will get the status he rightly deserves, that jove and his stars will bestow luck upon him. although many things about the play's class system don't particularly translate to modern times, one thing became clear to me pretty quickly about malvolio: he's kind of a bootlicker. now, don't get me wrong, i love his character! but fundamentally, he is someone who believes he can escape the oppressive class structures of his time and place if he just works hard enough. and he works hard! he dedicates himself to olivia's service, and part of why he hates the fool, or sir toby's entourage, is that they aren't working. they have the luxury to sit around and joke while he's had to work every second of his life to get this far! so while he's, in some ways, sympathetic, it's pretty understandable why so many people hate him.

and then we get to the prank. now, i think it's really important to remember, while sir toby is pretty much a ne'er-do-well, he is nobility. he's olivia's uncle, and although he may not have money, he has status. and in sir toby's mind, the crime malvolio has committed is rising above his station -- he's disrespected toby with his chastisement and threats to kick him out, and he's "disrespected" olivia by desiring her, which of course because of his status is considered inherently predatory. (this is, additionally, why i find lesbian malvolio so interesting as a re-interpretation, adds a lil something to the sense of malvolio being predatory just because of who he is). so, of course, malvolio must have everything he's wanted for so long dangled in front of him, and then have it ripped away. only fair, right?

although twelfth night is a play that challenges convention in a lot of ways, we're still living in the 1600s (1500s? fuck, when was this play written?), and we have to have some approximation of returning to proper social order at the end of the play. orsino marries a noblewoman, olivia marries a nobleman, and malvolio stays where he is. what changes, towards the end of the play, is that malvolio has realized, depressing as it is, that he can't win. he tried to do everything olivia wanted, and this resulted in punishment. in his letter to her in 5.1, he says he has forgotten his station, that he speaks only out of injury, which he certainly would have never done before. and ironically, once malvolio has abandoned his striving his grandeur, the play finally gives him the dignity he's been denied. his lines in the final scene of the play are the only time he ever speaks in verse instead of prose -- speaks in the language of nobility, lovers, sympathetic characters, instead of that of servants and "lighter people."

in some ways the ending of twelfth night is a bit of a bummer -- malvolio storms off, pledging revenge on everyone who has stood there and laughed while he was stripped of his dignity, and as far as we no there is no conclusion, no justice is served. how can we just, like, walk away and be fine with that? i guess to answer that i'd paraphrase an article mentioned in the back of the folgers: the greatest revenge malvolio gets, the greatest victory over all the nobility with which he shares the stage, is being, in the end, the most memorable character in the play.

#shakespeare #twelfth night #im sorry if this is like. incredibly long winded. i feel like i wrote a novel here #also sorry for not having like proper quotations my folgers is downstairs and im too lazy to go get it #so im just relying on memory for these. if i got something wrong dont like kill me

[startanewdream]

Godfather duty

Summary: When James is surprised by Sirius and Harry coming home drunk four in the morning, he questions himself when he got too old for that.

For @theblueocean 

Part of the Jily Lives AU

Rated M for mentions of underage drinking and some swearing.

Read on AO3 with all the correct italics, or below the cut:

_________

His eyelids feel heavy, but James keeps writing. He is almost finishing the first draft of the article for Transfiguration Today; it's due Sunday and he still has five days to finish it, but James is really anxious for presenting it. It's not his first paper for that magazine, but his article will be the headline this time, and he promised himself he would send them in advance as much as he could - and he still needs to send it to Minerva for her to read and review.

It feels a lot like he is back in school doing essays, but James doesn't remember being that excited back at Hogwarts - well, not about homework anyway.

He puts the final dot and lets the quill rest, satisfied. He will proofread in the morning, maybe even rewrite altogether from a different perspective, but it's done and it's a competent article, he knows.

Human transfiguration was always a point of interest to him.

He raises, stretching up and looking at his watch. It's past four in the morning already; he really lost track of time. He remembers Lily calling him to go to bed - and then he promised her he would go in a minute, which he clearly forgot.

He suppresses a yawn as he leaves the library, thinking only of sinking on his bed when he hears a sound coming from the front porch.

All his sleepiness is gone instantly, and he turns with his wand already raised, alarmed and with his instincts screaming even though it’s been months since the war ended; someone is turning the doorknob. The spell is almost leaving his lips when the door opens wide and he sees Harry's joyful face.

Harry is not alone; Sirius is with him, their arms around each other in a brotherly gesture and for a moment James has a flashback of himself with Sirius with that same easiness, both of them beaming happily and goofy; it's a memory of twenty years ago, of a night they went around Muggle London joining a pub crawl that ended up with James' mother finding them passed out in the middle of the Potter’s living room in Godric’s Hollows.

A lot of things happened that night - a flight from the Muggle police when they tried to climb Cleopatra’s Needle, an attempt to perform a serenade to Lily only to realize they were on the wrong street and throwing eggs at Grimmauld Place number twelve - but what he remembers clearer is the smell of the alcohol on him as he woke up next morning - and then the taste of it all as he threw it all up.

And right now Sirius and Harry have that same smell of cheap whiskey mixed with beer.

James blinks, confused. As far as he thought, Harry had been back from work hours ago - James was sure Harry had been sleeping on his bed right now.

It’s evident he was wrong.

‘Hi, Prongs’, Sirius says, grinning from ear-to-ear, sounding much steadier than James would have guessed from the smell coming from them. ‘Care to let us in?’

'What's going on?', James asks, worried, stepping aside to let them enter. Both of them are stumbling, but James has the impression that Sirius is supporting Harry more than the opposite.

For some reason his question makes them look at each other.

'What I said?', Sirius asks Harry as if they are sharing some old joke. Harry lets out of one of his rare carefree giggles. 'What d'you think we are doing, dear Prongs?'

'Coming home drunk in the middle of the night?’

‘Chill out, Dad’, Harry says, winking at him.

Chill out?

‘It’s four in the morning of a Tuesday - I thought you were home already!’

‘I had to work late’, Harry answers immediately, grinning. Sirius takes him to the living room, trying to help him on the couch, but Harry slides to the floor, falling on the carpet.

‘On a bar?’

‘It’s for work’, Harry insists, eyes open as if that was obvious. 

‘It was a very important mission’, Sirius agrees. ‘Stealth. Mixing with locals. Spying on people’.

‘Oh, were there Death Eaters on that bar?’, James asks, rolling his eyes.

‘It could have been! Harry needs to know how to handle his alcohol!’

Harry giggles.

‘I handle it very well’, he says proudly, clapping his hands. ‘Tell him, Sirius’.

‘He won us money on darts. He even closed his eyes for the last shot. You would be proud!’

‘That you were letting my barely out-of-age kid bet on games?’

Sirius rolls his eyes.

‘Everything was under control, he won. Stop worrying, I was on godfather duty tonight -’

‘Between a drink and another, you mean?’

‘ - and I brought him home, right?’

‘Speaking of that’, James raises his eyebrows, now sounding openly reproachful. ‘How did you come home? Don’t tell me you drank and apparated’.

‘I would never!’

‘Or that motorbike - if you came here flying, I swear I will -’

‘Relax, Dad!’, Harry intervenes, now raising on a jump, ignoring how he tumbles in the process. ‘We got a cab. Eeeeeeverything under control’.

James watches his son go to the cabinet in the room, searching for something until he takes out a feather to doodle something on a parchment, not realizing it’s a grocery list.

‘I see the control’, he says dryly. ‘What are you doing, Harry?’

‘I am making a howler’.

‘What? What for?’

‘To howl, duh - hey!’, he turns to Sirius, his eyes sparkling madly. ‘Remus never sends letters - he only sends howlers!’

Sirius chuckles. ‘I howl too! Owoooooo!’

‘Hey, hey, you are going to wake up Lily!’

‘And?’

‘And maybe you don’t want her to see what you did to Harry - Harry, stop that, you are not sending anyone a howler’.

‘I have to tell Ginny I love her!’

‘She already knows, I am sure, you’ve told her’.

‘But I never yelled it!’

‘And she loves you more because of that, come on, give me that letter’.

‘I knew he wouldn’t let you send it’, Sirius says, his voice now smug. ‘Prongsie is old’.

James rolls his eyes.

‘Same age as you, Pads’, he remembers distantly, taking the letter from Harry, though now he realizes he didn’t need to worry. Harry’s letter is unintelligible and he doubts he could cast the spell to turn into a howler.

Harry pouts.

‘Sirius is right, you are square’.

‘What?’

‘We can never have fun’.

‘And you are so serious - more than me, haha!’, Sirius adds, now laying down lazily on the couch, his legs spread. James is about to complain that his shoes are all muddy and Sirius should take them out, but he stops.

Oh, Merlin, he is really getting a bit square, isn’t he?

‘I can be fun’, he stresses, making Sirius let out one of his bark laughs.

‘Yeah, years ago. Before you were a dad - no offence, Harry’.

Harry doesn’t seem to have heard him, which James considers a shame. Harry would surely defend him - he was a cool dad to Harry.

No, he is still a cool dad. The kind that Harry can feel at will to talk about anything, that supports Harry and that is always there for him.

Except that Harry didn’t tell him about working late tonight or going to a bar. Except Harry and Sirius didn’t ask for his company.

And if they did - he thinks of the paper he just finished and how excited he was for it.

He would have said no.

That’s not very cool of him.

‘I will take a flight!’, Harry declares, his eyes shining with this idea and for once James doesn’t feel satisfied with the mischievousness in him.

‘No drinking and flying’, James says sternly, and he decides that he will have to remain uncool for a little longer. ‘You - you stay here! Sirius - watch him. Better than you did so far, I mean’.

Sirius grimaces, evidently annoyed, but he sits next to Harry, who is now mumbling something incomprehensible, though Sirius seems to be listening to him with attention. James leaves them in the living room, locking the door behind him just in case, and goes to Lily’s office hoping she has stored a Hangover Potion. He is in no luck, of course; it’s been years since he and Lily even needed one - James believes it comes with the age knowing when to stop - and there was nothing in Harry’s latest behaviour that showed them they would need it.

For a second James almost considers waking up Lily, knowing she would make the potion in minutes, but he doesn’t want her to see the mess Harry is right now; it’s far better she hears it later than witnessing first hand. He grabs a small cauldron and the ingredients he will need and returns to the living room.

In the few minutes he was out, Harry and Sirius managed to make things strangely worse. There is snow in the room, that he sees Sirius casting from his wand; Harry is perfectly still, the snow making a sort of white hat on his head, his arms wide open and also covered in snow.

‘What -’, James tries to ask, but he just blinks at the weirdness on the scene.

‘Shhhh’, Sirius says, a finger on his lips. ‘Don’t distract him!’

‘What is Harry doing?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? Disguise training! He is a snowman!’

‘He is missing a carrot nose’, James notes, grimacing, and that makes Sirius turn his wand to Harry’s face. ‘I am joking!’

It’s too late; there is a flash of light and then there is a carrot on Harry’s face, replacing his nose.

‘Sirius!’, Harry complains, raising his hand to touch his new nose. His voice is muffled. ‘I can’t have a nose this big! How can I snog Ginny now?’

‘That’s your concern?’, James asks, half-amused, now taking out Sirius’ wand to make sure he doesn’t cast any more magic.

‘I will poke her in the eye!’, Harry says, moping, scratching the tip of his pointy nose thoughtfully.

‘I will transform you back as soon as you drink this potion, now lay still’. Harry sighs, sitting on the couch. Sirius sits next to him, patching him in the back as if he weren’t the one that turned Harry’s nose into a carrot in the first place.

‘Your nose matches her hair’, he says bracingly. ‘You will look beautiful together’.

‘I am not sure this is much comfort, Padfoot’, James notes, placing the cauldron in the fireplace and starting to throw in the ingredients. He could add something for the taste, but he believes the bitterness helps build character.

‘Well, I got him quiet, didn’t I?’, Sirius asks, pointing at Harry who is now sitting on the couch, still playing with his carrot nose.

‘You could have messed up so badly’.

‘I am not that drunk - I watched over your kid, no matter what you think of me’.

James shakes his head.

‘Letting him drink that much? He barely can stand - what if someone -’

‘The war is over, James’, Sirius tells him, sounding much grim now. ‘And like I said, I was there. Me, half-a-dozen junior Aurors and some seniors too’.

‘Unless any Death Eater threat would be a challenge to a drinking contest, I don’t think it would make much difference’.

‘Oh, Merlin’. Sirius sighs, walking to the drink cabinet and opening it to take a bottle of firewhiskey. ‘Here, drink this’.

‘What?’

‘You are sober, I hate talking to sober people when I am pissed. Sober people are boring’.

‘I am not boring’, James complains, pushing away the bottle that Sirius extends in his direction. ‘And I am past the age of being forced to drink to look cool’.

‘Then drink because it’s nice!’, Sirius says forcefully now. ‘Drink because you are alive! Drink because you are happy! Drink because for the first time in his life your son is properly pissed!’

‘That’s not a reason -’

‘That’s enough reason! He is eighteen! What age were we when we first got pissed?’

‘Seventeen’. Sirius raises his eyebrows, waiting for him, and James flushes, turning his attention to the cauldron. The potion is almost over. ‘Fine, fifteen - but it didn’t count, we weren’t thinking straight then’.

‘Yeah. Our first transformation’, Sirius remembers, but there is something heavy on his voice now.

‘What is the problem, Padfoot?’

‘Nothing’. 

That makes James stop. He takes the cauldron out of the fire, to let the potion cool down, and turns to Sirius, watching him. Sirius’ eyes are watery as he always gets when he drinks, but he sustains James’ look for a surprisingly full two minutes before he sighs.

‘Fine, you are the problem’.

‘Me? You take my son out for a drink without telling me, return home four in the morning and I am the problem?’

‘Look at what you are saying! He is of age! He was with his friends - and his very trustable godfather! He was having fun for once in his life, instead of living that responsible life you want for him’.

‘Responsible?’, James repeats, dumbfounded. Nobody had ever accused him of wanting to do the responsible thing. ‘I am just being his father’.

‘Well, maybe Harry doesn’t need his father anymore’.

There is a long pause after that. James blinks, once, twice, very slowly, trying to understand what Sirius means by that, and it’s only when he reaches for the drink cabinet to get a glass for the potion, that Sirius moves.

‘Shit - I didn’t mean like that - sorry, James, it’s not -’

‘No, I get it’, James says, his voice forcefully steady. ‘Harry wants the cool father figure that allows him everything - and, well, Sirius “what’s life without a little risk” Black is perfect for that’.

‘Don’t be absurd - that kid worships the ground you walk upon -’

‘And yet he was with you, not me. I get it. I am a father, not a friend’. He offers Sirius a full glass. ‘Drink this, you’ll feel better tomorrow’.

‘No, I deserve the hangover tomorrow, but that’s beside the point. It’s my fault’.

‘I don’t think you forced Harry to drink’, James notes dryly, sitting next to Harry to help him drink the potion. Harry seems to be in another world now, but he obliges to James’ help without questioning.

‘No, that was all on him - I mean it, he’d make you proud, he won a drinking contest with Thompson and he is twice Harry’s size - er, not helping, sorry’. Sirius sits on the other side of Harry. ‘He was going to tell you we’d be out for a drink. And I didn't let him'.

'Why? Why would you -'

'Because I thought you would overreact. Worry too much about him. Don't let him have any fun'.

'I would not -'

'And because I thought he'd ask you to come’.

James blinks. Between them, Harry lays his head on James' shoulder, now watching Sirius with mild curiosity.

‘I would ask’, he agrees, a note of pride in his voice. 

'Am I that bad company?', James asks in a low voice. Sirius shakes his head.

'Would you come with us?', he challenges. James keeps his gaze for a few seconds, but just like Sirius didn't lie for him before, he wouldn't dare speak anything but the truth.

'No, I had things to do today'.

'That article', Sirius scoffs. 'You don't talk about anything else'.

James frowns.

'It's really important - a chance of -'

'Getting yourself a name, I know, I know. But see -', his grey eyes are burning over James now, somewhat desperate. 'The Prongs I know would never care for reputation'.

'Sirius…'

'The Prongs I know would be honest with me'.

'I am - what are you -'

'I heard you and Kingsley, ok?', he blows off. 'Registering as an animagus? After all this time?'

There is another silence, broken only by the crackling fire.

'I was going to tell you', James says finally. 'I didn't think it was important - you don't have to register too -'

'That's not the point - you are breaking our trust -'

'It's just an entry on a list. It doesn’t change anything, I will keep our full moon nights -'

'When Remus has time, you mean?', he asks, sounding bitter now. 'He missed the last two, he'd rather stay home -'

'He has a kid now -'

'So do you and… you guys are getting old and responsible and too serious for me'.

'Nobody is more serious than you', James says, smiling at him, but Sirius just rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table, taking a sip.

James extends his hand. Sirius raises one eyebrow, in disbelief, and his expression only relaxes a little when James takes a long sip of the firewhiskey. The drink burns his throat, infusing him with that weird dose of courage and a will to do something, but James just sighs.

'You are no less serious because of it', Sirius notes.

'I got serious - the war, the first one and then the second one and everything - and I think I forgot how to relax - but that doesn't mean… you are my brother, Sirius'.

'The annoying prettier baby brother?'

'You are older', James says, grinning, and after a second of hesitation, Sirius smiles too. 'You can invite me - I mean, we can do things together. Even if it sounds - or is - stupid'.

'Things together like… registering our animagus form?'

James rests against the couch, and Harry moves his head to rest more comfortably on his shoulders; James thinks he will sleep soon.

'You don't need to do it too - Kingsley already knows about you and he is the bloody Minister of Magic, isn't he? This was not about doing the responsible thing'.

'Then why -'

'I want the credit'. James presses his lips, before admitting something he didn't even share with Lily yet. 'I talked to Minerva - if I get back to my studies, get enough recommendation to be approved by the board, I could get her position'.

Sirius blinks, startled.

'Her position? You mean -'

'Transfiguration professor, yeah'.

He looks away now, feeling somewhat embarrassed. It had never really been an ambition - teaching was much more something Remus had always wanted to do than him; James had been glad to focus on his studies and develop new theories of transfiguration until then. 

But ever since Minerva had vented that possibility to him a few weeks after the end of the war, when they were repairing one of the halls destroyed in the battle, that thought had been on his mind. He wasn't in a rush, but the idea of getting back to Hogwarts, this time as a professor, watching other students learn from him as much as he had learned from Minerva McGonagall… he couldn't deny that idea had taken root in his mind.

James always teased her that he had been her favourite student, but the fact was that she was his favourite professor and there was some part of him that wanted to impress her and prove himself good enough to replace her someday.

He waits for Sirius' response, but there is only a silence that doesn't seem good.

'I know it's huge', James mumbles. 'There are others far more capacitated than me, I am starting now to -'

'Shut your mouth, Prongs', interrupts Sirius, and James turns to him. There is a grin on his face. 'Being humble never suited you'.

James laughs softly.

'I wasn’t trying to', he assures him.

'I thought - I thought you had wanted to do the right thing. You know, registering just because you wanted to follow the law, as if… as if you were ashamed of what we did illegally -'

'Now it's you who needs to shut up, Padfoot'. He takes another sip of the firewhiskey. ‘Animagus at age of fifteen? I’m damn proud of it. Also, that’s the only thing that I have done that’s cooler than half the stuff Harry got into’.

‘Yeah, I suppose it’s hard when your son is a bloody hero’.

Harry chooses that moment to start snoring loudly, which sends James and Sirius into a fit of laughter. James raises, careful to let Harry sleep on the couch, and Harry doesn’t look remotely close to waking up.

‘I am glad you took him out for a drink’, James says, taking out Harry’s glasses. ‘I was just jealous - it should have been me’.

‘I am sure there will be another occasion’, Sirius says dismissively. ‘He will probably forget every embarrassing thing he did, you know how that works’.

‘Oh, he embarrassed himself?’, James asks, a glint of fun on his eyes. Sirius smirks.

‘That happy giggling Harry you saw? Just the last stage. He was all cocky at first - that’s how we got into that darts bet’.

‘Harry? My son? Cocky?’

‘Oh, yeah, he reminded me a lot of you’, Sirius’ smirk increases. ‘He was strutting and all’.

‘Tell me you took pictures of it’.

‘I would never’, Sirius declares, though James isn’t sure he believes him this time. ‘And then he got very… honest’.

‘That doesn’t sound good for that stealth mission’.

Sirius shakes his head.

‘If he was spilling out Auror secrets I would be happier - no, instead I had to hear about the time he and Ginny -’

‘Nope, nope, I don’t want to know’.

‘Well, me neither, I won’t ever use your Invisibility Cloak again, you can be sure. But anyway - that’s why he got here so drunk. I decided vodka was the only way to shut him up properly’.

Sirius looks so satisfied with himself and his choices, that James knows what he has to do.

‘It’s late’, he says pleasantly. ‘Crash here tonight’.

‘Oh, I think I will - I am not fit to apparate’.

‘Let’s go upstairs then’.

‘And Harry?’

‘Oh, look at him. He is sleeping so well, he can stay here tonight’.

‘If you are sure’.

‘Yeah, yeah, everything will be fine’.

_________

James has slept barely four hours when he wakes up with Lily’s cry. He puts on his robe lazily, waiting a few minutes to go downstairs; when he passes Sirius’ room, the door is already opened.

Good.

He finds them all together in the toilet next to the kitchen, and by the sounds coming out of there, his Hangover Potion wasn’t very efficient.

‘We were working late, Lily’, Sirius is saying, sounding properly desperate. ‘And we went out for a drink -’

‘It was a Tuesday night! He has to work in one hour!’

‘So do I - but you see, I’m his boss, so everything is fine! Also, I don’t think any of the boys will show up -’

‘Perfect’, Lily interrupts him, her eyes sending daggers in Sirius’ direction. ‘Then you can take care of him’. She sees James. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘Me? I was working late on my text, you know’, he answers, yawning and looking very innocent.

Sirius waits until Lily is out for the kitchen to turn to James, his eyes narrowed.

‘You knew she would be mad. That’s why you told me to stick around’.

‘If I knew how my dear wife would react to knowing you got our son pissed? How could I?’

Sirius grimaces as there is another retching sound coming from the bathroom.

‘Oh, you better go there and don’t forget to keep Harry hydrated’.

‘Watch it’, Sirius says, but he goes into the bathroom anyway. ‘I won’t ever show you the pictures’.

James shrugs, undisturbed.

‘That’s fine. Next time Harry gets drunk, I will be there’.

‘I won’t ever ever ever drink again’, Harry moans, hugging the toilet seat now, his face sweaty.

‘Oh, kid, we’ve all been there’, Sirius sighs, flushing down the toilet and helping Harry raise.

James grins to himself, glad that Sirius is doing his godfather duty once again, and leaves them alone.

#Eyes glistening #james and sirius #harry and sirius #James and Harry #just a bunch of drunks #and a dad dealing with it #James is not old come on #jily lives is a happier world

[mostlycompetentwriter]

You Can STAY - Part 10

F/M Main Pairing: Y/N x Lee Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; Scarlet Heart AU; OT8 SKZ

Warnings: Language; some mentions of mature content; violence; mentions of blood; major character death (uh-oh)

Summary: The King is challenged.

A/N: the gif doesn’t really fit but Jeongin does some hardcore stuff in this chapter

Tag List: @angelphantomlove @moonlightracha @jjabbur @pinkchcn @straykidbaby @moonnstars90 @dru-shadow @skzooyeet @xiaojunssmile​

“He’s losing his mind.”

I glanced up at the seemingly innocuous comment, narrowing my eyes in deep thought as Felix laid down next to me in our shared bed. “What do you mean?” I asked, although I had a faint idea of his intentions.

“There are consequences to our actions,” Felix said. “I think Changbin has finally started to realize that for himself.”

I swallowed hard, studying the detailed ornamentation of Felix’s freckles. “Is he sick?”

“He’s something,” Felix grunted. “Told me the other night that he saw Seungmin walking into his bedroom.”

I immediately frowned. “Like...a ghost?”

“Yeah,” Felix said. “Exactly like a ghost.”

I scoffed at such a notion. “How long has he been seeing ghosts for?”

“Does it matter?” Felix asked. “He deserves to suffer after all the horrible shit he’s done to his family and the kingdom. Every time I see him in the Throne Room, I just want to wring his fucking neck. Make him earn those breaths he gets to take since he made the decision to take away Seungmin and Minho’s right to live.”

I shivered at the venom in Felix’s tone. But instead of the rage he felt, I only experienced a deep-settled sadness weighing on my bones. To the point where it was sometimes difficult to force myself up in the mornings. “We can only keep him accountable,” I said. “He won’t stay on the throne.”

“He might,” Felix muttered. 

“It’s not meant to be,” I replied simply. “The rest of the Kingdom will see that.”

“When?” Felix huffed. “After he kills another one of my brothers?”

“He won’t hurt you,” I said. “And I don’t think he has plans to kill Jeongin.”

“Cuz’ he knows Jeongin is weak,” Felix said. “He doesn’t contribute to anything around here. All he does is visit Changbin in the evenings. Whatever it is they do alone in his chambers.”

“Is that where Jeongin is right now?” I asked.

“Last time I checked...” Felix trailed off, appearing slightly more anxious. “Yeah, he’s with Changbin.”

“Should we be worried?”

“I don’t think so,” Felix said, although I suspected it was more for my benefit than a statement of fact. “Jeongin can handle himself.”

“He’s a kid,” I grumbled. “I’m sure he’s scared and confused. The only reason he even gets to be here is because Changbin’s mother protected him.”

“Well, as long as she lives,” Felix said. “Jeongin will have a safe place, and he’s smart enough to know that.”

“And if she dies?”

Felix sighed. “Then I hope he’ll know to run, but that’s nothing to concern ourselves with right now.”

“I can’t help it,” I said, drawing myself closer to Felix for his reassuring warmth. “I want to take care of him.”

“I know, love,” Felix whispered, and I could feel his lips press a soothing kiss against the top of my head, providing me with only a faint inkling of hope when the rest of the world seemed to be growing darker.

Jeongin

Jeongin watched his brother as he slowly worked apart the buttons on his shirt: movements that seemed far too sluggish for a king in their prime. 

“Are you alright, Changbin?” Jeongin asked.

“M’ tired,” Changbin said, and Jeongin didn’t even react when Changbin slumped down into the floor. “My head hurts again.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongin whispered, hoping that it sounded more genuine that he felt. Or, maybe Changbin wouldn’t even notice.

But he was doing this for Chan and Jisung. For the family that Changbin had taken from him.

“I’ve prepared a bath for you.”

Changbin groaned, sliding his fingers through his graying hair. “I feel sick.”

“The bath will help,” Jeongin insisted, and he forced his feet to move across the floor to support Changbin by his arm, allowing his brother to lend most of his weight against Jeongin’s slimmer form, trying to control the shakiness threatening to ruin everything as he helped Changbin lower himself beneath the waters.

The smell of mercury was subtle, but Jeongin had done a good job of masking it with other bath scents. “Feels good,” Changbin slurred, and Jeongin resisted a smile at the glazed-over look in his brother’s eyes. 

It was happening exactly as Chan had described it to him. When his oldest brother entrusted him to carry out this formidable task because he was one of the few people left who Changbin still trusted. Even if it was his mother’s intervention that permitted that trust in the first place.

But she would never know what had happened. Chan had shown him how to disguise the slow killing, to convince Changbin that it was his own guilt turning his body against him.

His own flesh and blood. 

Dying more every night. 

Slowly, but dying nonetheless.

Poisoned by Jeongin’s own hand.

“Tell me when it starts getting cold,” Jeongin whispered, and he made sure that Changbin was distracted before allowing a satisfied smirk to overtake the façade of practiced innocence that he had perfected for these moments.

Felix

There were already murmurings spreading through the Kingdom. Rumors of a madman on the throne, and Felix could do little to assuage the fears of their people when Changbin insisted on screaming at the top of his lungs at the most ungodly hours.

“He’s always fucking there!” Changbin had exclaimed before running for the coverage of his bed, and Felix hesitated, wondering if his brother would ruin himself after all.

“Who’s there?” Felix asked.

“Seungmin,” Changbin hissed, and his eyes were wild and bloodshot. Something savage and untamable. “He’s watching me.”

Felix swallowed hard, watching his brother start to cry as he begged their dead younger brother to leave him alone, apologizing over and over again for knocking the arrow that had pierced his heart.

“Seungmin is dead,” Felix said, and he made sure his tone was harsh, but firm. “You’re seeing things.”

“I’m not!” Changbin barked, and Felix thought that his tone didn’t quite match the harried expression on his face - the haunted look in his eyes.

“You said you needed to speak to me,” Felix sighed, deciding that it might be best to remind Changbin of other things besides their brother.

“I called for you hours ago,” Changbin growled. “Where were you?”

“I was with Y/N,” Felix said. “We had to...discuss some things.”

Changbin frowned at his pause. “You were fucking that girl,” he snapped, and Felix was appalled by his brother’s language.

“What’s your problem?” Felix asked. “She’s the Castle Mage!”

“She’s a whore!” Changbin shouted, and he was up on his feet in an instant, wobbling between his legs as he pointed a finger at Felix. “She’s distracting you!”

“That’s absurd!” Felix retorted.

“Is it?” Changbin questioned. “Because every time you come in here, you’re always bringing up that girl. Wanting to marry her and live a big fucking happily ever after.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Felix returned. “Should I not hold you to the promises you made?”

“I am the King!” Changbin screeched. “I can form and break promises whenever I want.”

“Oh?” Felix asked, narrowing his eyes. “What’s this all about, then?”

“I’ve decided that you won’t marry that girl,” Changbin growled, and Felix had never felt so furious in his entire life.

“The reason why I serve you, brother,” Felix said. “Is because of how much I love Y/N.”

“Should I get rid of her?” Changbin asked. “Then you won’t have anything to love.”

“Why would you want to turn me against you?” Felix howled.

“Don’t speak of disloyalty!” Changbin said. “I won’t tolerate this discussion any longer.”

“But what you promised me-”

“STOP!” Changbin screamed, and it was enough to startle Felix into silence. “Hyunjin sent another letter,” Changbin continued as if intentionally ignoring the foul mood he had brought upon his brother. “Go down South and meet with him. I need to ensure that our alliances are settled.”

“Why should I?” Felix challenged. “If you won’t officialize my wedding, then I have no reason to serve you anymore!”

“Felix!” Changbin sighed, and he turned away to slam his fist against the wall. “Don’t do this to me!”

“Do what? Hold you accountable!”

“Go find Hyunjin!” Changbin demanded, glaring over his shoulder. “Do this for me and I’ll reconsider my position.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Felix pointed out, but he stopped when he realized his brother was already drifting again, lowering himself back down onto his bed with a moan of pain. “Fine,” Felix relented. “I’ll speak to Hyunjin. But when I return, you better keep your word or you’ll lose me and Y/N!”

“I’ll have you killed!” Changbin protested, but they both knew his words held little conviction from a King who could barely stand on his own two feet.

The sun was disappearing behind the mountains when Felix returned to our shared room, pulling out his bag and grabbing several articles of clothing.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I have to go South,” Felix replied, and there was a determined look on his face as he continued to work. 

“Leaving?” I questioned, watching Felix start to fold his belongings. “Why?”

“Changbin wants me to find Hyunjin,” Felix grumbled. “Something about securing our alliances.”

“Did he not read the letter?” I asked. “The South wants nothing to do with Changbin.”

“I have to do as he says,” Felix sighed, and I was surprised by his insistence. 

“They see an illegitimate King,” I continued. “He’s wasting your time.”

“I know,” Felix groaned, and he straightened up long enough to draw me closer. “I’m doing this for us, okay? Changbin has the power to wed us, whether we like it or not.”

“But it’s not worth it if he keeps delaying his promise,” I pointed out, pulling away from Felix’s arms to storm over to the window. “I think he’s lying.”

“We have no other option,” Felix said. “What would you have me do?”

I swallowed hard, gazing out over the Kingdom at night. “Go find Hyunjin,” I said, feeling the fight leave every inch of my body. “But when you return, you will insist on our union or we’ll take matters into our own hands.”

“I agree,” Felix said, and I could feel him walk up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I won’t be gone long.”

“It’s always too long,” I lamented, turning around to face him and see the familiar look of love reflected in his emerald gaze.

Felix left that evening, and I decided to take a walk amongst the gardens since I would worry about him non-stop until he returned.

Up ahead in the Northern tower, I could see that Changbin’s candle was still glowing, and I wondered what he must be thinking, wasting away into whatever sickness had claimed him.

Still, it was mostly quiet and calm on the grounds, and I was walking with a thousand louder thoughts racing through my head.

But I should’ve known better than to embrace complacency, pausing when I heard a whispered utterance of my name. “Y/N! Over here.”

I frowned, following the voice to the nearby shelter of the Holly bushes, attempting to peer into the branches. “Hello?”

For a moment, there was no response, but then the leaves started to rattle and I took a step back with my magic instinctively warming for my command. But nothing could’ve left me colder than the familiar sight of Chan and Jisung emerging from the bushes.

“Chan?” I gasped. “Jisung?”

“There you are,” Jisung said, smiling in spite of our surroundings, gathering me into his arms for a fierce hug. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I replied, and I couldn’t help but savor the embrace.

“We need to get inside the Castle,” Chan said, interrupting the moment with a heavy exhale, and I felt my metaphorical hackles rise as I turned to face him.

“Are you insane?” I hissed, watching as Chan and Jisung exchanged glances. “You’ll be killed.”

“It’s fine,” Jisung said, trying to reassure me by drawing his fingers through my hair. “We have someone on the inside.”

I frowned, but it only took me a moment to process what he meant. “Jeongin.”

Chan nodded, and there was something truly frightening about the look in his eyes. “Jeongin’s been poisoning him,” Chan explained with an insane look of delight. “I taught him how to disguise mercury in his baths.”

The implications of his charges hit me all at once, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same after this night. “You’re killing Changbin?!!”

“Jeongin will finish him tonight,” Jisung said, and I was horrified to see him miming a dagger striking above his heart.

“We’ll take the Castle back,” Chan said, but I shook my head because I couldn’t believe that the three siblings had plotted this together!

“You’re no better than Changbin,” I said, marching up to Chan to smash my palm against his chest. “Killing is never the answer.”

“Changbin did the same!” Chan scowled. “We need to take back the Kingdom!”

“Not dishonorably!”

“As if Changbin is in power because he was so honorable,” Jisung scoffed, and I realized that there would be no changing their minds.

Meanwhile, I could hear screaming from the northern tower, and there was a sudden flurry of movement as the guards started to shout out their orders.

“It’s time,” Chan said, and there was nothing but ice in my veins as I had no choice but to follow the brothers inside.

Felix

Felix was ready to leave, horses fed and watered, and belongings stacked neatly on the back of his saddle. 

But that all changed with a scream.

Immediately, Felix was on high alert, catching sight of the guards running inside from the stables. “The king’s been attacked!” one of them shouted, and Felix didn’t need to hear another word before he was abandoning his previous assignment. All thoughts of Hyunjin and the Southern territories were gone in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N!”

I paused at the familiar sound of Felix’s voice, nearly crying in relief when I realized that he hadn’t left yet. “Changbin’s been hurt,” I said, falling into his arms because there wasn’t much strength left in my trembling legs. 

“I know,” Felix growled, and he didn’t say much else before pulling me along behind him, barking out orders to the guards as he ignored their warnings and forced his way into Changbin’s private chambers.

It was a sight I would never forget, nearly losing what was left in my stomach at the sight of all the blood staining his bed sheets, and the dagger still protruding from his chest. “Felix!” Changbin gurgled, and there was a fresh stream of blood trickling from the side of his mouth.

Felix frowned, pushing aside the guard and doctor who had been attending to his brother. “Who did this?” Felix demanded.

“Jeongin,” Changbin hissed, and I could see the surprise evident in Felix’s eyes.

“Jeongin?”

“Did I stutter?” Changbin snarled, and I was impressed that he could still sound so intimidating when it was clear that death was upon him. 

“Why would he do that?” Felix wondered, but it less for Changbin and more of a general shock from the situation rapidly unfolding. 

“Listen to me,” Changbin hissed, coughing and heaving around every harsh intake of oxygen. “You know I’ll die from this.”

“How could he do this?” Felix continued, and I wanted to reach over and shake him from whatever disorientation was clouding his judgment.

But Changbin was already a step ahead.

“Fuck them all,” Changbin growled, holding tight to Felix’s arm as he brought his brother closer. “They’ve hated you since your birth, Felix. Do this one last thing for me: take the throne out of spite.”

“The throne?” Felix repeated, and I froze on the spot, realizing the vast implications for what this would bring.

“Avenge me!” Changbin said, but I made sure to send him a knowing look right before he closed his eyes: I would never allow Felix to committ such evil. Especially after that vision from so long ago where he stood above them all. Blood beneath his feet.

“Changbin?” Felix whispered, and I was surprised by the timidity in his tone, watching Felix close his eyes and take a staggered deep breath.

“It’s up to me,” he said, tone a little bit firmer as he glanced over at me before turning around to address the room’s occupants.

“I’m in charge now,” Felix shouted, and the guards nearby immediately knelt down onto one knee. “Find Jeongin!” Felix continued. “Bring him to me!”

“And the others, sir?” one of the guards asked. “What about Chan and Jisung?”

I was shivering violently, holding myself as I watched Felix’s expression shift into something dark and sinister. “What did you say?”

“Y-your other brothers,” the guard repeated, albeit much more hesitantly.

“They had a part in this?” Felix growled, and I recognized the turning point - the moment when Felix felt their betrayal.

“I know you’re furious with them,” I quickly intervened, holding my breath when Felix started to shake his head, refusing to listen before I could make my case.

“Did you know about this?” he asked instead.

“I didn’t until tonight when I found them in the gardens,” I said. “I tried to tell them that murder would lead to nothing good but-”

“But nothing!” Felix interfered with a harsh curse. “They went behind my back to try and throw Changbin off the throne,” he said.

“Yes, but they were upset and confused, Felix,” I insisted. “Changbin killed Minho and Seungmin. They wanted revenge, even if that wasn’t the answer.”

“So, are you suggesting that I let them free even though I’m King now?” Felix asked.

“A King stands up for his people!”

“Not when they show him such little regard,” Felix retorted, and he started for the door.

“Don’t do this,” I whispered, tugging on Felix’s sleeve as he continued to look straight ahead.

“Bring them to me,” Felix went on, and I was disappointed and heartbroken that he had ignored me. “Bring me my brothers.”

Felix was stagnant and unmoving, talking in rapid tones to his guards as he ordered me to remain silent.

The treatment was completely unlike him, but I held my tongue in the hope that he would see reason.

Of course, that all changed the moment Jisung, Chan, and Jeongin walked into the room, inviting a suffocating silence that persisted until Felix stepped forward. “Is this how you envisioned your plot to end?” he asked them.

And for a moment, I was afraid that none of them would respond. “No, Felix,” Chan eventually said. “We planned to allow the people to choose our next King.”

Felix scoffed. “Really? This wasn’t self-motivated?”

Chan shook his head, looking up with a determined stare. “We wanted to avenge Seungmin and Minho.”

“Well, that wasn’t your place, was it?” Felix snarled, and Chan was clearly caught off-guard by his brother’s tone.

“Felix, this is what we all wanted-”

“I never asked you to go behind my back!” Felix interrupted, and electricity crackled throughout the room.

“We had to plan in secrecy!”

“Jeongin knew!” Felix countered. “You had him play the part of the executioner!”

“Felix, we couldn’t risk your safety!”

“That’s not what it was,” Felix growled, and he was pacing the room, fuming as he grumbled nonsense to himself.

But then he stopped, standing up straight and sending a glare to his three battle-wearied brothers. “The three of you,” he said, pointing a finger at each of them. “Get the hell out of my kingdom.”

“No!” I cried, attempting to rise from the bed, but one of the guards held me down.

“Felix,” Jeongin sniffled, and my heart could barely handle his grief.

“The fault is with all of you!” Felix huffed. “You can suffer the consequences together.”

His word was final, and I watched as they all turned to leave out the door with a pair of guards following behind them.

“And if you see Hyunjin,” Felix added. “Tell him that he can stay in the South.”

The sentence was harsh, and the doors to the chamber echoed shut in the dead King’s quarters.

It was later that night, sitting alone in my shared room with Felix, when the man in question finally joined me.

“I’m sorry for my harsh words earlier,” he said, attempting a softer tone as his fingers traced the seam of my lips. “My brothers had to punished.”

“No, they didn’t,” I said, and there was a flicker of anger in Felix’s gaze before the emerald was calm once again.

He took my hand in his own. “You can marry me because I’m King, Y/N,” Felix said, breathing a kiss across my upturned palm.

But just as quick, I snatched my hand away from his grasp. “No,” I said as calmly as possible.

Felix frowned. “No?”

“If you keep your brothers exiled,” I hissed. “Then you’ll never have me.”

Felix shook his head, clearly thrown by my ultimatum. “You need to be careful with your words...”

“Are you threatening me now?” 

Felix sighed. “You’ll see in time why I had to exile them. Until that point, I will keep loving you, Y/N. I’ll wait for you to see reason and give us both what we want.”

I scowled at his words, waiting until he was gone from the room before laying back on the bed. “We’ll never get what we want now.”

Because too much had changed.

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids series #felix fanfic #felix scenarios #felix imagines #stray kids felix fanfic #skz felix fanfic #skz felix imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #mostlycompetent

[religioused]

Queen Esther and the Orange Shirt

Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22 (Contemporary English Version)

The king and Haman were dining with Esther 2 and drinking wine during the second dinner, when the king again said, “Esther, what can I do for you? Just ask, and I will give you as much as half of my kingdom!”

3 Esther answered, “Your Majesty, if you really care for me and are willing to help, you can save me and my people. That’s what I really want, 4 because a reward has been promised to anyone who kills my people. Your Majesty, if we were merely going to be sold as slaves, I would not have bothered you.”

5 “Who would dare to do such a thing?” the king asked.

6 Esther replied, “That evil Haman is the one out to get us!”

Haman was terrified, as he looked at the king and the queen.

9 Then Harbona, one of the king’s personal servants, said, “Your Majesty, Haman built a tower seventy-five feet high beside his house, so he could hang Mordecai on it. And Mordecai is the very one who spoke up and saved your life.”

“Hang Haman from his own tower!” the king commanded. 10 Right away, Haman was hanged on the tower he had built to hang Mordecai, and the king calmed down.

20 Mordecai wrote down everything that had happened. Then he sent letters to the Jews everywhere in the provinces 21 and told them:

Each year you must celebrate on both the fourteenth and the fifteenth of Adar, 22 the days when we Jews defeated our enemies. Remember this month as a time when our sorrow was turned to joy, and celebration took the place of crying. Celebrate by having parties and by giving to the poor and by sharing gifts of food with each other.

The book of Esther does not mention God, prayer, or covenant,(1) and there is not even much theology in Esther.(2) The lack of religious behavior might have reduced the book’s popularity.(3) J.G. McConville, who wrote The Daily Study Bible commentary on Esther, notes that just because God is not mentioned that does not mean that Esther does not teach about God.(4)

There are times when the Bible is political. Esther is political, making the power people in the Persian Empire look bad. Subplots in Esther mock the Persian court and king.(5) The thinly disguised insults were probably enjoyed a lot by the ancient Israelites who listened to the story of Queen Esther.

McConville says Esther “is by any standards a brilliantly written story.”(6) Commentator William Neil gives us the sense that Esther might not be historical but contains enough history to feel realistic. There is enough drama and nationalism in Esther to appeal to the children of Israel.(7) Contributors to the New American Bible state one purpose of the book of Esther is the “glorification of Jewish people.”(8) One theologian considers the book of Esther to be a short novel, a novella, about Jewish people living away from their homeland.(9) While I am very uncomfortable with high levels of nationalism, members of oppressed minority groups need high levels of self-worth to thrive in the face of oppression.

The Bible is a book for the oppressed, for all the oppressed. As we remember Orange Shirt Day, I am going to say that again. The Bible is a book for all oppressed people. I am not going to tell Indigenous people what the story of Esther means to them. I will share some of what the narrative means to me.

The Israelites, who were carried off into slavery in other nations, faced oppression. The passage in the book of Esther is about an extreme act of oppression, the attempt to kill all Jewish people. We study this story on a day when we remember the oppression of Indigenous children who attended boarding schools. The Canadian Encyclopedia says an estimated 6 thousand children died at residential schools.(10)

The school day for Indigenous children started at 5:30 am when the children were expected to get up. Students were malnourished and vulnerable to tuberculosis and influenza. The teachers were generally poorly qualified, and students did not develop the skills needed to be successful when they returned to their communities or went into the larger workforce.(11) Students and parents protested the schools. A few students stole food, ran away, or set fires. Parents and political leaders protested the “harsh conditions.”(12) The students, parents, and political leaders who acted out and who protested strike me as the heroes of the Indigenous residential school era.

The impact of policies that oppressed Indigenous students in Canada continue to this day. While a few Canadians of European heritage see residential schools as an old problem and might not want to talk about it, many Indigenous people daily see the impact in the current lives of their extended families. One way that non-Indigenous people can recognize the inherent, God-given dignity of Indigenous people is to listen, with a sensitive heart, to the stories. I see that as a spiritual call, not as a political statement.

Jewish people around the world remember the story of Queen Esther, her courageous coming out, and the salvation of Jewish people. The holiday is Purim, a word that means lots.(13) The name of the Jewish holiday means lots because Haman cast lots to decide the day Jewish people should be executed. If we were naming the holiday now, we might call it lottery.

Wong Wai Ching Angela is a theologian. She was teaching at The Christian University of Hong Kong when she wrote a short commentary on the book of Esther. Angela makes the point that people in Hong Kong live between two competing sets of values, western values, and Chinese values. Those living in Hong Kong are like the Jewish people living in Persia – living with a tension between being under a colonial power and being Chinese.(14)

Indigenous people live with the tension of living as Canadians and having an Indigenous identity. While Canada is not a traditional imperial, colonial power, some of Canada’s institutions and approaches to First Nations people were developed when Canada was a colony. A few of the policies implemented regarding Indigenous people reflect Canada’s colonial history. Some members of minority groups living in Canada can relate to Esther and to the injustice Esther’s people faced.

The timing of Purim, a day when Jewish people celebrate the story of Esther, remains meaningful. Joseph Stalin was a “ruthless” dictator, who was responsible for the deaths of “millions of innocent people.”(15) He was believed to have had “bloody plans” to solve what he saw as a ‘Jewish problem’ in the Soviet Union.(16) In 1953, when the situation was seen to be a crisis, Joseph Stalin died. He died on Purim.(17)

Some of you might remember the 1990s Gulf War that took place after Iraq invaded Kuwait. For months, Sadam Hussein, Iraq's president, threatened to use SCUD missiles containing “deadly chemical gas" to ‘burn half of Israel.’(18) I suspect many Israelis braced themselves for the worst. As I recall, Israel did not suffer an enormous loss of life. According to a Wikipedia article, three Israelis were killed by missiles, and 71 additional Israelis died as an indirect result of the missiles.(19) The conflict ended on Purim.(20)

The book of Ester is a story of fear, threats, courage, coming out, salvation, and celebration. After a competition, Esther, a beautiful Jewish woman, becomes the new queen of Persia. Esther’s Jewish identity was not well known.

Jewish people fell out of favor with powerful people in Persia. Haman was an important official in Persia, so important that people were supposed to bow to him. Mordecai, a well-known Jewish man, refused to kneel or bow to Haman. Mordecai explained that he did not kneel because he was Jewish. When Haman learned this, he wanted all Jewish people killed.

Mordecai learned of the plan to kill all Jewish people. He put on sackcloth and mourned. Queen Esther, who was a closeted Jewish woman, is notified of the plot. She is asked to appeal to the king to save her people, and she does that. Her first step is to go to the king and to invite the king and Haman to dinner. At the dinner, she invites the king and Haman to a second dinner. This is where we pick up the story in today’s lectionary reading. And you might be able to understand the sense of the poetic justice or the karma of the narrative. Haman had gallows built to kill Mordecai. Haman is hanged on the gallows that he built for Mordecai.

The poetic justice surpasses a modern case of poetic justice. Robert Watson-Watt is generally considered to be the ‘father of radar.’ In the 1930s, he worked with a team that invented radar, a technology that helped detect the presence of aircraft “at any time of the day and in any weather conditions.”(21) When in Canada, Robert was reported to have been caught speeding by a constable with a radar gun. Robert told the constable, “Had I known what you were going to do with it, I would never have invented it.”(22) And if you ever received a speeding ticket, you might be secretly enjoying the irony that the one who helped invent radar got a speeding ticket because of radar.

While a quick read of Esther may give us the sense that there is nothing particularly spiritual or religious about the book, Esther speaks volumes about God’s love and priorities. The fact that the book of Esther builds up the morale and self-esteem of oppressed people says a lot about God. It tells us that God is present and active whenever oppressed people are being encouraged and built up. As people of faith, it is a holy and sacred duty to encourage and build up people, especially people who face systemic oppression. That is not a political statement; it is a spiritual statement, and it is a statement about our God.

The story of Esther takes place after a disaster. Because they were displaced and enslaved by war, there were children of Israel living in Persia. Orange Shirt Day is a reality only because of a disaster of a policy of having boarding schools to teach Indigenous children. We are in the disaster known as the COVID pandemic. During times of personal pain that may blot out the word God and prayer in the narratives of our hearts and lives, Purim speaks to us.

I am going to conclude with a quote from Rabbi Manis Friedman, as he reflects on the meaning of Purim. “God became real enough that we don’t have to refer to Him to know that He is there . . . That is a real achievement. God has become real to us. Our relationship has gotten stronger after the destruction, not weaker.”(23)

Notes

1 Wong Wai Ching Angela. “Esther.” Global Bible Commentary. (Nashville, Tennessee: Abingdon Press, 2004), 139, mentions lack of references to God, covenant, and prayer. McConville mentions a lack of references to God. J.G. McConville. The Daily Study Bible: Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther. (Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press, 1985), 153.

2 McConville (1985), 153.

3 Angela (2004), 139.

4 McConville (1985), 153.

5 Angela (2004), 137.

6 McConville (1985), 154.

7 William Neil. William Neil's One Volume Bible Commentary. (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1973), 219.

8 New American Bible. St. Joseph Edition. (New York: Catholic Book Pub., 1992), 500.

9 Angela (2004), 135.

10 “Residential Schools in Canada.” The Canadian Encyclopedia. n.d., 22 September 2021. <https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools>.

11 “Residential Schools in Canada.” (2021) <https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools>.

12 “Residential Schools in Canada.” (2021) <https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/residential-schools>.

13 “What is Purim?” Tori Avey. n.d., 09 September 2021. <https://toriavey.com/what-is-purim/>.

14 Angela (2004), 135.

15 “Purim: What is Purim?” Chabad.org. n.d., 05 September 2021.

<https://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/645309/jewish/What-Is-Purim.htm>.

16 “Purim: What is Purim?” (2021)

<https://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/645309/jewish/What-Is-Purim.htm>.

17 “Purim: What is Purim?” (2021)

<https://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/645309/jewish/What-Is-Purim.htm>.

18 Tzvi Jacobs. “Purim Saddam.” Chabad.org. n.d., 19 September 2021.

<https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/39446/jewish/Purim-Saddam.htm>.

19 “1991 Iraqi Rocket Attacks on Israel.” Wikipedia. July 2021, 19 September 2021. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1991_Iraqi_rocket_attacks_on_Israel>.

20 “Purim: What is Purim?” (2021)

<https://www.chabad.org/holidays/purim/article_cdo/aid/645309/jewish/What-Is-Purim.htm>.

21 “Watson-Watt, Sir Robert.” English Heritage. n.d., 18 September 2021. <https://www.english-history.org.uk/visit/blue-plaques/robert-watson-watt/>.

22 “Watson-Watt, Sir Robert.” (2021) <https://www.english-history.org.uk/visit/blue-plaques/robert-watson-watt/>.

23 Manis Friedman. “The Meaning of Purim in 2 Minutes.” Rabbi Manis Friedman. 08 March 2020, 25 September 2021. <https://youtu.be/kiMCYYEznfE>.

#christian #church #progressive christian #sermon #religion #oppression #Purim #antisemitism #residential school #indigenous #Canada #orange shirt day #orange shirt

[chaoticowlpost]

Hiding Place

Draco was awfully shy, Harry noted once they began dating.

Well, he wasn’t exactly shy, so to speak, but there are many moments when certain... emotions arise and he’d just rather he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.

Harry’s boyfriend was well aware that he was easy to read. He could never properly disguise his emotions, much to his father’s disappointment, and thus his face gave away practically everything.

“Merlin, that’s great, Draco!” Pansy groaned, reaching her arm out for another piece of chocolate from the expensive-looking box, effectively pulling Harry out of his thoughts. Draco swatted her arm away and pulled the box closer to himself, making the Slytherin girl pout.

“Harry bought them for me,” he responded, a smile slowly creeping itself onto his face while a pink hue bloomed on his pale cheeks. “He ordered them from France when I told him about the store my mother used to bring me to.”

Harry pulled Draco closer into his side while some of their friends cooed and teased them. “Of course I would,” he muttered softly into the blond’s ear.

“You guys are so cute,” Hannah smirked at them. 

“Harry’s- he’s great,” Draco smiled before turning to face Harry, the softness that’s present whenever he looks at him shining in his gray eyes.

To anyone with working vision, it would be easy to see how much the two of them cared for one another, and it seems that Draco had just remembered that fact, because he instantly leaned closer to Harry, tucking his head under the other man’s chin.

From there, he turned his face until his nose was pressed against Harry’s neck, effectively obscuring his face from their audience's view.

Gradually, Harry felt the area where their skin met grow warmer, causing him to grin and rest his chin on the soft head of blond hair, taking in a breath of Draco’s sweet citrus scent, and placing a soft kiss onto the top of his head.

Once the skin where Draco’s face was pressed up against began to return to normal temperature, there was a soft pressure against his neck which Harry identified to be a kiss before the Slytherin pulled away, but still rested his head against Harry’s shoulder before responding to a question that Blaise asked him.

So yeah, Draco had the tendency to hide his face in the crook of Harry’s neck whenever he felt embarrassed or when he and Harry have a moment in public, where everyone can see the pure emotion each brought onto the other’s face. For reasons unknown, he just explained that he didn’t like looking so sappy in front of everyone.

Harry didn’t mind. 

Well, that and somehow the action still felt pretty sappy to Harry anyway.

Anyhow, he was distracted once again when owls began flying in and dropping their mail. Harry was half-expecting hoards of letters to find their way to him despite the additional wards the Headmistress installed but was only met with a loud thwack when a copy of the Daily Prophet dropped in front of him.

He didn’t mind it initially. Harry didn’t subscribe to that shoe rag; but once the people around the Great Hall began whispering and staring, he nabbed Pansy’s copy and began scanning the pages.

And lo and behold, he and Draco made the front page. It was a picture of the two of them going around Hogsmead when they went shopping for Christmas gifts since the Hols were coming, both of them laughing hand in hand while they bumped each other playfully in the snow.

The ripple of reactions was immediately felt when multiple heads began turning and whispering.

“For fucks sake,” Harry hissed. “It’s not like they don’t know we’re dating.”

Draco’s face returned to Harry’s neck, and Harry heard him murmur, “Maybe we could continue eating in the common room?”

A grey eye peeked up at him through blond strands of hair, waiting for his response. “Sounds good,” Harry smiled, running his hands through Draco’s hair before fixing their plates, slowing himself down a bit to let Draco collect himself a bit more before they get up to leave.

“C’mon, love,” he mumbled when he couldn’t put it off any longer. “I have our plates.”

Draco nodded slightly, his hair tickling the side of Harry’s face before pulling away and standing up. The people on the other tables were still whispering and staring, some even giggling as they moved to get out.

Harry let Draco walk ahead of him so that he could at least partially obscure him from the prying eyes of those they passed until they were finally out of the Great Hall and he could walk beside him.

“I’ll hold that,” Draco said, grabbing his own plate from Harry’s hands and using his free hand to take hold of Harry’s until they made it to the 8th Year dorms.

Once they reached Harry’s bed, they set their food aside and Draco snuggled into his side.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked once they were settled in.

“Yeah,” Draco mumbled, playing with Harry’s hand. “It could have been worse, I suppose.”

He was right, Harry knew. It took a while for them to stop printing negative articles about their relationship, but Draco didn’t exactly like being on the front of papers; especially not when it came to their relationship.

That was something they both agreed on- that what happens in their relationship was private between the two of them, but of course it’s impossible to keep everything out of the papers.

Still, it doesn’t mean that they like it. 

“I’m tired,” Draco mumbled drowsily into Harry’s shoulder.

“Take a nap,” Harry suggested, pulling the covers over themselves. “I’ll wake you up before lunch time.”

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

“-because if they’re naked, we’re not going to Hogsmead. We’re going to therapy,” Harry heard the muffled voice of his best mate making its way down the hallway outside.

“I’ll walk in first, then,” Hermione said exasperatedly. 

“‘But still-”

“Shh,” Hermione hushed before a knock sounded through the room. Harry didn’t respond but instead chose to adjust the blanket over Draco, which had fallen a bit while they took a nap.

The door opened despite the lack of response, and Hermione’s figure was seen entering the room.

“Harry? We’re leaving for Hogsmead soon and-” Hermione spoke as she walked in. “-oh.”

“Sorry,” Harry said in a whisper, making sure it was soft enough to not wake up the sleeping blond. “Maybe we’ll catch up with you later.”

“Of course,” Hermione replied, just as Ron’s head poked in.

Ron snorted. “Right. Cute,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Alright, ask him if he wants to join when we wakes up. There, now can we go, ‘Mione?”

“Alright, alright,” his girlfriend rolled her eyes before they shifted back to Harry, her face now containing a teasing grin. “Want me to leave a pensieve of this?”

“Sod off,” Harry chucked, rolling his eyes. Beside him, he felt Draco shift until his face was pressed into Harry’s chest, the top of his head right below Harry’s chin.

Harry lifted an arm and began playing with a lock of hair that had fallen on Draco’s face before placing a kiss on the top of his head.

“Are they gone yet?” Draco whispered, softened even further as it was muffled by Harry’s jumper.

“They’re leaving now,” Harry responded, pointedly looking at his friends. Both Ron and Hermione chucked before raising their arms in mock defense and backing out of the room, closing the door with a soft snick.

Draco sighed but made no movement to get out of the position he was in, instead saying, “’We can follow them for lunch.”

“Of course,” Harry smiled, still playing with Draco’s hair. Soon after he left another kiss, Draco’s soft breathing came back, and he went back to sleep.

Sure, Harry was sick of being the Hero of the Wizarding World, but he had no problem being a place for Draco to hide, protected and safe. 

-————————————————-

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Thank you for reading <3

#hp #drarry #fluff #drarry fanfic #ficlet #draco malfoy #harry potter

[once-upon-a-scenario]

Aizawa affection HCs (but they’re sort of...)

Much like the other ones I’ve uploaded so far, these...are more disconnected ramblings than actual HCs lol __ He’s a reserved sort of person; this much is not up for dispute. Intensely private to the point of seeming cold. It takes work to get to know him, and even more work to earn his trust. Feline in his affection, he’ll come to you on his own terms- your job is to be patient, to stand and wait. Your softness will be what wins him. Kindness is required to temper his cautiousness, his unwillingness to bare himself too easily, because he’s been in this line of work too long to not have trust issues. It all does come back to trust, in the end. He won’t take chances. He doesn’t expect you to, either. Privacy is important, but anything that involves the both of you is not up for discussion, and cannot be kept secret- whether it’s from you or him. The way he loves you is independent and distant, but it’s based on the assumption that at the end of the day, he does love and he does feel and you are his partner, his equal, his teammate, one of the few people in the world he’d ever speak his thoughts to, and this means that whatever enemy comes your way, you stand against it together. He doesn’t like to be clingy; puppy love, as a rule, annoys him. But he believes in love like a steady anchor, the type that is there when you’re in need of it. The type that seems boring to most, but what the dull, almost chilly facade disguises is stability. Sometimes he’ll need you to pull him back to the light when life catches him off guard, and he’ll tether you to sanity when you find that it’s slipping from between your fingers. No spark, no passion, seems to be a common complaint, but when you’re with Shouta, that’s just how it is. This is no whirlwind romance, it’s true. You don’t write love letters or recite tender words to each other for everyone to hear; you don’t talk about each other to coworkers or friends. From a certain distance, you could be easily mistaken for simple acquaintances. Friends at most. But here’s what the complainers don’t see: Early mornings when the alarm goes off too early for anybody’s liking, when whoever’s up first shakes the other awake. Getting ready to face the day, side by side, handing each other papers and articles of clothing and hairbrushes, because your routines are synchronized and each knows instinctively what the other is going to reach for next. Late nights when you return home, tired to the bone and ready to collapse but knowing that there is still work to be done, still battles to be fought, nothing is ever over and it’s draining, so horribly draining, and you can silently slot against him and lean on his shoulder, and he’ll be there, quiet and steady and sure. His hands will be uncharacteristically gentle as he smooths down your tousled hair. The days when you’re back-to-back on the battlefield, faces sprayed with blood and hands grimy from fighting, forcing your way through enemy lines and operating on the desperate knowledge that there are innocent lives and stake and you cannot afford to mess this up. If you’re out of sight, he knows what to do; whether the absence is long enough for concern, whether it’s significant enough for him to trust that you have a plan. If you fall out of sight or into bad hands, you know that he knows whether you can fight your way out of this, whether you need support. You’ll go home together at the end of the day. Moments when you’re alone together, a cat or two curled up around you, your limbs tangled together as you lie on the couch or in bed or on the floor, if you’re really tired enough. Sleeping. Talking. You don’t need words to know what he’s thinking. You can hear his heartbeat- a slow, steady rhythm. (He presses a brief, secret kiss to your forehead.) And that’s just how it is; he isn’t a passionate man. He’s Eraserhead, the hero who hides from the limelight. His life is unpredictable, and by extension, so is yours. The greatest gift he can give you is this- consistency. The knowledge that when push comes to shove, he will come through for you, and he knows you’d do the same for him.

#BNHA #Aizawa Shouta #Aizawa x reader #Eraserhead #Eraserhead x reader #reader insert #BNHA imagines #Mod Eve #gdi this is LONG #longer than I planned it anyway lmao

[multiverseforger]

An alternate reality version of Thomas Wayne appears as the Flashpoint version of Batman. In this continuity, Thomas turns into a crime-fighting vigilante after he and Martha Wayne witness their son Bruce Wayne murdered by a gunman in an alley during a botched mugging. When Barry Allen from the original timeline learns that this universe has a Batman he attempts to elicit his aid in restoring his lost abilities and undoing the changes made to the timeline. When Barry enters the Batcave he expects to find Bruce, but is immediately attacked by this far more violent Caped Crusader, against whom he is no match without his speedster abilities. It's only when Barry calls out the name "Bruce" that Thomas ceases his assault and the two are able to talk. When Barry learns that this timeline's Bruce Wayne was killed as a boy he is able to deduce that the man standing in front of him is Thomas Wayne.[2] Allen reveals to this Batman that the timeline he is living in is an altered version of his own, with significant changes resulting in a much darker and more violent world. Batman asks Barry the details of his son's life after his mainstream counterpart's own death. Willing to change history and ready to sacrifice his own life to restore his son's, Batman agrees to help Barry rewrite the timeline, which they believe has been altered by Eobard Thawne (The Reverse Flash), the first step of which is recreating the accident that gave Allen his powers and turned him into The Flash.[3]

This iteration of Batman is the subject of the mini-series Flashpoint: Batman - Knight of Vengeance, written by Brian Azzarello and drawn by Eduardo Risso. This story is set after the first, failed attempt to restore Barry's powers and fills out the backstory of how different this version of Gotham is and how Thomas operates as Batman. Thomas funds his vigilantism through a string of successful casinos, which he also uses to keep an eye on local criminals.[4] These casinos are managed on his behalf by Oswald Cobbelpot as his security chief, while Batman fights crime. Local judge Harvey Dent is distressed when his twin children are kidnapped by the Joker, so he calls in Thomas and James Gordon who we learn is the Chief of Gotham's privatised police force, owned and funded by Wayne. Dent blames Wayne for the kidnapping as it was he who convinced him that privatising the police force was a good idea, and threatens to take both it and his casinos away if his children aren't found.[5] Gordon, who knows Thomas is Batman and is his closest confidant, works the case while Thomas recovers from a fight with Killer Croc in Gotham's sewers. He consults with Selina Kyle, who is paraplegic in this world and fulfills the role of Oracle, and follows a clue to track down where the Joker is holding the children; The long abandoned Wayne Manor. He misleads Thomas and tries to take down Joker himself, but in a shocking twist ends up shooting Dent's daughter who the Joker had disguised to look like herself. When he realises his mistake and tries to help the girl, The Joker appears from behind him and cuts his throat. This is when we learn that this Joker is none other than Martha Wayne, driven insane by grief following Bruce's murder. Thomas cannot bring himself to kill her due to their past relationship, and so he feels responsible for the Joker's crimes.[6] When he shows up as Batman, having learned of Gordon's plan from Selina, Gordon is already dead, but both children are still alive, the girl just about holding on. While trying to save them, he is attacked by Martha, and we see through flashbacks how her sanity slipped away following their Son's death, and how she blames Thomas and wants to punish him for failing to save him. During their fight Thomas explains to her that he has the chance to re-write history, to save their son but at the cost of both their lives, which is why he feels obligated to ask her if he should go through with it. This revelation seemingly restores Martha's sanity and she makes him promise that he will, and they share a moment as a couple again. But when Martha asks what their son becomes after their counterparts' deaths and Thomas reveals that he becomes that world's Batman, Martha hysterically flees from him, and falls to her death through the same hole that their son once fell into as a child.[7]

After a second attempt successfully restores Barry's powers, Wayne works with the Flash to rally a team to oppose Eobard Thawne's changes to history. He contacts Cyborg for help in tracking down the government's secret "Project: Superman" location, only to be disappointed at Kal-El's frail appearance, having been held in a secret bunker his whole life with no access to the yellow sunlight that grants him his powers. It's only after they free him from captivity that Kal-El's powers manifest after being exposed to sunlight and he flies away.[8] After escaping Project Superman with the help of Element Woman, the Flash's memories change more drastically, forcing Batman to attempt to prevent the speedster's memories from altering. Batman injects the Flash with a drug that slows down electrical activity in the brain. After Hal Jordan's death during an attempt to stop the World War between the Amazonians and Atlanteans, the Flash elects to try to save this altered world, so Batman joins the Flash as the group heads to New Themyscira in Batman's plane and are joined by Enchantress. During the final battle with both Wonder Woman and Aquaman, the battle seems to be in their team's favor until Billy Batson is killed and Eobard finally appears.[9] Batman stabs Professor Zoom in the back using an Amazonian sword and learns that altered timeline was actually created by the Flash as part of an attempt to save his mother, Nora Allen. Before acting on this new information, Batman is fatally wounded by the traitorous Enchantress. Before the Flash leaves to try and restore the old world, a dying Batman thanks him, and entrusts him with a letter to give to his son, expressing his confidence that Barry will recreate the better world the Flash has spoken of and sharing his regret for what will happen to Nora as a consequence. Despite Pandora's actions preventing The Flash's from being able to recreate the Pre-Flashpoint timeline perfectly, Thomas’s will is done as his son is alive as Batman in this New Alternate Timeline. Barry gives Thomas's letter to Bruce Wayne and tells him that the timeline could not have been restored without Thomas's help.[10]

Thomas's letter tells Bruce that the loss he suffered has corrupted him, that he is consumed by his past and is neither a Hero or even a good man. He credits those qualities to Barry Allen, due to his ability to move past his own loss and find hope and love again, hinting perhaps that he hopes Bruce can do the same.[11]

ConvergenceEdit

Main article: Convergence (comics)

In the Convergence crossover, when the alternate Brainiac miniaturized the reality of the Flashpoint universe, Thomas Wayne had returned alongside Captain Thunder, Kal-El, Abin Sur and Cyborg. Thomas prepares for war against the Pre-Flashpoint Gotham City. He ponders if this Gotham City belongs to the same world that both Flash comes from and where Bruce is alive. Thomas also mentioned that he is unsure of his being "dead" in battle and forced to fight their opposite Superman by the voice of Telos.[12] While he watched digital renderings in the Batcave of the Pre-Flashpoint heroes against Superman, he was confronted by Kal-El asking to help the other-reality Lois Lane's pregnancy and convinces him that the other-reality heroes are not enemies. Superman arrives and pulls his counterpart elsewhere. Thomas is willing to help and successfully helps Lois give birth to their son. While leaving them content, Thomas then tells Superman that he has to protect the newborn child to which Superman agrees.[13] Following the conclusion of the Convergence, all parallel universes and alternate timelines are restored and composed as the new multiverse, including the Flashpoint reality and thus Thomas remain exist as the result.[14]

DC Rebirth - DeathEdit



Thomas Wayne behind the corpses of his wife Martha and son Bruce Wayne (left) and alongside his son Bruce (right). Cover of Batman #22 (2017); art by Jason Fabok & Tim Sale.

Subsequently, in DC Rebirth, Flashpoint Batman (Thomas Wayne) is mentioned by Wally West in the Batcave from the Speed Force to tell Batman (Bruce Wayne) about Thomas's letter saying how it all started and warned the Flash before the Speed Force pulled Wally away. Before Batman specified, he discovered a mysterious button embedded to the Batcave wall and pryes the button out.[15] Later, Batman and the Flash agree to keep their investigation to themselves until they knew who or what against an impending threat after the evidence of the button from outside force.[16]

While Batman (Bruce Wayne) was still puzzled about the button, its reaction to Psycho-Pirate's mask summons the Flashpoint Batman (Thomas Wayne); his son slowly reaches out a hand to him, only for the Flashpoint Batman to vanish as Batman makes contact. Batman contacted the Flash about the button, but Eobard Thawne attacks Batman in the Batcave while Flash is busy. Thawne nearly kills Batman and destroys Thomas's letter as revenge for Thomas killing Thawne, provoking Batman to try and attack only to be outpaced by Thawne's speed. When Thawne picks up the button, Thawne is briefly teleported away, returning with his entire body mutilated by an impending threat that he vaguely identifies as "God" before he seemingly dies.[17]

After traveling on the Cosmic Treadmill, the Flash and Batman find themselves in the presence of Batman's Flashpoint "counterpart".[18] Prior to their arrival and after the Flash left to undo the events of Flashpoint, Thomas found that the Flashpoint timeline was not erased yet as the Flash intended, and instead was forced to live out the remainder of Aquaman and Wonder Woman's war. Left to ponder in the Batcave, Thomas waited for the joint Atlantean and Amazonian hit squad to arrive so he may sacrifice himself and them with explosives, until he encounters the Flash and Batman. He believes the two are hallucinations until the Flash briefs him on their situation.

Thomas teams up with his son to hold off the Atlantean-Amazonian hit squad to give the Flash time to fix the Cosmic Treadmill. The two Batmen reminisce about their first visit to the cave, and Thomas learns from Batman that he has a grandson. As soon as the Flash finished the repairs, Batman pleads with Thomas to come with him. Despite his desire to be with his son again, Thomas pushes Batman onto the Cosmic Treadmill, imploring the latter to find happiness and be the father to his son that Thomas could never be for him, and to let 'the Batman' die with him. As the Flash and Batman disappear, Thomas is satisfied upon seeing his son alive and accepts his fate; he hopes that Bruce would move on from the past. He throws his explosive trigger away and puts his cowl back on, reminiscing about the inspiring words he gave to Bruce as a child, and jumping into the white void that is erasing the Flashpoint universe with his last words being "We rise".[19]

His Return and Plot for DespairEdit

Despite this, Thomas is later revealed to have survived the attack, appearing in the main timeline in an alliance with Bane; he was first shown appearing alongside the other villains in Arkham Asylum after the failed wedding between Catwoman and his son.[20] His stated goal was to break his son's will as Batman, through methods such as psychically convincing Catwoman to end her relationship with Bruce, so that Bruce would abandon his life as Batman as Thomas wished. Once he judged Bruce to be suitably psychologically broken, he broke into the Batcave, knocked out Alfred, and trapped his son in a nightmarish sequence in Arkham Asylum. Once Bruce escaped, Thomas met him directly with the offer of restoring Martha to life so that they could be a family again, but Bruce rejected this offer, proclaiming that his father failed to understand that his goal as Batman was to hope for the future.[21] Returning to Gotham after apparently defeating his son, Thomas set out to reconstruct the city in his image, using the Psycho-Pirate to convert the city's villains into his enforcers, but Alfred- who Thomas had left mentally free but imprisoned at Wayne Manor as an apparent hostage to prevent retaliation from Batman's allies- informed Thomas that his son was going to destroy him when he finally returned to Gotham.[22] Thomas maintains control using Gotham Girl as his enforcer and the Psycho-Pirate to moderate the villains, issuing orders that any heroes entering Gotham will be expelled while villains would be contained, to the point that Gotham Girl is able to defeat Captain Atom when he tries to confront her.[23]

[fremulon]

Good Omens Fic Roundup: Fics that Fuck with Format

So I wanted to highlight some great examples of one of my favorite genres of fic: stories that unfold using a medium other than traditional narrative! All of these fics are incredibly creative and manage to tell a story without any “telling” at all. From Youtube comments to Buzzfeed articles to Tumblr posts, here are some of my favorites!

A Letter from “Crawly” to Azirapil by mostlydeadlanguages

This remarkable letter of unknown provenance surfaced recently in the cuneiform collection of the University of West Wessex. Addressed to Azirapil from a Mr. “Crawly,” it appears to be begging for the other’s return to Ur from a western journey with another individual, Abiraham. The relationship between the two (brothers? business partners? friends?) is unknown.

In Holy Matrimony by Myracuulous

From the private journal of Alisha Jones, wedding planner, concerning the nuptials of Anthony J Crowley and Aziraphale and the planning process thereof, containing an account of chosen decor, guest list construction, and the holy war against the Antichrist that nearly ruined six months of professional organization and a very nice dinner.

Crowley Invented Youtube Recommended (Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils remix) by flibbertygigget

After Aziraphale's video on crêpes makes it into Youtube recommendations through a little demonic intervention, he quickly goes viral. Cue college students just trying to make it work, a bunch of young queers who see A.Z. Fell and his husband Anthony as "goals," and quite a few comments from one Newton Pulsifer.

Adventures In Attempting To Purchase A Book From That Weird Old Soho Bookshop, A. Z. Fell & Co. by Quandtuniverse

A rare book collector posting on a niche internet forum is dismayed to discover the last missing book is only available at the best worst bookshop in London.

So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms) by arkhamcycle

London’s antique enthusiasts and rare lit nerds alike know that if you’re looking for a specific vintage or antique book, you have a good chance of ending up in A.Z. Fell & Co. as a last resort. And if you’ve ever been in (or are currently in) this predicament, you know how much of an absolute nightmare it is trying to even get in the door. Luckily, this handy guide, the fruit of a months-long collaborative effort to create the perfect formula for gaming the A.Z. Fell system, will tell you everything you need to know, complete with a comprehensive breakdown of what, exactly, the opening hours are. Compiled by pageknight and inky of the Rare Antique Forums.

Sometimes the cards just fall perfectly. by qwanderer

warlocktbh: You seem pretty levelheaded, wtf are you doing on a supernatural experiences discord anyway? Just here to play devil’s advocate?

pippin_galadriel_moonbabe:Ugh, I would never. I’ve met Satan and he was disgustingly entitled.

warlocktbh: I actually can’t tell if you’re messing with me rn or not.

lest they be angels in disguise by Raven (singlecrow)

Buzzfeed, July 2019, "Top Five Off-the-Wall Theories About the Scary Instagram Plant Man"

it’s a new craze by attheborder

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

***

Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast.

But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?

stand on the brink of the warm white day by appomattox

hdjngjjbg you guys earlier i was waiting at the bus stop just outside a bookstore and the owner, a little upper-middle aged man who gives off immense gay vibes, walked by on his way in and just. handed me a bag of fun size almond joy????

Wherein: Aziraphale is a Confirmed Immortal.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable fic rec

[cautelous]

There’s a clean sort of symmetry to it. The game started, truly started, in Demacia. Now, with this, the game will start anew - so what better place than here?

The Sheriff isn’t in town, yet. He’s quite sure that he’d feel it if she were, feel her eyes on his back. But everything’s changed so much in a half-decade. Perhaps she is here, has been here - ahead of schedule - and he’s simply unawares of her laying low. Yes, that must be it… She’s always punctual, after all, and so the idea of her being late is unconscionable. She appreciates a good routine, and his cards provide them to an observant eye.

 He’d felt so much pride when she’d cracked his code entirely, years ago, even though it made his job harder. But the challenge is the point. He walks down the wide boulevards of the city dressed as any other Demacian would be, a smile playing across his lips. It’s a beautiful city, even though its people are tightly wound to say the least, and he lets the rhythm of footsteps and carriage-wheels on cobblestones wash over him. (He’s been here for a few days, playing local and sightseer and everything in-between.) It’s a beautiful city, and he has such big plans for it.

He has to wonder what she’s doing at this moment, hidden so far out of sight that he can’t even feel her presence. Trying to divine where he’ll strike, he imagines. She’s always been sharp when it comes to that. But he’s always been a few steps ahead, and always will be… until the day he isn’t, he supposes. That day won’t be today, though. Ideally, it never comes.

The sun will be setting soon. The show’s about to start.

                                                            —

One of the first things that someone learns about thieving is this: people are not very observant. Even when they’re supposed to be on high alert, people miss things. For example, they miss that the night shift for security at the Royal Library has one additional member. (Even if they hadn’t missed that fact, he has all the right documentation tucked away. In another life, he’d have made an excellent forger-for-hire.) People under stress are suspicious, yes, but they’re also worried about themselves - what if we don’t catch him? - and that leaves them blind. They’re looking for style, for panache, for a catburglar to cut through one of the stained-glass windows. (As if he would ever destroy something so beautiful!) They aren’t looking amongst their own ranks, they aren’t looking for the guard who’s watching how his compatriots move and memorizing their paths.

Oh, if the Sheriff were here… she’d see through his disguise in an instant, he��s certain. He’s reusing an old method that she’s quite familiar with. But she isn’t just yet, for whatever reason, and so he breaks from his patrol and ducks into the back rooms. Everyone else is keeping to their schedules, and so he keeps to his. No one should see him, unless they break from routine or he’s slow. (Neither seems particularly likely. They’re Demacian, after all, and he’s not completely out-of-practice.)

What he’s looking for is here, taken off display to be restored. He’s still rather surprised that the place has no alarms, but that’s Demacia for you. Confident in their people and moral righteousness. (And, oh, what they do to thieves! He wouldn’t want to get caught here. He wouldn’t want to get caught anywhere, if it isn’t by her.) He sweeps the beam of his handheld light across table after table as he walks through the darkened preservation rooms, looking for…

There it is. The manuscript is loosely bound in dyed leather, the pages made of vellum. He pulls his gloves on and picks it up with reverence. The founding text of a nation. The cornerstone of Demacia’s devotion to duty.

The Measured Tread.

He has no bag to slip it into, which pains him so. But he leaves a card in its place, as is his custom, and grins. Now comes the hard part. There’s a plethora of guards stationed outside. There will be some on the roof - the Sheriff knows his tricks. He shrugs off his jacket - it’s the genuine article, filched from a particularly careless security guard earlier in the day - and tucks the manuscript into the pocket he’s sewn into the inside lining. It’ll hang oddly off his shoulders, if anyone is observant enough to notice, but that hardly matters. He doesn’t expect to be making conversation.

                                                            —

It’d taken slightly longer than he expected to locate his prize, but he walks back to his patrol casually. There’s a slight dejection to his posture, just in case…

A beam of light shines directly onto his chest, and then his face. He squints into it, lips peeling back into a mild scowl - a genuine reflex. It’s bright, after all, and would annoy even the most honest guard. It certainly annoys him. Broken routine and slow. No matter, he can play it off.

“What were you doing back there?” Demacian accents are always so… blunt. Blunter still when the question is asked with suspicion.

He looks up at the other guard and blinks a few times, shielding his eyes against the light. There’s a difference in the man’s uniform. Demacians love their hierarchies. He doesn’t love his luck at the moment.

“I thought I heard something, sir,” it’s all a matter of his own voice, accent sanded away to something duller. He casts his gaze downwards, thoroughly chastised. “But no one was there. I’m sorry, sir, for having gone off my route.”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” ah, and there’s that military rigor - he lifts his head up, expression worried, “...You’re not one of my men.”

“No, sir. I’m one of the supplemental guards. I have my written orders, if you’d permit me to get them.”

The man’s face relaxes, just a hair. “Permission granted.”

He takes the papers from his jacket’s pocket, making sure to keep his back angled away, and hands them over. There’s no fear on his face. Perhaps a little unrest - being dressed down by a superior is never pleasant, after all, and one doesn’t get used to it even after their years of conscription are over - but nothing more. He waits as the other man looks over the letter, with its official seals and signatures. (He’s quite proud of that. It’s excellent work.)

The other guard sighs and hands back the letter. “You can never be too careful. Especially in these times.”

“Indeed, sir,” he nods solemnly, waiting to be dismissed.

“Now: get back to your patrol. We’ve got a thief to catch.”

He gives one final “yes, sir” and turns his back on the guard in order to leave. His heart pounds in his chest. But there’s no shout of alarm, or even a noise of confusion. So he returns to his patrol, walking the beat for a half-hour longer, and eventually ducks out of the main entrance when its guards peel away to investigate a noise. (He’d have waited until shift change, if necessary. This is just convenient - and who expects a thief to use the front door?)

The manuscript feels like a caress against him.

                                                            —

He leaves the city via carriage. The theft hasn’t been publicized yet. (He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the Sheriff, which is unlike her… but this is a return to form after years of silence. It’s reasonable for her to lag a step or two further behind than usual. Isn’t it?) His luggage is searched, but not well enough, and his person is left mercifully alone. There’s a few others, of course, even at this early hour, and he spends some time guessing at their pasts and presents. But his thoughts turn to The Measured Tread eventually, and he pulls it from his bag.

Oh, not the original! Gods no, does he look like an idiot? But every good Demacian (and they are all good Demacians, paragons of moral virtue, et cetera) has their own copy. Half of them have vast swathes of it memorized. He supposes that his current persona is in the other half. He flips to one of the dog-eared pages.

“A true Demacian’s heart is with his or her country. This land has birthed us. Our fields sustain our bodies and our wilderness sustains our minds. Our nation is sustained by the unbreakable bonds of brother- and sisterhood and by the fearlessness and wisdom of our rulers. To die for our cause, our nation is a high honor; to live for it is higher still.

Your countrymen are an honest lot, just as you are. They have spent their days under the same bright sun as you, their nights at the same hearths. To show devotion and love to them is to show your fealty to Demacia.”

They’re nearly at fifteen years. Five of them had been spent, regrettably, on hiatus - for her sake, for the city’s sake - but he is back now. It had been his mistake to ever leave. He’d nearly forgotten how high his heart can soar. He’d nearly forgotten how electric it feels in his mind as a plan unfolds and completes. Gods, he’d been contenting himself with nothing. (All for her, of course, all for her.)

The Sheriff’s accepted his invitation - or should he call it a proposal? - he knows she has, regardless of whether or not he’s seen her.

He wants to see her, again, once more, a thousand times more. He wants to meet her. He can hardly remember a time where he didn’t want those things. (It’s been over a third of his life, and they can both appreciate threes - all good things come in them. Lenses and letters of the alphabet and the rule of thirds and everything, everything, everything.) He has, already, many times - seeing, at the least, not meeting. Always in the guise of others.

They hadn’t spoken until he’d worn one of his oldest masks. (He’d picked his last name from a theatre marquee, back when he’d first needed one.) He, for once, wasn’t the instigator. It was by virtue of his very first name, best-forgotten thing that it was, that she’d found him. Closing old missing persons cases, she’d told him, and she’d promised to mark his as resolved.

I don’t intend to leave too much undone.

Why admit that to a stranger? (He wonders if something compelled her, just as he has been for all these years.) She doesn’t know who he is. They went out dancing on the weekends, once, twice, thrice, a few more times. He held her hands in his. He led, she followed. He’d kept his expression as that of a lovesick-lonely man (the best performances…!) and never overstepped. He’d been a fool to think it’d be enough. To think that she’d settle for a normal man, after another had stolen her heart. She needs him, all of him. Look at where she’s ended up without him.

He can’t meet her as himself, though. Perhaps once, if she’d never tracked down the unchosen name of an unwanted man, they could have truly met. But she knows his face now, and… Well. He knows how it would end. He’d gotten too close for their rules. (He supposes he has to add ‘rulebreaker’ to his list of epithets.)

The carriage hits a rough patch in the dirt road and he’s jolted out of his thoughts. There’s really no point in speculating on what could have been. It’s his fault, after all, for assuming he knew best and leaving her. He looks to The Measured Tread, rereads the line that means the most, and shuts the book.

He considers his plans. Mountaineering season starts in a month or two. He’s been preparing.

He considers his future. Their future.

He thinks he’ll buy himself a ring.

#Writing ∵ ( woven with words. ) #Event ∵ ( return to form. ) #Caitlyn ∵ ( see me. )

[stardancerluv]

Pantera & The King of Gotham

Summary: This was a wonderful request from @n9yt1r1 we discussed what would Roman do...if...he found out something rather special about a girl he is seeing...I hope I did this justice after all our talking!

Warning: murder, blood, shower sex, fluff

Got you, she whispered grabbing them by their hair, she carved a P behind the ear. She wiped the blade on her job’s shirt before sheathing her knife.

Getting up, she smiled another job was done. As she made her way to the west end, she had already shed her clothes. No longer did she look like that stupid cat burglar, Catwoman. Putting the disguise in the barrel she struck a match and watched it burn.

She watched the flames lick at the fabrics, her phone buzzed. She smiled when she saw who it was.

“Hi Romy.” She cooed.

“Hi baby, I was wondering if you would be honoring me with your presence tonight.”

She smiled. “I finished earlier. Let me get tidied up and I will see you soon.”

“That is spectacular news!” She loved her how his became fuller and richer when he was happy.

“Make sure there is a honey whiskey waiting for me.”

“I will Rae baby.”

The two of you hung up then. Grabbing the metal rod, she made sure it was all burned. Satisfied, she made her way to her apartment.

She’s grab a few things, she had missed her Romy. It had been a busy week. She had taken on three jobs. Catwoman, Riddler, and one just as herself, Pantera. She made sure to pack, Catwoman’s whip, she had to return it now that she was done with it. In case, she packed her mask. A job might come up. She really didn’t want to leave Roman’s side this weekend but if the pay was promising, she’d consider it.

******

She’d come in the back door, drop her things off in the penthouse then go and join Roman. She stopped when she heard two voices, both of which did not belong to Roman or Victor.

“Look, you should just wait till I call you. Roman or Zsasz could catch me talking to you.” Oh...that little fuck, it was Roman’s driver. Sticking close to the shadows. She continued to listen.

There was a bitter chuckle. “What about, Rheanyra, his girlfriend?”

“I could handle her. She all beauty and zero threat.”

She bit back a chuckle herself. Little did you know, she mused as her blood began to boil.

“Ok, good but look you’re the one that came to me.” The raspy female voice continued. “You’re the one that said, I’m tired of helping and abetting a murderer.”

“Yeah, but look I don’t want to see him walking towards me as I swing from my feet down at the docks.”

“You won’t.” The woman promised. “Tell me again what you know.”

“Just a huge fucking diamond is coming in. Not sure when. It’s supposed to take care of everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Now look I gotta back in there my girl is waiting for me too.”

“Alright go. We’ll talk again.”

“Yeah but let’s just keep it to our phones.”

“I’ll see. Nothing beats a good face to face.”

*****

You heard some shuffling, footfalls going away.

“I’m gonna get myself killed.” You heard him mutter. A door opened and closed, she knew be was back in the club. She smirked to herself. Tomorrow she would get him.

*****

Coming over to Roman, you draped your arms around him as he read the paper. Kissing, his cheek, you pulled back giggling. “Someone didn’t shave this morning.” You said softly.

“I am still waking up after last night, Rae baby.” He smiled.

“Ooh what is this?” You pointed to an article about her only no one knew it.

“Oh, Pantera strikes again last night.” Annoyance, curled his lip in frustration he put the paper down. “You know.” He attacked his boiled egg, I want only the best. This Pantera should work for me.”

“Roman, you are the best,” She cooed. “Maybe they I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Just wants to be free so they don’t out anyone in jeopardy.” Truth be told, it was partly true.

“Yeah...maybe.” He took an angry bite. “But I love big cats, I love their methods. Efficient and to the point.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you intimidate them.” That part wasn’t true but she didn’t want him to get sulky over it. “You are a force to be reckoned with.” That part was true, she mused.

He beamed as he sipped his expresso. “I suppose you’re right.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know I am,” she smiled.

He pulled back from the table. “Come here baby.” He patted his lap.

Getting up, she went over and straddled him. “Yes, Romy.”

“At least through all this, I have someone as beautiful as you, Rheanyra.” He said softly.

“Always.”

*****

Roman, cared for his girl so much. Though these nights with her running off, it irked him. If had not cared about her so much, he’d call her boss and tell them to making her work nights.

He had a surprise for her tonight. He had bought a very special cream he was eager to rub into her caramel skin.

Missing, her tonight as he sipped at his scotch, he remembered when he first saw all of her. He still wanted to rip her ex’s heart out who had made her sad and ashamed of her Vitiligo. She dodn’t let him and Victor and him had not been able to come up with a method that looked enough like an accident. That was one thing, he felt in his gut. He wanted him to pay for the years she took it before she finally left.

He loved all of her. He could only hope that she knew how special she was to him. Looking out his picture window, he sighed.

Something caught his eye then. He put his glass down and peered out his window. What he saw shook him to his core. Someone, an elaborate and well carved mask was hanging over his driver. As lightning streaked across the sky as a thunderstorm rolled in, he could see a very distinct P and he immediately knew who it was. Pantera was in his alleyway. He wanted to ran and call Victor but he couldn’t look away. They tore away at him. As a thunder crashed above, he watched them tear off the mask. The

He found it hard to breath as he watched the tumbling down of those silky inky locks and a profile which he loved tracing with his bare finger as they laid in bed was lit up by lightning. It that made the Gotham sky look like it was cracking. It was his, Rae baby, she was the infamous Pantera.

The combination of the violence and her beauty made a hot knot of arousal form in the pit of his stomach.

Not looking away. He watched as she brought his drivers face close to hers and she said something to him in his final moments. Fear was etched on his face. Soon he became nothing more then a mere rag doll in her hands. Licking, his lips and breathless, he watched as she carved her infamous P behind his ear.

As she dropped him on the dirty ground Roman marveled at how she cleaned things up. Then, she looked around then ducked back into the building. With his heart racing, he went to his office, leaning the door open a crack. He didn’t want her to think he had even noticed.

He heard the floor boards only slightly creak aa she went down the hall. He heard the water get turned on in the bathroom. If he going to do anything, he do it now. Grabbing his letter opener, he went to the bathroom to see her.

****

He saw a big duffle back sitting on what was her closet. Continuing, on he opened the door silently to the bathroom. He watched as she felt the water and turned the knob to put the shower on full. “Rae.” Was all he could say, his heart beat too heavily for anything else.

She opened her sweet mouth, that he loved kissing, that had the beauty of its own soft shade and doubly outlined in beauty. He held up a finger, she didn’t say a word then. Closing the distance, he stood in front of her. He could see his drivers blood now, scarlet as he was splatter across streaks of caramel and ivory that made her so special to him.

He reached into his pocket and took out his letter opener. He held it up, so she would see it. She didn’t resist, she didn’t say a word that only turned him on more. He sliced away and the soiled clothes. He could not stop himself and sliced her panties and bra away till all of her body was exposed to him. Meeting her eyes, he finally smirked. He put the letter opener down and finally shed his own clothes. His arousal on full display. He wanted her to see just what she had done to him.

Wordlessly, he stepped into the shower, loving how the water felt as it fell down his body. He offered his hands to her then. She stepped in. Her eyes, there were so many unspoken words waiting to burst forth. Once again, he but this time he placed the finger on her lips.

Grabbing the soap and the loofah, he built up a nice lather. Soon, the water at their feet turned a rusty red color as he washed away whatever was left of his driver on her soft curvy body.

Dropping the loofah, finally he drew her into a kiss. She melted into it, she was tentative then he welcomed it as her tongue danced with his own. Sitting down on the marble bench, holding her by her hips, he brought her close as he sat there. He kissed them both he then pulled her enough, so that she would straddle him.

The first sound broke between them as she slid down his hard length. Interlacing thier fingers, as he sat back and watched as she made her own pace as she rode him. The water raining down on her magnificently like the rain outside. Only the two of them were in their own world. She placed his hands on her hips and he squeezed, reminding her of who he was. It incited a soft moan. Things for them sometimes danced on the edge of dominance and hints of pain with no marking, just a gentle reminder who was in control on a given night. Tonight it was equal, she when she drew close she sank her teeth in just enough into his shoulder as he could feel her tighten around him. She was close to cumming. A moan, poured from his mouth. She always made him feel so good. Their eyes met and as their tongues met once again, he felt her shudder and she arched and holding him began to melt after she came. It was not long after that as he moved in and out her soft warmth did he finally let himself cum hard into her.

They held onto each other then, just letting the water run down their bodies as they gathered their breaths.

*****

With a blanket, loosely over their hips and as he gently ran his fingers up and down her shoulder, he finally spoke.

“So you’re Pantera.” It wasn’t a question.

From resting her cheek on his chest, she moved and her eyes met his. “Yes.”

“I didn’t think I could care for you more then I do.”

“I am not...”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to...” He paused. “I have you. Pantera can be stick to the shadows of Gotham.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled, drawing her face up so. A seriousness, finally grabbed him as he looked at her. “Why did you kill my driver?” His lips grazed hers as he spoke.

“He was selling you out to a cop.”

“Ok. Make sure to kill the cop too.”

“Are you telling me to do something?” There was a light in her eyes, he had never seen before.

“I could also have Victor do it.” He smirked. “I’ll leave it up to you. But I did enjoy seeing you at work.”

“I’ll consider it then.”

“Good.”

With a soft move, their lips met once again.

#request #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis #ewan mcgregor

[thisbentleyplaysqueen]

The Angel, the Demon, and the Not-so Friendly Ghost- Chapter 3

Previous

Wow, y’all. I owe you BIG time! I know I said that I would update weekly. Then I had finals and basically slept for two weeks straight. I hope to catch up and get back on schedule. For now, enjoy!

“And you’re absolutely certain this will work?”

“ ‘Course it will.” Crowley waves down a carriage. It slows to a stop, and he hikes up his cane in order to reach up and open the carriage door. Aziraphale barely glances at him before climbing in. Once Aziraphale is comfortable, Crowley follows, and shuts the door with a shout of directions, and the angel looks down to the newspaper Crowley had slid to him on the ferry. The photograph that had been given alongside it was carefully slid into one of his bags, allowing him to focus on the newspaper. 

His French was a bit out of practice, but he had read the article Crowley had circled enough times to practically remember each detail. 

“Why would two junk men buy an opera house?”

“Scrap metal, angel.” Crowley says, turning back to Aziraphale as the carriage takes off at a steady canter. “They call it a scrap metal business, and they seem to have hit a bit of a fortune in the line of work. Humans love money, consider it the foundation of their happiness. You know that.” He looks out the window, leaning against his cane. “They can never get enough…”

“But why an opera house? Why not a mansion, or something extravagant like that?”

“I’ve had tabs kept on these two for a while.” Crowley admits. “And I had heard a rumor that the current owner was looking to retire, so I might have caused it to...catch their eye. Made them think they had to buy.”

“And...how do we know that they won’t arrive at the opera house at the same time?”

He waves it off. “Don’t worry about it, angel. I’ve taken care of it.”

Aziraphale frowns at that, and shakes the paper. He glares down at it as the silence hangs between them. Across from him, Crowley huffs, but says nothing. 

He will admit, Crowley planned ahead, as if he expected Aziraphale to be placed on the same mission. He must have been given his mission much sooner than he. Surely he didn’t expect Aziraphale to search him out, did he? 

No, he thinks as his frown grows. After what happened last time, Crowley wouldn’t expect that. As thick-headed as he can be, the demon is too clever to anticipate such a reaction.

“This is your stop.” Crowley’s voice breaks Aziraphale from his thoughts. He looks up as the carriage slows through a grand neighborhood. As they come to a stop, his eyes travel up the building with the ornate architecture and rich oak door. “This house is under the ownership of Monsieur Gilles Andre.” Crowley’s glasses slide down his nose, allowing Aziraphale to see his eyes as he raises his eyebrows and continues. “Remember, he has a meeting tomorrow with his business partner Monsieur Richard Firmin and the current owner of the opera house. A carriage will first pick up Monsieur Firmin, before coming for Monsieur Andre tomorrow at one o’clock sharp. Got it?”

Aziraphale nods, and Crowley opens the carriage door. Surprisingly, the demon climbs out, but the angel realizes he merely holds onto the door and stares up at him. Aziraphale can’t help but nervously clear his throat and redirect his attention to his bags. He hikes them up before slipping out of the carriage without a word. He refuses to meet Crowley’s gaze, and instead crosses to the front door. There’s a snap behind him, and before he can knock, the door opens with ease. He pauses, knowing the cause. Perhaps he should turn back, say something…

No. It is rather pointless. As soon as this mission is completed, and the spirit is sent away, the two can go their separate ways and never see each other again. 

Aziraphale supposes this thought is supposed to bring him comfort, but tries not to dwell on the growing pit in his stomach as he instead hurries inside, slamming the door behind him. 

He sighs, and leans back against the door, letting his bags barely hang from limp hands. After a moment, his eyes rove upwards, taking in the ornate staircase and the surprising emptiness.

“...Hello?” He calls. His voice echoes, and he pauses as it fades into stillness. But no one appears, and nothing moves. 

Hm. Perhaps Monsieur Andre does not have servants. 

“Well, no matter.” He mutters to himself as he makes his way up the stairs, bags in tow. He’s panting when he finally finds the master bedroom down the upper hallway. He dumps his bags just inside the doorway, before quietly shutting the door behind him. His mouth gapes in awe. 

Though Aziraphale is an angel and could summon whatever he wished, he lived relatively...simple, compared to many humans. He enjoyed his cozy bookshop with its antique armchair and rusted (but still useful) kettle. This, he realizes as he slowly turns in a circle to take in the sparse room, is nothing like his bookshop. Everything had its own sphere of space, gleaming and new. The bed seems plush (in Aziraphale’s sparse experience with beds), but everything else is simply a decoration. 

It seems Monsieur Andre really did make a fortune from scrap metal. 

No matter, he reminds himself as he shakes his head and closes his eyes, he has a job to do. He crosses to the simple desk, and begins to dig. 

-

By the time the sun set, rose, and was high in the air the next day, Aziraphale had committed every detail of Gilles Andre to memory. 

His mother lived in the countryside. According to their letters, he had moved her out there following his wealth and when her health began to fail. He’s due to visit her when he returns from his trip. 

    He had a folly of female admirers, most notably after he came into wealth. However, from the lack of personal attention paid to the organization of their letters and photos, he had little interest. Rather, the only photos set with clear premeditation were the ones of his mother, and ones of himself and Monsieur Firmin. 

He was an avid fan of the opera. That was an easy thing to mimic, since Aziraphale fancied the opera himself. Perhaps that’s how Crowley was able to convince them to…

Damn! He stands sharply, blinking in the afternoon light. At the clattering beneath, he peeks out the window to see a carriage slow to a stop outside. Gasping to himself, he hurries to the wardrobe and pulls out a simple outfit, and positions himself in the full length. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and snaps his fingers. 

Though Aziraphale is an angel and quite capable of taking any mortal shape if needed, he still grimaces at the discomfort as his form grows and thins. He can imagine his curls straightening and darkening to a grey, quite fashionable, hairstyle. He opens his eyes but refuses to look at the mirror as he hurriedly switches from the now oddly fitting tartan suit to the grey suit and dark shoes. He finally spares himself one glance in the mirror to ensure everything was in order, before hurrying out of the room. 

The knock echoes through the corridor. “Just a moment!” He calls as he takes the steps two at a time, attempting not to trip over his much longer legs. He spots his overcoat near the door. He takes it in one hand, and opens the door with the other. He pauses from where he had begun to slip on his coat at the sight of the man at the door. 

He was short, and stocky. His hair was balding enough to where the top of his head shined in the sunlight. His suit consists of browns, burgundy, and slight gold on the lapels, matching a perfect description of Monsieur Richard Firmin, his faithful business companion. It was so unlike Aziraphale’s companion, that the only way he recognized him was the dark glasses covering his eyes. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale manages to catch his breath again, and resumes pulling on his coat, and grabs the cane near the door. “You…” he licks his lips nervously, “You’re wearing your glasses.”

Crowley grunts at that, and pushes them further up his nose. “Damn disguise can’t hide my eyes. I’ll tell them it’s a condition.”

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale responds softly. He grips his cane tightly, before slipping out and shutting the door behind him with a decisive click. 

“All settled then?” When Aziraphale nods, Crowley returns it curtly. “Good. Let’s get rid of this ghost.”

#good omens #Good Omens fanwork #Good Omens fanfiction #Phantom of the Opera AU #Angel Demon and Ghost AU #Aziraphale #Crowley

[thatsnotcanonpodcasts]

Space Movie, Space Cement & PokeCoin

Nanoo Nanoo.

Ryan Gosling is going back to space for Andy Weir's next book, which isn't even out yet but is already casting actors. This one has a working title of Project Hail Mary and features a lone scientist on a spaceship trying to save the world. Slightly higher stakes than The Martian, but Andy's books are always great.

Astronauts are also going to use pee to build houses on the moon. Let's hope NASA has a large surplus of air fresheners to send up with them, because this cement is probably the most useful way to use human waste on the moon, but it's going to smell.

Back on Earth, Niantic are trying to deflate the Pokecoin economy by severely lowering the minimum wage. Nobody seems to be happy with this, but Australia is just the test site, so it's coming to a phone near you soon.

This week Professor took a trip to a far away planet to care for slimes, and DJ found out what happens when you swim with the cardsharks.

Check in next week for probably less pee jokes. Probably.

Andy Weir’s Space Film starring Ryan Gosling

-https://variety.com/2020/film/news/phil-lord-chris-miller-ryan-gosling-astronaut-movie-1234607851/

Introducing….Piss-ent: the new space cement

-https://www.sciencenews.org/article/astronauts-lunar-exploration-cement-urine-urea-3d-printing

-https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0959652619340478?via%3Dihub

PokeCoin: Gotta cash them all

-https://www.reddit.com/r/TheSilphRoad/comments/glcywi/tales_from_the_front_one_players_experience_with/

Games Played

Professor

–Slime Rancher – https://store.steampowered.com/app/433340/Slime_Rancher/

Rating: 2/5

DJ

–Legends of Runeterra – https://playruneterra.com/en-us/

Rating: 4.5/5

Other topics discussed

The Martian (The Martian is a 2015 science fiction film directed by Ridley Scott and starring Matt Damon. The Martian, a 2011 novel by Andy Weir, served as the screenplay adapted by Drew Goddard. The film depicts an astronaut's lone struggle to survive on Mars after being left behind, and efforts to rescue him and bring him home to Earth.)

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Martian_(film)

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is a 2018 American computer-animated superhero film featuring the Marvel Comics character Miles Morales / Spider-Man, produced by Columbia Pictures and Sony Pictures Animation in association with Marvel, and distributed by Sony Pictures Releasing.)

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spider-Man:_Into_the_Spider-Verse

Andy Weir (American novelist whose debut novel in 2011, The Martian, was later adapted into a film of the same name directed by Ridley Scott in 2015.)

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_Weir

Sean Bean Death Scene Compilation 1986-2016

-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lnzk5qAaNLk

First Man (First Man is a 2018 American biographical drama film directed by Damien Chazelle and written by Josh Singer. Based on the book First Man: The Life of Neil A. Armstrong by James R. Hansen, the film stars Ryan Gosling as Neil Armstrong and follows the years leading up to the Apollo 11 mission to the Moon in 1969. Steven Spielberg serves as an executive producer.)

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Man_(film)

Interstellar (2014 epic science fiction film directed, co-written and co-produced by Christopher Nolan. It stars Matthew McConaughey. Set in a dystopian future where humanity is struggling to survive, the film follows a group of astronauts who travel through a wormhole near Saturn in search of a new home for humanity.)

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interstellar_(film)

Raid: Shadow Legends (freemium mobile and PC game developed and published by Israeli game developer Plarium Games.)

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raid:_Shadow_Legends

-https://raidshadowlegends.com/

Girl being hit by a truck while playing Pokémon Go

-https://time.com/4405221/pokemon-go-teen-hit-by-car/

Pokémon Go disrupt a funeral

-https://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-08-08/pokemon-go-blamed-for-brisbane-funeral-disturbance/7700332

List of highest-grossing mobile games

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_highest-grossing_mobile_games

Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery forces you to pay - or wait - to save a kid from being strangled.

-https://www.eurogamer.net/articles/2018-04-27-harry-potter-hogwarts-mystery-is-ruined-by-its-in-game-payments

Harry Potter mobile game maker defends child-choking scene which asks you to wait or pay money

-https://www.eurogamer.net/articles/2019-05-31-harry-potter-mobile-game-maker-defends-child-choking-scene-which-asks-you-to-wait-or-pay-money

Pokémon Go Hits $3B in Lifetime Revenue

-https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/pokemon-go-hits-3-billion-lifetime-revenue-1250983

Wall-E: Do not Return to Earth Scene played by Fred Wllard

-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNXNkdZVqs4

Groucho Marx’s look

-https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/68/Groucho_Marx_-_portrait.jpg

RC2014 is a simple 8 bit Z80 based modular computer originally built to run Microsoft BASIC. It is inspired by the home built computers of the late 70s and computer revolution of the early 80s.

-https://rc2014.co.uk/

Sgt. Slaughter On The Time Andre The Giant Fell Asleep Mid-Match

-https://www.mandatory.com/wrestlezone/news/1060153-andre-the-giant-sgt-slaughter-zzzz

Andre The Giant (2018 TV documentary film based on the life of French professional wrestler and actor André René Roussimoff (better known as André the Giant).)

-https://www.imdb.com/title/tt6543420/

Star Wars Day (Star Wars Day, May 4, celebrates George Lucas's Star Wars media franchise. Even though the holiday was not created or declared by Lucasfilm, many Star Wars fans across the world have chosen to celebrate the holiday. It has since been embraced by Lucasfilm and parent company Disney as an annual celebration of Star Wars.

-https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Wars_Day

An Assemblage of Grandiose and Bombastic Grandiloquents (TNC podcast)

-https://thatsnotcanon.com/grandiloquentspodcast

Heavenly Shows and Unnecessary Letters (TNC Podcast)

-https://thatsnotcanon.com/heavenlyshowspodcast

Shout Outs

15 May 2020 – Fred Wilard passes away at 86 - https://www.forbes.com/sites/marcberman1/2020/05/16/comic-fred-willard-dies-at-86/#5461bf6d7f10

Frederick Charles Willard, was an American actor, comedian and writer. He was best known for his roles in the Rob Reiner mockumentary film This Is Spinal Tap; the Christopher Guest mockumentaries Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show, A Mighty Wind, For Your Consideration and Mascots; and the Anchorman films. Willard’s other recurring sitcom roles included Family Matters,Sister, Sister, Mad About You, and Everybody Loves Raymond (the latter which resulted in Primetime Emmy nominations for Best Guest Actor in a Comedy for three consecutive years). He even appeared as the only human character in the animated film "WALL-E," a first for a Pixar film. Willard was one of Hollywood's busiest comedic actors with a career that lasted more than 50 years, playing clueless characters such as sidekick Jerry Hubbard on the satire "Fernwood 2 Night" in the 1970s. He recently finished filming the Netflix series “Space Force,” where he played actor Steve Carell’s father. He died from natural causes in Los Angeles, California.

18 May 2020 – Ken Osmond passes away at 87 - https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/18/arts/television/ken-osmond-eddie-haskell-dead.html

Ken Osmond, who played the duplicitous teenager Eddie Haskell on the long-running sitcom “Leave It to Beaver,” one moment a smarmy young man when talking to parents, the next moment a devilish troublemaker when the adults were out of sight. Mr. Osmond appeared in all six seasons of “Leave It to Beaver,” 1957 to 1963, one of the most-watched television sitcoms of the era, then reprised the role as an adult version of Eddie in the Disney Channel revival series “The New Leave It to Beaver” in the 1980s. After Leave It to Beaver ended in 1963, Osmond continued to make occasional appearances on such television series as CBS's Petticoat Junction, The Munsters, and a final return appearance on Lassie in the episode "A Matter of Seconds" as a motorcycle delivery man who offers the hitchhiking collie a lift in his sidecar. However, he found himself typecast as Eddie Haskell and had difficulty finding steady work. In 2008, Osmond told radio host Stu Shostak in a radio interview, "I was very much typecast. It's a death sentence. In Hollywood you get typecast. I'm not complaining because Eddie's been too good to me, but I found work hard to come by. In 1968, I bought my first house, in '69 I got married, and we were going to start a family and I needed a job, so I went out and signed up for the LAPD. As an officer on motorcycle patrol, he grew a mustache to disguise himself. In 1980, he was shot three times in a chase with a suspected car thief but escaped serious injury: One bullet was stopped by his belt buckle, the others by his bulletproof vest. He was put on disability and retired from the force in 1988. He died from complications of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and peripheral artery disease in Los Angeles, California.

19 May 2020 – Red Dead Redemption Celebrates Its 10th Anniversary - https://www.gamespot.com/articles/red-dead-redemption-turns-10-years-old/1100-6477391/

On May 18, 2010, Rockstar Games released Red Dead Redemption, an open-world Western video game, on the Playstation 3 and Xbox 360. Universally acclaimed for its artistry, dramatic storytelling, and freedom of choice, the game sold 17 million copies. But despite the game's reputation today, it's important to remember a time when its success wasn't certain, and Rockstar's developers sought to distinguish it from the studio's prior accomplishments. It subsequently attained a 95 on Metacritic and received over 170 Game of the Year Rewards. It led to a revitalized interest in the Western genre, especially the "Spaghetti Western"revisionist works by Sergio Leone and Sergio Corbucci. And after eight years, players got a sprawling prequel, Red Dead Redemption 2, which built upon and deepened the themes of its predecessor. Taken together, the two games are an American epic about modernization, betrayal, and the demons of the past. The West may be dead, but that won't stop us from reminiscing and keeping its memory alive.

Remembrances

19 May 1825 – Henri de Saint-Simon - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_de_Saint-Simon

Claude Henri de Rouvroy, comte de Saint-Simon, often referred to as Henri de Saint-Simon. He created a political and economic ideology known as Saint-Simonianism that claimed that the needs of anindustrial class, which he also referred to as the working class, needed to be recognized and fulfilled to have an effective society and an efficient economy. He said the primary threat to the needs of the industrial class was another class he referred to as the idling class, that included able people who preferred to be parasitic and benefit from the work of others while seeking to avoid doing work. Saint-Simon stressed the need for recognition of the merit of the individual and the need for hierarchy of merit in society and in the economy, such as society having hierarchical merit-based organizations of managers and scientists to be the decision-makers in government. Saint Simon's conceptual recognition of broad socio-economic contribution, and his Enlightenment valorization of scientific knowledge, soon inspired and influenced utopian socialism, liberal political theorist John Stuart Mill, anarchism through its founder Pierre-Joseph Proudhon who was inspired by Saint-Simon's thought and Marxism with Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels identifying Saint-Simon as an inspiration to their ideas and classifying him among the utopian socialists. He died from suicide at the age of 64 in Paris.

19 May 1935 - T. E. Lawrence - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T._E._Lawrence

Colonel Thomas Edward Lawrence, British archaeologist, army officer, diplomat, and writer. He was renowned for his role in the Arab Revolt and the Sinai and Palestine Campaign against the Ottoman Empire during the First World War. The breadth and variety of his activities and associations, and his ability to describe them vividly in writing, earned him international fame as Lawrence of Arabia, a title used for the 1962 film based on his wartime activities. In 1916, he was sent to Arabia on an intelligence mission and quickly became involved with the Arab Revolt as a liaison to the Arab forces, along with other British officers. He worked closely with Emir Faisal, a leader of the revolt, and he participated, sometimes as leader, in military actions against the Ottoman armed forces, culminating in the capture of Damascus in October 1918. After the war, Lawrence joined the Foreign Office, working with the British government and with Faisal. In 1922, he retreated from public life and spent the years until 1935 serving mostly in the Royal Air Force, with a brief period in the Army. For the RAF, he participated in the development of rescue motorboats. In the inter-war period, the RAF's Marine Craft Section began to commission air-sea rescue launches capable of higher speeds and greater capacity. The arrival of high-speed craft into the MCS was driven in part by Lawrence. He had previously witnessed a seaplane crew drowning when the seaplane tender sent to their rescue was too slow in arriving. He worked with Hubert Scott-Paine, the founder of the British Power Boat Company (BPBC), to introduce the 37.5 ft (11.4 m) long ST 200 Seaplane Tender Mk1 into service. These boats had a range of 140 miles when cruising at 24 knots and could achieve a top speed of 29 knots. He died from a traffic collision at the age of 46 in Bovington Camp, Dorset.

19 May 2009 - Robert F. Furchgott – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_F._Furchgott

Robert Francis Furchgott, Nobel Prize-winning American biochemist who contributed to the discovery of nitric oxide as a transient cellular signal in mammalian systems. In 1978, Furchgott discovered a substance in endothelial cells that relaxes blood vessels, calling it endothelium-derived relaxing factor (EDRF). By 1986, he had worked out EDRF's nature and mechanism of action, and determined that EDRF was in fact nitric oxide (NO), an important compound in many aspects of cardiovascular physiology. This research is important in explaining a wide variety of neuronal, cardiovascular, and general physiologic processes of central importance in human health and disease. In addition to receiving the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for the discovery of nitric oxide as a new cellular signal—shared in 1998 with Louis Ignarro and Ferid Murad. Furchgott's discovery, that NO gas causes blood vessels to dilate, provided a long sought-after explanation for the therapeutic effects of Nitroglycerin used to treat Angina pectoris and was later instrumental in the development of the erectile dysfunction treatment drug Viagra. He died at the age of 92 in Seattle, Washington.

Famous Birthdays

19 May 1942 - Gary Kildall - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gary_Kildall

American computer scientist and microcomputer entrepreneur who created the CP/M operating system and founded Digital Research, Inc. (DRI). Kildall was one of the first people to see microprocessors as fully capable computers, rather than equipment controllers, and to organize a company around this concept. Although his career in computing spanned more than two decades, he is mainly remembered in connection with IBM's unsuccessful attempt in 1980 to license CP/M for the IBM Personal Computer. Kildall and his wife Dorothy established a company, originally called "Intergalactic Digital Research" (later renamed as Digital Research, Inc.), to market CP/M through advertisements in hobbyist magazines. Digital Research licensed CP/M for the IMSAI 8080, a popular clone of the Altair 8800. As more manufacturers licensed CP/M, it became a de facto standard and had to support an increasing number of hardware variations. In response, Kildall pioneered the concept of a BIOS, a set of simple programs stored in the computer hardware (ROM or EPROM chip) that enabled CP/M to run on different systems without modification. CP/M's quick success took Kildall by surprise, and he was slow to update it for high density floppy disks and hard disk drives.After hardware manufacturers talked about creating a rival operating system, Kildall started a rush project to develop CP/M 2. By 1981, at the peak of its popularity, CP/M ran on 3000 different computer models and DRI had US$5.4 million in yearly revenues. He was born in Seattle, Washington.

19 May 1944 – Peter Mayhew - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Mayhew

Peter William Mayhew, was an English-American actor, best known for portraying Chewbacca in the Star Wars film series. He played the character in all of his live-action appearances from the 1977 original to 2015's The Force Awakens before his retirement from the role. When casting the original Star Wars (1977), director George Lucas needed a tall actor who could fit the role of the hairy alien Chewbacca. He originally had in mind 6-foot-6-inch (1.98m) bodybuilder David Prowse, but Prowse chose to play Darth Vader. This led Lucas to cast Mayhew, who was working as an orderly in the radiology department of King's College Hospital, London. He became aware of a casting call for Star Wars which was filming at Elstree Studios in Hertfordshire. The 7-foot-3-inch (2.21m) tall actor was immediately cast as Chewbacca after he stood up to greet Lucas. Mayhew continued working as an orderly—at Mayday Hospital (now Croydon University Hospital)—in between filming the original Star Wars trilogy. Mayhew modelled his performance of Chewbacca after researching the behaviour of bears, monkeys and gorillas he saw at London Zoo. Lucas said Mayhew was "the closest any human being could be to a Wookiee: big heart, gentle nature and I learnt to always let him win". The character did not have any lines, the sounds he made being derived from sound recordings of animal noises. While Mayhew portrayed Chewbacca in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, he was not in Star Wars: The Last Jedi but was listed in the credits as "Chewbacca Consultant". He was born in Barnes, Surrey.

19 May 1946 – André the Giant - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andr%C3%A9_the_Giant

André René Roussimoff, best known as André the Giant, was a French professional wrestler and actor. Roussimoff stood at over seven feet tall, which was a result of gigantism caused by excess growth hormone, and later resulted in acromegaly. It also led to his being called "The Eighth Wonder of the World". He found success as a fan favorite throughout the 1970s and early 1980s, appearing as an attraction for various professional wrestling promotions. During the 1980s wrestling boom he was paired with the villainous manager Bobby Heenan and feuded with Hulk Hogan in the World Wrestling Federation (WWF, now WWE). The two famously headlined WrestleMania III in 1987. Outside of wrestling, he was best known for appearing as Fezzik, the giant in The Princess Bride. After his death in 1993, he became the inaugural inductee into the newly created WWF Hall of Fame. He was later a charter member of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter Hall of Fame and the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame; the latter describes him as being "one of the most recognizable figures in the world both as a professional wrestler and as a pop culture icon." Towards the end of his career, Roussimoff starred in several films. He appeared most notably as Fezzik, his own favorite role, in the 1987 film The Princess Bride. Both the film and his performance retain a devoted following. In shoot interviews, wrestlers have stated that he was so proud of being in "Princess Bride", he carried a copy of the movie everywhere he went, to watch whenever he could. Roussimoff has been unofficially crowned "the greatest drunk on Earth"for once consuming 119 12-US-fluid-ounce (350ml) beers (in total, over 41 litres (72imp pt)) in six hours. He was born in Coulommiers, Seine-et-Marne.

19 May 1955 – James Gosling - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Gosling

James Arthur Gosling, often referred to as "Dr. Java", Canadian computer scientist, best known as the founder and lead designer behind the Java programming language. He wrote a version of Emacs called Gosling Emacs (Gosmacs) while working toward his doctorate. He built a multi-processor version of Unix for a 16-way computer system while at Carnegie Mellon University, before joining Sun Microsystems. He also developed several compilers and mail systems there. He is known as the father of the Java programming language. He got the idea for the Java VM while writing a program to port software from a PERQ by translating Perq Q-Code to VAX assembler and emulating the hardware. He created the original design of Java and implemented the language's original compiler and virtual machine. He also invented an early Unix windowing system called NeWS, which became a lesser-used alternative to the still used X Window, because Sun did not give it an open source license. He is known for his love of proving "the unknown" and has noted that his favorite irrational number is √2. He has a framed picture of the first 1,000 digits of √2 in his office. He was born near Calgary, Alberta.

Events of Interest

18 May 1980 – Eruption of Mount St. Helens - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1980_eruption_of_Mount_St._Helens

On March 27, 1980, a series of volcanic explosions and pyroclastic flows began at Mount St. Helens in Skamania County, Washington, United States. It initiated as a series of phreatic blasts from the summit then escalated on May 18, 1980, as a major explosive eruption. The eruption, which had a Volcanic Explosivity Index of 5, was the most significant to occur in the contiguous 48 U.S. states. It has often been declared the most disastrous volcanic eruption in U.S. history. The eruption was preceded by a two-month series of earthquakes and steam-venting episodes, caused by an injection of magma at shallow depth below the volcano that created a large bulge and a fracture system on the mountain's north slope. An eruption column rose 80,000 feet (24km; 15mi) into the atmosphere and deposited ash in 11 U.S. states and significant ash in two Canadian provinces. At the same time, snow, ice and several entire glaciers on the volcano melted, forming a series of large lahars (volcanic mudslides) that reached as far as the Columbia River, nearly 50 miles (80km) to the southwest. hermal energy released during the eruption was equal to 26 megatons of TNT. Hundreds of square miles were reduced to wasteland, causing over $1 billion in damage (equivalent to $3.4 billion in 2019), thousands of animals were killed, and Mount St. Helens was left with a crater on its north side. More than 4,000,000,000 board feet (9,400,000m3) of timber was damaged or destroyed, mainly by the lateral blast. At least 25% of the destroyed timber was salvaged after September 1980. In areas of thick ash accumulation, many agricultural crops, such as wheat, apples, potatoes and alfalfa, were destroyed. As many as 1,500 elk and 5,000 deer were killed, and an estimated 12 million Chinook and Coho salmon fingerlings died when their hatcheries were destroyed.

19 May 1999 – Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace was released - https://www.scifihistory.net/may-19.html

On this day in 1999, Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace was released theatrically ... and most of us came crashing understandably back to Earth. Employment consultant firm Challenger, Gray & Christmas estimated that 2.2 million full-time employees missed work to attend the film, resulting in a US$293 million loss of productivity. According to The Wall Street Journal, so many workers announced plans to view the premiere that many companies closed on the opening day. The release on May 19, 1999 of the first new Star Wars film in 16 years was accompanied by a considerable amount of attention. The Phantom Menace was released almost 16 years after the premiere of the previous Star Wars film, Return of the Jedi. The film's premiere was extensively covered by media and was greatly anticipated because of the large cultural following the Star Wars saga had cultivated. It grossed more than $924.3 million (equivalent to $1.42 billion in 2019) worldwide during its initial theatrical run, becoming the highest-grossing film of 1999, the second-highest-grossing film worldwide and in North America (behind Titanic), and the highest-grossing Star Wars film at the time.

19 May 2005 – Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith was released - https://www.scifihistory.net/may-19.html

George Lucas brought his Prequel Trilogy to its tragic close when Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith finally showed audiences what exactly went down when Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker embraced his inner demons and took the path to the Dark Side of the Force. Luke and Leia were born, delivering the film's only true hint of what things would inevitably lead to their father's redemption, but an Empire was forged in darkness once and for all on this day. Its theatrical release in most other countries took place on May 19 to coincide with the 1999 release of The Phantom Menace (the 1977 release of A New Hope and the 1983 release of Return of the Jedi were also released on the same day and month, six years apart).

Intro

Artist – Goblins from Mars

Song Title – Super Mario - Overworld Theme (GFM Trap Remix)

Song Link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GNMe6kF0j0&index=4&list=PLHmTsVREU3Ar1AJWkimkl6Pux3R5PB-QJ

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[istanlena]

The next morning came, and Lena felt all the misery from the night before hit her as she felt the dry tears on her face from crying herself to sleep. Damn you Kryptonian. She cursed the Kryptonian for putting her in such a situation.

  She got up out of bed to get ready for work. After a couple of hours sitting at her desk and not being able to focus due to the letter she read the night before she decided to call it quits for the day and go home to relax. If that was even possible since the Superhero was occupying, always occupying her mind.

  After wasting as much time as possible in the bathtub, she decided to get out of due to the water becoming cold, and she needed to start researching more about Kara's whereabouts. All she knew was that the Kara disappeared about two months after Lena left National City. She had refused to watch the news or read anything remotely related to Supergirl. So naturally, the first thing she did was search up the hero's name, and she truly wished she hadn't. She filters the videos by the past two months, and what she was witnessing was terrifying her. Kara, a Kryptonian, Supergirl, the strongest woman alive was getting beaten as it appears in every video. She went back to a video that got uploaded around a week after their fallout.

  Supergirl was letting the Alien punch her over and over again while she pretended to struggle against him. Finally, after many painful punches and kicks that he landed on her, she hit him flying back into a building as she fell to the ground. Lena closed her eyes wincing at what she was watching. The hero looked paler and smaller than she used to be. She struggled to get back up, so Alex ran to her, helping her into a disguised DEO van where she could rest. Lena was confused. Kara was supposed to be invincible; she wasn't supposed to get tired after a fight that should have taken a couple of minutes for her to take him down. Events like this usually never happened unless Kryptonite was involved in the battle.

Lena spent hours watching videos and reading Articles about Supergirl. Some fights were brutal; she was about to be killed in some of them. A lot of these people had ended up with Kryptonite somehow, and they were using it against her. She started crying as she watched the Super fall onto the ground but struggled to get back up, she also saw her using all of her energy punchings or kicking one last time before falling to the ground and not getting back up. At first, it seemed like she was letting them hit her on purpose, but as she went through pictures, she saw how the Kryptonian look paler in as time went on. There was a short clip showing her stopping a truck from crashing into a car, but as the kid went out to thank her she didn't stop for an autograph like she usually did or take a picture with him, instead, she flew away into the night sky not bothering to look back.

It pained Lena to see the change in Kara's eyes, the ones that were filled with so much warmth and happiness now had a winter storm forming inside of them. She was cold during the fights, and Lena wished she knew what Kara was thinking during those moments. Suddenly she remembered the letters that she found in Kara's diaries. She went over to her bedroom and opened up the drawer where she kept those letters. She pulled the letter that had been written after the first one and started reading.

______________________________

Dear Lena,

I find myself sitting at my desk at CatCo again even though everyone has already left to go home. I have an article to finish writing; I have all everything I need to write it, but yet I haven't written a word. I've been staring at an empty document for the past two hours. It's ridiculous. The fact that I'm writing a letter to you that you will never receive yet I cannot bring myself to write an article that people all over the world are going to read and care about, except you. I hope you're doing fine.

I heard that you are starting a new company called 'Lightan' back in Metropolis. You'll probably be spending a lot of time there since I listen to it's pretty crucial for the CEO to be there when their company is opening a new firm. Especially across the country, It upsets me that you'll be leaving for weeks at a time maybe even months, but I know what I think doesn't matter.

Today Snapper told me to interview you for an exclusive, but I tried telling him I wouldn't be able to interview you from now on. He didn't want to hear it, so I continued with a project that I have been working on for the past few weeks. Later he asked me for the exclusive article I had written about your new company; I told him I didn't have it. He was about to fire me, but James stepped in and told him off, he also said to him that no one would be able to get any more exclusives because you are too busy right now. I thanked him although there was no need for that. I wouldn't have cared if I got fired.

It's quite dull now, and I'm too stressed to write anything. Not to mention by ribs hurt like hell because of some stupid anti-alien woman who had stopped me for an autograph pretending to be a fan, so I went over to her, and as I was posing for a picture she stabbed me with a Kryptonite pen in my right rib. I don't understand how I didn't see that coming. It still hurts, but luckily it wasn't enough to make me powerless or beat me to the point where I would have to take the rest of the day off.

Not that would have made any difference. Anyways, I should go home now. The guards are starting to lock up, and they've asked me to leave multiple times, not that I care, but I think I'm going to revisit the hills, no one is there to bother me, its peaceful and the feel of fresh air is exactly what I need right now.

Yours truly,

Kara.

______________________________

Lena swallowed, feeling the bile rise in her throat at the thought of someone stabbing Kara after she was kind to them.

'Cowards. That's all these people are, cowards. They're too scared of people who have more power than them that's why they play so dirty.' She thought as her face wrenched up in an expression of disgust. She pulled out another letter; this one seemed shorter. It intrigued her, considering that Kara usually wrote a lot in her letters.

______________________________

Dear Lena,

I'm sorry.

For the times I hurt you, for the times I lied to you, and for every other reason, you're mad at me. I know my apologies don't mean anything to you, but aside from that all I can do is make sure your safe.

You might not know this, but I purposely take the longer route when I'm patrolling the city just so I can fly by your window multiple times quickly, so you won't even notice. I go out of my way to make sure you're okay, and I will keep doing that as long as your here and your alive.

Just because we don't talk doesn't mean I've forgotten about you, it doesn't mean that I no longer care. Truth is I still do. Even after swearing that I would stop, I still can't. I do my best to check up on you and see how you're doing.

To see if you're okay, but every time I get the urge to talk to you I remember that were just some strangers with some memories, you don't want me in your life, and I understand If I were you, I would not want anything to do with me either.

But even though everything has changed; I want you to know that I'm always looking out for you, I  always remind Sam to check up on you and lend you an ear even though she doesn't need me to tell her that. She's a much better friend than I was or will ever be.

I don't ask for anything in return; I don't wish to know what you were talking about and what you're struggling with because that is none of my business.

I miss you I miss your presence, although missing you does hurt, its nothing compared to knowing that I had you and lost you because I'm too much of a selfish coward.

Best regards

Kara.

P.S:

The hills look beautiful now with the snow covering them... I wish you could see them.

______________________________

Lena has started sobbing halfway through the letter since her eyes were already teary from the previous one, but this one destroyed her. The fact that Kara thought about her that much and made sure she was always okay from a distance made Lena hate herself. It made her want to take a bottle of alcohol and smash it against the walls. She wished she had scotch anymore so she could get drunk and crawl into a hole.

Her guilt was eating was consuming her; she had never felt any other emotion so strongly before. Never had she felt so much shame before for something she had caused unintentionally. She'd never felt so much shame in her life for allowing her best friend to fall into a state where nothing mattered to her anymore. Reading those letters were like the fact that she was alongside Kara this whole time, watching her change between cold and hot until she ultimately, she chooses cold and disappears.

And then it hit her. She mentioned the hills a lot. 'Could that be where she's hiding?'  She thought to herself. I mean she always expressed her fondness of nature and how much she loved the suburbs and the peace with it. Lena was thinking at an incredible speed, asking herself all types of questions.

But in Germany? Although she does know how to speak German fluently, that would make sense except for the fact that she said it was just hills, there would be no place unless she built her own house.

No that's just ridiculous Lena.

But she is Supergirl ... she could quickly build a cottage within a couple of days, or even a treehouse!

  Lena found herself giggling at the thought of Kara living in a treehouse-like Tarzan. It was a bizarre thought, and she couldn't imagine it. She was pretty sure Kara would have died the first day there, how on earth would she find food, she barely knew how to make pancakes let along hunt for her food.

                                  Lena quickly dialed Alex's number.

  "Hey, what is it? Did you find any leads? Do you know where she is? Is she okay?" Alex, through a bunch of questions at Lena and Lena, could barely understand a word that Alex had said since she was speaking so fast.

                                     "Alex, Alex, Alex! Relax please!

                                      "Uh yeah sorry, what is it?"     "I think I might know where she is, well I think I have a lead. Come over and bring some Scotch with you, I need a drink, and I know  you have some so don't even try to lie to me." "I'll be there in fifteen, Winn is dead passed out anyways. See you." Alex ended the call, and she couldn't help but feel the hope ignite in her as she made her way to Lena's. Just thinking that she might see her sister soon made her excited, although she knew that she shouldn't let her hope get the best of her. Still, it was the first time someone thought they knew where Kara was, and this was Lena if she felt she had a clue she had to be right, even though Alex spent a year searching Lena managed to find something in less than four days.

   Lena pulled out another letter to read while she was waiting for Alex to come over and she knew this wasn't the smartest idea she couldn't help herself even though she knew she was going to be a sobbing mess by the time the Agent arrived.

READ ALL OF IT HERE -

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160715/chapters/47764279

#supercorp #supergirl #fanfic #ao3 #fiction #post reveal #kara danvers #lena luthor

[raendown]

A commission for @theintellectualweeb! Thank you, this was fun to write!

Pairing: IzunaTobirama Word count: 4837 Rated: T+ Summary: Izuna comes home to a kitchen filled with smoke and wonders, rightly, what the fuck. Since when does Tobirama cook? Since never, as it turns out, no matter how many times he continues to try.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Calamity Cuisine 

The first time Izuna came home to find their apartment filled with smoke he panicked, as any normal human would. He was the one with a habit of playing with fire, Tobirama usually the one to scoff and stay as far away as possible, so it seemed a logical conclusion that something had gone terribly wrong and the love of his life was in danger.

As it turned out, the only thing in any danger was his dinner.

Panic quickly gave way to amusement upon finding Tobirama standing in the middle of their kitchen with a baffled expression and both hands on his hips, glaring at the stove like it had done him a great injustice. The look was a familiar one. It was the same look he gave to all technology when it wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do. For a man with so many smarts up in his own head he did have an unfair number of troubles with anything marketed as a smart device.

“What…happened?” Izuna asked, not bothering to disguise the laughter in his voice.

“I’m not entirely sure. As far as I can tell I followed the instructions to the letter – although they weren’t as clear as I would have liked them to be.” Tobirama’s nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Oh? What was unclear? And what were you trying to make? All I can see is black smoke.”

Izuna waved one hand through the air, trying to clear a small pocket around him to breathe in, and he wondered why the smoke alarm wasn’t going off until he spotted it sitting on the counter in several pieces. That answered that question. He didn’t even need to ask why or how; he’d known his partner for long enough to guess where his logic had gone with that one.

“Kraft Dinner,” Tobirama announced, holding up a small blue cardboard box. “The instructions said to ‘stir occasionally’ but it never explains what it means by occasionally. Should I hover over the pot and stir every thirty seconds? Should I stir in three equal intervals?” Clearly frustrated, Tobirama tossed the box down and crossed his arms petulantly. “By the time I had decided what parameters to use for ‘occasionally’ the pot had begun to smoke. These things really should include more specific language.”

“Okay you know I love you. But. A child can figure out how to follow these instructions. Literally only you could mess this up.” To take the sting out of his words he clapped Tobirama on the back as he stepped past to open a few windows.

“Children cannot possibly figure this madness out.”

“They really can.” Izuna threw open every window that might be used to evict smoke and then started looking around for something to fan it all around with.

Still pouting Tobirama moved to help him. Izuna considered telling him how cute that disgruntled expression of his was but in the end he kept such observations to himself. Obviously he was already frustrated over this ridiculous little episode and there was no point in riling him up even more. No matter how curious he was about burning the noodles when obviously they would have needed water to cook in.

“How about we just order pizza for the night?” he suggested.

“I suppose so. That was not my plan but one must roll with the punches, as they say.”

“You’re talking like an old man again,” Izuna helpfully pointed out. His partner gave him a pinched look.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Better!”

The second time Izuna came home to a disaster in their apartment was less than a week later and before asking any questions he headed straight for the windows to let it all escape outside. On his way he ducked underneath the swirling black mass and spotted the new fire alarm he had just bought sitting on the counter in the same condition as the last had been – but he couldn’t find it in him to be angry. Not when Tobirama had the decency to look at least slightly apologetic.

“What did the instructions say this time?” he asked when he could breathe again. Tobirama cleared his throat but his answer still came out as an unintelligible mumble. Izuna grinned. “Sorry what was that? I didn’t catch any of that?”

“I said that I forgot about the food. Did you know the oven light goes off when it reaches temperature?”

“Yes. I did. Because I cook all the time.”

Tobirama sniffed. “Well…it’s a dangerous feature.”

“It alternates every minute so that you can tell it’s still at temp.”

“Ah. That is something else that I did not know. I may have gotten distracted by the new catalogue that came this morning. Do you think I could afford a new telescope? There was an ad for an incredibly powerful–”

Before he could really take off Izuna leaned over to shut him up with a kiss. “Not the time. What are you stinking up my kitchen with today?”

He got no answer but opening the oven told him all he needed to know. Well, almost all he needed to know. The blackened mess inside the foil tin could have been either a frozen lasagna or a frozen shepherd’s pie, the ones he kept in their freezer for lazy nights were about the same size, but it was hard to tell the difference after the whole thing had been burnt to charcoal.

“Must have been a riveting article you were reading,” he mused.

“Would saying sorry help?”

“Not if you don’t actually mean it.”

Tobirama nodded. “I’ll work on it. I am sorry the food was ruined.”

For once living on the bad side of town came with an advantage as Izuna was able to slip on a pair of novelty singing bass oven mitts, extract the ruined meal, then carry it across the living room and toss the whole thing out the window. He paused for a moment just to hear the satisfying crash of it landing in the dumpster below before returning the mitts to their hook and turning to give Tobirama the most judgmental raised eyebrow he possibly cook.

“Why has this happened twice?” he asked. ‘You’ve never shown any interest in cooking before.”

“I wanted to cook dinner for you,” Tobirama admitted stiffly.

“So why don’t you just cook the way you always do and order Taco Bell?”

He’d never seen Tobirama puff up with so much offense before. “I will not serve you Taco Bell!”

Nose in the air, he spun away and stormed off to their bedroom as though he’d been greatly insulted. Izuna tilted his head curiously but decided against following the man. Something weird was obviously going on but with Tobirama it was always better to just let things happen as they would and let the man get through whatever he wanted to. It was really only safe to stop him if he was about to hurt himself.

Usually if you stopped him without a better reason he would just turn around and find a worse way to achieve whatever it was he wanted.

As evidenced when Izuna came home several days later to find what looked like the entire contents of his fridge smeared around the kitchen. Nothing had escaped the carnage. Cupboards, countertops, floors, even the ceiling had bits of vegetables clinging to the stucco he’d always meant to scrape off and repaint. At first he thought Tobirama was just that bad at whatever he was doing in here but he understood the moment he took in the sight of the blender with barely a quarter inch of green mush sitting in the bottom of it. The disaster sort of painted a picture of its own from there.

“So. What’s today’s thoughts?” he called out. When Tobirama popped up from the opposite side of the counter with his face coated green it was a difficult call whether he should scream in terror or laugh under he split a seam.

“There was an accident.” Something in his partner’s tone had him narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“And then?”

“…and then I wanted to see if I could recreate the event.” Tobirama’s eyes panned upwards to the mess on the ceiling. “Our blender is much more powerful than I realized.”

Izuna pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in deeply then breathed out slowly. “Should I ask what was supposed to be on the menu today?”

“My thought was to prepare the shakes you like to bring with you to the gym, although I wasn’t certain what recipe you use to make them. I found several online and most of them involved vegetables in a blender. Which seemed strange to me since it’s usually quite the battle convincing you to eat any vegetables but all the websites agreed.” He shrugged, the mess on his face sliding downwards like a comical theatre mask of sadness.

“Should I ask why you insist on continuing these kitchen adventure or…”

“Is there something wrong with a man trying to prepare a gift for his partner?” Tobirama frowned but his ire was exponentially less effective when hidden behind pureed vegetables. Actually in a strange way it just made him look more kissable, which was a little gross to think about.

Cleaning up the mess of blended food took three hours and Izuna refused to lift one finger to help. He did drag his favorite armchair a little closer so her could act as cheer squad and keep Tobirama from getting distracted. Only god knew what sort of oddities were going on inside his mind every time he paused in the middle of doing something and turned as though to act upon some new idea. Izuna was merciless in driving him back to his task, feeling absolutely no guilt for doing so. The mess was his fault, after all, so he should be the one to clean it.

Afterwards he gave in to Tobirama’s pouting and let the man flop over his lap while he watched TV. It wasn’t exactly cuddling by mostly people’s standards, better described as Tobirama using him for a glorified book rest, but to them it was an excellent way to spend time together while still entertained by their own interests. Just because neither of them enjoyed the same shows didn’t mean they couldn’t happily occupy the same space.

For a full week after that Izuna came home to a disaster free kitchen and he began to think that whatever madness had taken hold of his partner was finally passing over. Their evenings were quiet and the nights when he didn’t cook something for dinner he made sure to call out for delivery to arrive at the same time he knew Tobirama would be getting home, following his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t until halfway through the second week that he discovered he had become complacent. Considering that he thought he almost deserved the shock of opening the door to find the bloody remains of an actual chicken spread out across their counter.

“Oh god, Tobirama what the actual fuck!?” Dropping the backpack he carried his work folders in, Izuna covered his mouth with both hands and spun away to combat the bile rising up in the back of his throat.

“Fresh meat,” was Tobirama’s succinct answer.

“A little too fresh! Did you actually slaughter a fucking animal in my kitchen? What the hell!”

“You always complain the supermarket doesn’t have meat as fresh as you would like. I thought…” He trailed off as though it had only just occurred to him that there may have been a few flaws in his thought process.

Still facing away, Izuna tried not to picture more details in the single glimpse he’d managed to catch. There was absolutely no need for him to know which parts of that poor animal were where or how much blood was now contaminating his countertop. He wasn’t exactly squeamish at the sight of blood but a dismembered carcass was a little different from accidentally stabbing his hand with a mechanical pencil again.

“Either you’re going to need three bottles of bleach in there before I even think of cooking anything on those countertops or you’ll just have to replace the whole thing because oh my god Tobirama. Does it ever occur to you that maybe you should run these ideas by someone first to make sure they’re not crazy?”

“No,” Tobirama responded bluntly. His voice sounded like it was still coming from the same spot.

A little suspicious, Izuna felt the need to clarify, “You’re not actually still trying to chop up that poor bird are you?”

“Should I stop? It seems like such a waste now that I’ve come so far.”

It took a while to stop twitching but Izuna kept his calm by chanting how much his loved his partner over and over in his head. Without that he was sure he would have turned around, vomited, and then killed the other man. Only when he thought he could speak without screaming did he open his mouth – and then stopped.

“God, I hate it so fucking much when you win with logic,” he grumbled.

“Does that mean I may continue?”

“Yes, fuck, go ahead you psycho. It kind of would be a waste. Are you almost done or something? Can it go in the fridge after? Because I am not coming back in to that room until everything is cleaned up.” Without waiting for an answer he absconded down the hall and barricaded himself in their bedroom.

In the end he actually benefitted from this turn of events since keeping himself locked away kept him from getting distracted by Tobirama’s company as he so often did and gave him the opportunity to go over some of the reports he’d dragged home from work. It was several hours before the quiet little nest he’d made for himself was disturbed by a hesitant knock on the door and he realized that he had probably gotten more done in that short amount of time than he had all day at work. Not having to fend off constant interruptions was definitely a luxury he rarely got to experience.

“May I open the door?” Tobirama called through the wood. “I promise that I washed my hands. Twice.”

“With disinfectant?”

“Both times.”

“Yeah alright. But you better not be covered in blood!”

Tobirama was not covered in blood. He was, rather, naked from head to toe. “I guessed that any mess on my person would upset you so I threw my clothing down to the dumpster. Well, I tried. I believe it was the Lady Hyuga on the third floor who put her head out the window just in time for my bloody shirt to land on her face.”

Izuna howled with shameless laughter.

“Good! I never liked her. Her and all her family; there’s got to be a hundred Hyuga living in these apartment blocks and they’re all so stuffy.” He continued chuckling as he tried to imagine the scene she would have made.

“So you say. I also cleaned the kitchen. As instructed, I disinfected every surface twice.” There was a distinct note of pride for a job well done in Tobirama’s voice, like he expected a reward for following orders, and strangely the fact that he was standing naked without a hint of awkwardness only made it more endearing.

“Thank you,” Izuna told him. “Come here.” When he beckoned Tobirama stepped closer and bent down to receive a soft kiss as his desired reward.

When he straightened he looked back over one shoulder. “I considered trying to cook the meat myself–”

“Nope!” Izuna was up on the bed in an instant, hustling down the hall.

“I said I only considered it!” Tobirama called after him with undertones of offense.

After a quick inspection Izuna declared the kitchen clean enough, though he still had to rub everything down one more time just to make himself feel better about wiping off the blood. The meat he found tucked away in the fridge looking almost like any other store-bought cut of meat so he pulled it out and got started on a late dinner for them both. If the meat did end up tasting much better for being so fresh, well, Izuna was sure Tobirama understood the thanks he was offering when they went to bed that night.

Nearly a full month passed after that without any sort of cooking fiasco breaking up their daily routines. There were several attempts, multiple calls from Tobirama at various points during the day with strange questions that Izuna was certain would have led to certain disaster, but he was rather proud of himself for putting out any and all fires before they could really spring up.

Both of their brothers dropped by for a visit while he still had things under control and Izuna was happy to have a clean kitchen where he could whip up a meal delicious enough to impress even his cantankerous older sibling whose palette swung wildly between caviar or bust and whatever was rotting in the dumpster behind the closest fast food joint. Madara complimented him on his steaks and Izuna pretending that Tobirama had butchered those fresh too but decided he didn’t want to listen to the screaming.

Their family dinner was nice overall despite the two Senju brothers disappearing for nearly an hour and then reappearing by climbing in through the window. Hashirama had tears streaming down his face but he refused to say why so Izuna could only guess that he’d been terrified getting dragged up and down the fire escape. Although neither would explain where they had gone it wasn’t actually so out of the ordinary for Tobirama to get an idea in his head and drag some poor sod along by force to help him act on whatever crazy thought had occurred to him this time so Izuna let it go without thinking very much about it.

It wasn’t until another two weeks later that he realized he maybe should have thought about it a little more. Or, actually, that it was a good thing he hadn’t. Surprises were nice every once in a while as long as it didn’t involve his kitchen going up in flames again.

Walking in the front door to find a perfectly cooked and plated dinner of his favorite western meal, roast beef and mashed potatoes, definitely was not on the list of surprises he could have guessed at ahead of time. Suspicions and questions immediately rose up but he managed to keep a lid on them for the time being in favor of slipping off his shoes without looking away from the feast laid out on their kitchen table. Neither of them being very formal people, they didn’t actually use their kitchen table for eating very often. Mostly they sat on barstools and ate over the kitchen island. Today it seemed Tobirama had taken the time to clear everything off their dining table for a proper presentation, bottle of wine and all.

The image was only made more perfect when Tobirama skidded in to the room with the distinct look of someone who was hurrying to meet their cue. He was blinking wildly and his hair showed evidence of being wrestled down in to a more smooth style, though it still defied expectations by standing straight up on the man’s head. It just wouldn’t be Tobirama if he were perfectly smooth.

“Did you kidnap someone’s dinner?” Izuna asked. It was the only explanation he could think of for the appearance of such a well-cooked meal.

“No.” Shuffling a little awkwardly, Tobirama looked away with a pout. “Anija agreed to come over and cook for me since my efforts to do so on my own...were not yielding the expected results.”

“I must have just missed him in another elevator or something. Damn. This all looks amazing. I am suddenly terrified that I’ve forgotten some kind of anniversary.” Relief swept through his body when Tobirama shook his head.

Gesturing to the closest seat, Tobirama murmured that he should sit before disappearing down the hall again with a frantic light in his eyes. Only when he turned did Izuna finally look past the funny hair and the wild expression to notice that the man was dressed up. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Tobirama wearing anything nicer than a clean t-shirt in the four years since they had met.

“What’s all this?” he asked when his partner came back in to the room.

“I was trying to be nice,” Tobirama huffed. “But I could never get it right. Dinner is- it’s tradition, I think. But Anija said that a nice meal means I should look nice and you do deserve nice things and–“

“Okay, okay, calm down. If you say ‘nice’ one more time you might accidentally crack a smile.” Izuna did just that in response to the prissy look he got.

“Just pretend I can be kind to you for one evening, if you please.”

Rather than point out that Tobirama did kind things for him all the time – in his own way, of course – Izuna shut his yap and let Tobirama pour him a glass of wine. His favorite, he noted. That was the sort of kindness he had come to expect before they even started dating. Tobirama was the sort of man who watched and learned and remembered, then he put those observations to good use by ordering Izuna’s favorite foods, taking him to movies with his favorite actors, switching brands when their new laundry detergent started leaving rashes on his delicate skin. His love was shown in little actions.

After the wine was poured Tobirama grabbed a paper napkin off the kitchen counter and brought it over, unfolding the one ply sheet and shaking it in the air like it was a proper fancy cloth napkin. Izuna stopped him before he could try and lay it out across any laps.

“Why don’t you just sit down and eat instead of trying to worry about every single detail? This is already amazing. Consider me impressed. Now eat before your food gets cold.” Izuna watched with amusement as his partner wrestled with the concept of not attending to every last detail himself.

“Fine,” he mumbled at last.

The food was delicious, though that was little surprise if Hashirama had cooked it, and the wine complimented their meal quite nicely. With the windows closed to keep the sounds of traffic muted and some kind of music playing at a low volume from their bedroom the evening actually had quite a lovely date-like atmosphere that they didn’t bother with very often as a couple.

Really the only thing that could be improved upon was Tobirama’s dinner conversation. Usually no matter where they were he could be counted on to chatter away about whatever he pleased, unbothered by the idea that someone else might overhear him and find his choice of topic offensive somehow. Now he sat ever so slightly hunched with his fork clenched tightly in one hand and most of Izuna’s attempts to start a conversation were met with distracted mutterings that didn’t quite sound the same as when he was lost inside his own head trying to work out a problem.

If Izuna didn’t know any better he would say his partner was worried about something.

“Are you alright?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, fine, all fine. It’s fine.” Tobirama continued to scowl down at his half-finished meal without even trying to make eye contact. Something was definitely wrong.

“Tobes–”

“Don’t call me that.”

Izuna bit his lip. “This surprise is great and all but you’re kind of worrying me. Are you sure you’re good?”

“Worrying you was not exactly what I had intended. This was supposed to be a nice evening for you. I can be nice!” Tobirama slid his own plate away from himself a stood up to pace an anxious circle around the table.

“Yes, I know you can be.”

“Well good. When you love someone you’re supposed to do nice things for them. Every magazine and article I’ve read says that and Anija agrees so I trust the majority consensus.” As he spoke he made another circuit around the table with his brows drawn together in an expression that could almost be mistaken for deep concentration by anyone who didn’t know him well.

Scooting his chair back, Izuna stood up as well to stop the other man in his tracks. “Hey. Stop. Tell me what’s wrong. You’re being…not you.”

“You just agreed that I can be nice, I’m doing a nice thing!”

“Uh-huh and you’re also rambling on about it when usually you like it better if I don’t mention anything. Please tell me what’s actually going on.” Izuna lifted his eyebrows and caught Tobirama’s eyes. They stared each other down until Tobirama wrinkled his nose and looked away.

Well versed in the surprising unpredictability of a man so set in his own patterns and routines, Izuna hadn’t even bothered trying to guess at the reason behind his partner’s behavior, not after how many times he’d been wildly wrong before. Conclusions he thought of as completely logical could usually be torn apart in three sentences or less by Tobirama’s oversized brain. So right now he just needed the idiot to talk; the suspense was killing him.

Still, he tried to be patient as Tobirama’s eyes darted everywhere else in the room but at him until finally he dug around in the pocket of his dark slacks. The theme of black on black he had chosen for his outfit did absolute wonders to make the rest of him pop. Izuna couldn’t wait to peel it all off him later.

“Anjia said if I wanted to give this to you then I should probably butter you up first. I think he was making fun of me but I wasn’t sure so I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.” Tobirama nodded as though agreeing with his own logic. Then he opened his hand and all the air rushed out of Izuna’s lungs at once.

The ring was modest and slim, clearly chosen to look more natural on Izuna’s smaller fingers. With a band of white gold and a simple braided engraving around the center it could not have screamed ‘engagement ring’ any louder unless someone glued a massive diamond to the top of it. Izuna couldn’t stop staring. And because he couldn’t stop staring he also couldn’t help but notice the very fine trembling in the hand hovering between them.

“I think you’re supposed to ask a question when you give me that,” he breathed.

“Right, yes, you are correct.” Tobirama cleared his throat and shuffled a step closer. “Will- is there a specific way I’m meant to phrase this? I think I should have done a little more research first.”

“Will you marry me?”

Both of them stared at each other in surprise after Izuna blurted out the question on both of their minds. The silence was only broken when Tobirama gave a little mewl of discontent.

“I was supposed to ask you that!”

“Well you were taking too long. So…answer me.”

“Of course I wish to marry you, I was going to-mph!” Before he could go off on a tangent about who should ask or answer Izuna cut him off again by throwing himself at the other man, arms wound tight over broad shoulders so he could drag himself up to Tobirama’s height for a deep kiss.

Hands settled on his hips to pull him in closer and Izuna was grateful when Tobirama bent down a little so he could lower himself from the tips of his toes. Under no circumstances was he willing to break their kiss yet. Not with so much unadulterated joy thundering against the inside of his rib cage. With no other way to express himself he held on tighter and kissed with everything he knew he wouldn’t find the words to say, hardly able to breath past his emotions and loving every minute of it.

It wasn’t until Tobirama pulled away to blink at him with concern that he realized he was tearing up.

“My brother can never know that I cried,” he demanded. Tobirama nodded solemnly in return.

“Understandable.”

“I love you.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

Laughing wetly, Izuna let his head drop against the middle of Tobirama’s chest. “Jerk. You’re supposed to say it back.”

“Ah. I love you too, of course.”

That was all he needed. Izuna closed his eyes and clenched his fingers, picturing what it would look like when Tobirama slid the ring on to his left hand. Not with a hundred guesses would he have thought this was the reason behind so many disasters in his kitchen.

Worth it, he decided. Tobirama would always be worth it.

#rae writes #commission #izutobi #izuna #tobirama #modern au #fanfiction

[royal-writer]

I Get to Love you

It's a promise I'm making to you: Whatever may come, Your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours Forever I do

- - - -

Another descriptive ns/fw piece with mild dirty talk and consensual very tame light bdsm. Basically Essamon is some horny bastards and I want to experiment with my style some more. Whoops.

Gods, she wished he’d stop pacing in front of her like that. He smelled like distractions; deep woody fragrances, leather, just a fine hint of jasmine and coriander. The seductive aroma wafting off of her husband had her lifting her head as he moved around the room like a caged animal. He’d pitch another log into the chimney stack; momentarily disguising his cologne with the smell of smoke, and then be on the move again. Account books were left stacked on the desk and coffee table with each round, set down with a steady hand. Letters from townsfolk and other territories addressed to them folded over everything in a cascading mountain of articles.

She tisked as he made to pass her again, careful to scoot her paperwork to the side so they wouldn’t be blown off. “Feeling cooped up today, m’lord?” Her hand flattened the parchment that contained a census of the current food stores as she glanced up at him, catching the deep sigh radiating in his chest. Her gaze softened at the frustrated sound, murmuring gently, “Perhaps a break is in order? We could share a snack, or check on if the garden needs tending? I could look over those ledgers for you, if you’d like to step out and stretch your legs? A bit of sword practice, or a walk maybe?”

He snorted with discontent. Changing his walking pattern; which really by now should have left a worn path in the floor, the nobleman skirted between the low table and the sofa to sink down beside her. He expelled a dejected rush of air, dropping his face in his hands as she reached out to him.

“Poor dear,” Essätha comforted, kneading her hands into taut shoulders and down his back. Goodness he was mouth-watering. She wanted to sink her teeth into him; picking up the faint spicy cinnamon she hadn’t noticed before in his after shave. He flexed beneath her touch a few times; the rippling bands of muscles in his back and arms firm beneath her grazing fingertips. He had such a fine sculpted figure; not built like bulky cold marble or too yielding and soft. He was strong in all the right ways, inside and out.

Grabbing the lining of his cloak, she guided the fabric off of his shoulders as he shrugged leisurely to help her. His arms rolled backwards, dumping the apparel onto the couch. She could feel the question of his glance moving to observe her, the onyx of his pupils, the ocean of his iris. She ignored his unasked inquiry to slide her hands beneath the collar of his navy jerkin; palms working against his shoulders in hard circular motions and fingers dipping into his undershirt. Her nails left crests and grooves as they dug into his flesh.

Amon hummed deep in his throat with appreciation. His body shifted; turning from the waist and then scooting across the cushions to better face her. All the while her hands worked; rubbing and palpating into the tension of his body. From his shoulders, alongside his neck, down to his shoulderblades and up again. The stiff fabric of his clothing kept her from sliding her hands further down arms to tease him, much as she wanted to.

“You need rest,” she chided with an unhappy frown. His tension was beginning to evaporate beneath her fingers, easing the strain and pressure in his muscles tight with stress. Essie squinted into his face, watching slowly as the creases of concentration began to magically disappear. His jaw went slack; mouth parting slightly as he dragged air into his nose, and out of his mouth gradually in a relaxed breathing exercise. She grinned with triumph, leaning in to press a kiss against his open-mouth. He startled; grunting as she pulled away with a mischievous giggle.

He reached for her. His eyes darting from her butterscotch golden brown down to her mouth, over her throat, and to her braid which he picked up where it lay on her shoulder. He rubbed the coils between his rough fingers periodically. His gaze was blazing as he returned it back to her face, leaning in close to breathe, “I don’t need rest. I just need you.”

She glided her tongue over her lips slowly. “Sly move,” the noblewoman purred, slithering her hands from beneath his doublet towards his chest. Gods, she was hoping he’d say that. A fiery bolt of intense need shot straight through her loins. With proficient hands, she steadily undid each of the fasteners of his jacket while her touch whispered over him. His jaw clenched in response; adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Hungry but patient, he dropped the tresses of her hair to stroke his broad hands from the nape of her neck down. Light against her waist, rounding her hips, and urging her into his lap.

A heated moan passed his lips. Amon groped her rear, pushing her hungrily forward into the tenting of his slacks. Her sigh came out shaky with desperation as the last clasp snapped open beneath her fingers. Her mind was flying through a turbulent storms; strikes of electricity sizzling through her bones and crackling in her veins. Her breathing hitched as she twisted and turned, panting heavily through a foggy cloud of yearning.

He was an addiction. Intoxicating. The Lord of the Emerald Expanse didn’t need to do anything to garner her attention or spark her appetite. She always wanted him in some fashion. His voice; steady, calm, profound. It was rich like chocolate but could be deep and rumbling as an approaching twister. Intense. His breath, curling the hair against her neck as he exhaled close to her ear. She shivered in response; goosebumps breaking out everywhere. The taste of him; the salt of his skin and texture beneath her mouth that was just him.

And oh gods the feel of him. There was so much to feel, so many edges and hollows she imprinted to memory. The places she could touch that drove him crazy. Tickle his ribcage, slid her digits over hills and down dips and across slants, grip his study limbs, fondle him everywhere. Her heart raced for him even now. The calluses of his hands on her ass, the prick of his teeth grazing her neck, the hair on his chest which she smothered and plundered over as she untucked his shirt. She wanted it all. Every delectable piece of him, always. Her dashing Amon; so handsome, so gentle and polite.

He made her feel alive and worthwhile. He made her feel more then what she was, and what she was capable of. He made her feel attractive at her worst. He believed in her, even when she’d forgotten how. Even when no one else did. He was certainly a sexy man with plenty of attractive qualities, but even the most beautiful man couldn’t keep her heart if it wasn’t for what reflected inside. Amon had values and morals. He was dignified, respectable, chivalrous, and honorable. He was courteous and patient, gentle and brilliant. There was so much beneath the surface of his valiant heroism. He was sensitive, a bit scarred, and perhaps not always as fearless as you could believe. But he was courageous and steadfast; ultimately the most authentic and bravest, most loving beautiful soul she’d ever met.

Even now, grinding his length into her center and sucking on her neck, his action was tender consideration. He could fuck her hard into the sheets until she went cross-eyed and her lungs burned and felt ready to collapse, and he’d still be thoughtful and gentle. Whispering to her sweet nothings, holding her close, seeing to her pleasure and kissing her slowly with satisfaction as they rolled around tiredly when all was done. Everything would feel sore and slick with a crazy dull ache and he’d touch her everywhere; strumming her heartstrings, easing her cramps, soothing her into a peaceful slumber nestled against him.

“Ooohh Amon,” she sighed, gyrating her hips encouragingly against him as he left a dark hickey against her hairline. Her hands were too eager to explore the canvas of his chest. A piece of chiseled craftsmanship. With jerks and tugs at buttons, she opened up his button-up and shoved at his arms. Marvelously receptive and submissive, Amon let go of her ass long enough to allow her peel of his collared shirt and undershirt. She wasted no time in excavating her discovery.

He hissed through clenched teeth sharply as she lapped her tongue over his nipple. With a sassy smile; all bravado and brazen, she repeated the gesture until he grunted, a string of elvish fizzling out. Essie could make out some of it; the fragments of words of endearments and cherished love and lust, but it was difficult to understand in the deep guttural tone. She crooned with appreciation, enjoying his response so much that she scraped a fang against the tip in hopes of hearing it once more, circling her hips back to brush against his.

Another sharp intake. She smirked, roaming her feather-light grazing touch over his chest. His muscles flexed in response. The soft curls of his chest hair beneath her touch and rigid structure of him. Her digits moved lower, inspecting the denser trail that lead beneath his pants. Amon’s breath quickened, rushing against her as she drew his nipple into her mouth to taste him.

“Essätha, Essätha,” he chanted weakly. “Essätha, darling…” With a helpless groan, he pushed his hard-on into her palm. Her lips sucked harder upon his skin and he bucked, a gravely low sound cutting through him and vibrating through his chest. She laughed breathlessly against him, placing tender kisses gently against his torso. Her thumb worked lazily on the strapping of his belt, and her other hand traced the shape of his arms, following the shape of his back, pinching his nipple gently as she moved on scrap her teeth against his other nipple and start again.

Amon’s head fell back roughly against the back of the sofa. Both hands found their way to her bottom and he squeezed her roughly, writhing beneath her touch as she kissed and circled his nipple. She flicked the tip with her tongue and he curved towards her; lifting his hips to grind against her hand. Breathing him in deeply; the spice of his fragrant skin a delicacy, she dropped her head to lave and nibble down the middle of his abs. Her tongue swept over his quivering midsection, her teeth finding a rigid line to sink into gently.

Pawing her way down his build, Essätha finally drifted down to belt buckle where her other hand cupped his erection. She pulled the prongs free, and dragged the strap through the belt frame and loop loosely. “Mercy, my love,” Amon pleaded hoarsely, rotating his hips to feel the her touch beneath the straining bulge of his trousers. Glorious, she thought to herself wickedly. He was begging for relief now as she worked the leather band from his pants, taking her sweet leisurely time. Her mouth, for the meantime, latched on to his shoulder to suck firmly on his flesh.

Essie tossed the belt aside. Her breathing sounded just as ragged as his; rolling over his skin damp from her lewd tongue and drifting lines of sweat. “You taste as amazing as you feel,” she purred, dotting soft kisses against his collarbone. He gasped, fidgeting, nails embedding into her ass as he kneaded her the moment her tongue descended, tracing the carving of his chest in a single stroke south. “I need you,” Amon sputtered shakily. “I’m so hard for you. Nnng, good girl.”

Good girl. Gods, she loved it when he said that, all hot and bothered and needy. Oh she had some plans to be good to him, but not necessarily a good girl. Her breath billowed over the dense pubic hair disappearing into his pants, her eyes turned up to her husband. Heated and smoldering, she took in the fluttering of his half-mast eyes and the jump in his throat as he swallowed deeply. His jawline moved, clenching and unclenching as he caught her studying gaze.

She splayed her hands over his chest like an anchor, and leaned in. Her teeth caught the edge of one button of his pants, and worked it. It popped through the hole and Amon froze, gaping at her with his tongue running hungrily against his lips. Grinning with confidence, she moved on to the next one, aware of just how close she was to his throbbing cock. Shocking how still he could be when she was so close; her air brushing against the flaps of his opened slacks against his undergarment as she gripped the next button. She worked it carefully; an expert lover’s twist and flick, and it snapped open as her nailed raked against his torso and chest hair, lowering as she lifted her head.

She teased him, slipping her fingers into the opening of his trousers. The nobleman stilled. A breathless pause. He hitched for air, groaning the moment her fingertips grazed along the base of his stiff member. His hands, having lost her rear as she dropped lower, went for her shoulders in a bear trap’s vice grip. He whined openly as she dipped her tongue along his navel, into his belly button, and caressed over to his hip to nip the protruding bone.

“Mmmm, I love it when you grab me,” she whispered, kissing her way across his abdomen towards his other hip. He spasmed; cursing in common and elvish as her fingers brushed lower as his legs snapped open wider. She stroked his sack and he gave a sudden and sharp cry as her teeth dragged along his other hip bone, biting gently. “I’m so wet for you, m’lord Amon. You’re a sexy stud, and I want to fuck your handsome cock until you feel boneless and forget how to walk.”

“Ugghhh Essie,” Amon whimpered. He wriggled, shallow huffs of air expelling rapidly from his chest. His butt lifted from the couch as she gripped the leg of his pants, and yanked them part of the way down. Her mouth formed into a frown and she removed her hand from palming his warmed scrotum. He choked with longing, leaving crescent moons on her shoulders with impatience as she tugged his askew clothing down to his boots.

“Climb on my lap, darling. Fuck the formalities, I want to feel you.” His voice was raspy. Stroking a velvety touch along the cords of her neck, he gasped with exhilaration. She hummed, her lashes skimming the top of her cheeks as she forced his shoes off, barely reasoning with the knots or loosening them. They were thrown across the room with a thud, his socks and pants following moments after.

Ignoring the thickness in his imploring voice; the deeply profound want of his faint words, Essätha settled on her knees between his legs. His small clothes were the only barrier between her, and his erection. She raised a lingering smile to beam up at him, dropping kisses along his knees. He groaned, straining as her tongue and teeth joined. Brushing her pillowed lips against his skin, skimming teeth, lapping with her tongue. Her fingers seduced every inch of his sublime figure. Caressing his waist, nudging his legs apart, scrapping along the sensitive raised goosebumps while her eyes locked on to his. She savored each moan that escaped his lips and echoed in the depths of his lungs.

Down his ankles, back up along his shins, and against his knees. She licked the inside of his thigh and he shuddered, rolling her name out with ecstasy. His hips drove forward in an invitation. He was a temptation she couldn’t refuse. Her husband, so fetching and delicious. He was a fantastic lover in every way, but there was so much to appreciate in this view. The trust. The reception. He held to her shoulder with one hand, and gripped the cushions with the other for support, clasping and unclasping his fist from the furniture as he groaned with submission to her dark desires and sinful foreplay.

Her tongue danced over his skin, moving up closer and closer to the edge of his drawers. Amon gyrated his hips, thrusting towards sanctuary. Essätha snickered, drawing spiraling shapes with her fingers over his torso in a sensual, erotic display. “Would you feel better if I kissed your poor, weeping shaft m’lord?”

The flushed color in his face grew darker and deeper. He groaned, mouth-gaping, pupils huge. His mouth closed, and he swallowed before opening again. He was speechless. She cooed at him with pity, placing a kiss along the very edge of the fabric that separated them. Once more, he threw his head back violently into the sofa, growling with frustration. “I’m not hearing an answer,” she chimed, grinning wildly.

“Yes! Yes yes, fine, please- do something-” He choked; a long drawn out gasp staggering out of him as she kissed the head of his erection through his underclothes. She grinned broader as his eyes closed, mouth twisting up and throat flexing with each withheld grunt as she lapped the damp spot on the front of his undergarments from his arousal. The musk of his need was heady and strong.

As he keened for more, Essätha sank slowly back on her knees. Her tongue drew across her lips with suggestive slowness, catching his eyes as they pried open with hopeless abandonment. Moving her hands low, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his drawers, and pulled experimentally. With an arching eyebrow, she dragged his knees together, resting her breasts against them as she whispered low and husky, “I have an idea in mind. In the bedroom, if you want to try it, m’lord Amon.”

“You’re torturing me dear,” Amon complained, his nostrils flaring. But there was no hiding the interest brewing in his gaze, his tongue moving over his own lips now. “What sort of idea? And does it involve you removing any of your damn clothes, too?”

She laughed quietly. “All in good time,” she promised, slowly climbing back up. With a hand placed on either side of his legs; fingers sinking into the fabric of the couch, Essie leaned in to ghost her lips upon his. It’s not enough. He moved nearer; claimed her mouth with his own. It’s all yearning and pleasure. Far from soft; his teeth bruise her lower lip and his tongue claimed her until she quivering. Another stab of her most vulgar desires send a wave through her as she clenched her thighs close together, a moan tumbling from her mouth into his.

He released her from the glorious spell of his lips. Every nerve ending was hyper-aware of the blaze of his mouth, caressing a long line down the side of her neck. Panting heavily, Essie ran her fingers through his beard, up to the side of his face, and cupped his cheeks. The hard calluses of his palms found her blouse and crept beneath, skimming along her pelvis. They moved to her back, tracing an old scar before flattening out.

She pulled away, placing a hand to his forearm firmly to retract the sinful gentleness of his hand claiming her. With a frustrated snarl, Amon placed a tender kiss to her lips. Sweet and soft, gliding his tongue along the seams of her lips until she was relinquished control briefly once more. His hands lingered on her waist a moment longer; massing into her bare skin, before he flopped back into the seat with a pout. His skin was glowing, and his eyes dark with lust and triumph to see her weak-kneed, trying to stand but wavering.

Beckoning him with a pointer finger, Essätha reached down to grasp his hand. He held to her hand, clasping her carefully. As he stood, he placed her hand briefly to his chest, over his heart in a symbolic gesture that made her pulse skip a few beats. He wore the fondest, most adoring smile and it was aimed like a perfect arrow through her heart. With a scarlet blush creeping deeper into her neckline and causing a haze of color to her skin, she chewed on her sore lower lip and tugged at him to follow.

She tripped and narrowly missed a puppy-love fall from glancing over her shoulder at Amon, but he dragged her back into the safety of his chest. With a grin broad and knowing as she inhaled sharply, feeling the bulge in his underclothes against her, Essätha kicked aside the boot she nearly fell over. She scowled at it, head down, and hurried the rest of the way past the disorganized clothes and coffee table brimming with ledgers. Some of the paperwork managed to fall to the floor in their haste to pass, and she quickly kicked the door to their private quarters closed behind them. Let any daring housemaid catch the sounds coming from their room and see Amon’s clothes in the sitting room, and be so brave as to try the coming in.

With more ferocity then she believed to have, she shoved her husband back into the door. He drank her in like a desperate drunk, and they sighed in unison against each other with relief. She moved against him; hips undulating, humping him greedily and grinding into his length. It’d be a lot more comforting to feel the contact of skin against skin, and not the friction of her clothes trying to mask the basking warmth of her sun.

He gripped her back and bottom, smothering her against him. “Mmmmf, my Essie,” he growled possessively, drawing on each syllable. She lunged for him once more. Wanting more; tasting his lips as the back of his head smacked against the hard oak. He groaned for her loudly as her hand squeezed to his, her free one tugging at his black locks roughly to tilt him just the way she wanted him. Enough to deepen the kiss, and weave her tongue carnally against his.

Swiftly and suddenly, Essätha leaned away from him. The cold seems to hit him all at once; his mouth hanging open, a shiver racing down his spine. He unfroze after half a second and reacheed for her once more, trying to gather her close, but she stepped away. With a scolding tut, her finger tapped his lips lightly. Amon didn’t hesitate; puckering his lips to kiss her digit as the soulful depth of his gaze swept over her like a salacious caress. For a moment she’s utterly lost in the fathomed depths; lost in the abyss of his pupil devouring his iris before she remembered herself.

Moving quickly, she stepped over to the nightstand as the nobleman detaches himself from the door. He moved as though in a dreamy romantic state, not quite making it to her by the time she fumbled through, and manages to produce a length of silk, and then a second. They were extra fabric pieces to a scarf she’d made herself for Josephine, and she’d tossed them thoughtlessly into the dresser one day, thinking that maybe one day be of use. Today seemed as good a day as any.

“You intend to tie me up, with those…” His voice was soft, but compelling. A predator lay in wait in his gaze, ready to pounce. Hungry, at the end of his chain, wanting to sink his teeth into flesh and possess her in all the ways that made her scream for him. There was doubt in his regard to the fabric; but a dangerous wanton expression creeping into the tints of color on his features.

She lowered her gaze, biting into her aching lower lip. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Amon made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. Reaching up to stroke his beard; in a gesture that was comical as it was cute, he gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he agreed, a lazy smile spreading on his face. “What would you have me do, my lady?”

A thrill of eagerness momentarily stole her breath. With a voice more breathless than she intended, Essie indicated with a jerky hand towards the bed, hissing her demand: “Lay down.”

“Commanding,” he murmured, his voice deep and sultry. He moved past her; the smell of him distracting her just as it had before. He took full advantage of her gawking state, brushing his hand against the side of her bosom as he whispered hoarsely, “I like it.”

“Bed,” Essätha ordered, voice cracking. She was going to lose resolve with a look like that. The back of her mind whispered to her, knowing full well he could bring her to that edge again and again until she was howling for it. He could make her scream until she lost her voice, if he wanted to. But this was her game, and she had every intention on seeing it through.

Her beloved Lord Amon sank into the creaking bedframe wordlessly. His eyes said everything the crafty, smug smile of interest of his smile did not. But he wouldn’t be cocky for long (ha). Wearing a seductive smile of her own, she slunk from the end of the bed up to crawl atop of him, and straddle him. He groaned in agony; her clothes still a hindrance as he glided his hands firmly to her sides.

She held out her hand, and he froze. Obedient and silent, but watchful, he placed his hand in her grasp. She twined the rope carefully around his wrist, creating a cuff. Knotting it firmly in place, she gave the material a few jerks and tugs to test its strength. It didn’t fray or split. It wasn’t much of a distraction from the urgent look in Amon’s gaze, or the way he swayed his hips from side to side to try diverting her focus. Which it did. Easily.

Scowling, Essätha leaned over him to tie the other end of the silk to the bedpost. She shifted closer, concentrating on the knot she was making. It proved difficult as Amon breathed heavily against her chest, sitting up enough to skim his nose along her throat. Breathing deeply, he groaned: “You’re beautiful. How long are you going to toy with me like this, darling?”

“Until I’m satisfied,” she retorted, keenly aware of the feverish gasping in her voice. Taking his other wrist, she began the process of looping it and knotting the material like before. Once she leaned in to tie it to the opposite bedpost, her devious little husband tormented her in return. His hips lift; rocking his erection into her crotch as his mouth latched on to a nipple through her shirt.

Cursing shattered words in various tones and languages, Essätha shamelessly rode the shape of his package with a muted whimper. With an internal shiver, she reminded herself of what she wanted to do, and managed to squirm free with a gasp. Sitting back on her knees and far from the proud smirk pinned to the Illiad heir’s face, she gave him a serious glance. No matter how lecherous of an Aphrodite she could pretend to be; raw, aloof, charming, disarming, she was still just as enthralled and drawn to him as he was to her. Her body might want to give in to the immediate gratification of passion; quick and rough or cuddly and soft, but she could wait until she’d gotten her fill of making him lose his mind.

Amon shifted, and the bedpost creaks. He gave a tentative tug on the binding with his arm, and the tension pulled the length taut. His eyes wander from it, to her, and back again as he gave another jerk. His muscle strains, and the silk holds firm as the entire bed rocks from the effort. His eyes dart back to her once again, and his blown pupils consume her whole.

“I quite like this look,” she purred, stroking a hand absently over his chest. The tips of her fingers step across his navel, up his tense abdomen, and to his nipple. She strumed her thumb against him as he groans. “Lord Amon Thomas Illiad, my submissive husband, all tied up just for me,” Essie breathed, leaning in to hover above the heat of his body. “I bet you’d like to be inside me, right now. I bet I could make you orgasm. I wouldn’t even have to do much, would I? Kiss you here,” she pressed her lips softly over his throat. “Maybe here.” Another, over his nipple. “Or here.” Against his rapid heartbeat, and he moaned. “Touch you in just the right places, and you’ll just explode.”

The realization seemed to hit him. Truly trapped; the silk too well-made to rip or tear from his brute strength. He groaned; loud and low, trying to angle himself as much as possible to try brush his length against her. She bent upward just enough to avoid giving him the contact he ached for, and a whine settled in his throat. “Essätha, please,” he begged, dragging in air in short bursts. “Please. I want you. I need you, Ess’. Please.”

Gods, she felt drunk with power. This man; her man, a proud Illiad, praying and beseeching to her. He craved her. He wanted her in ways both filthy and amorous; wrapped around each other, frisking, touching, nuzzling, kissing. She wasn’t so blind and stupid not to see the way people looked at her over the years. She had appeal, if people could get past the random patches of scaly growths on her skin. For Amon her scales weren’t a hindrance. What she was didn’t stop him from pressing his mouth over her every curve and angle as he’d glide his hands over her, embrace her, and whisper words of flattery in her ears as he loved her. There was no greater joy and honor than to hold and love this man.

Or in this case, nothing was more satisfying than to leave him begging for more. Her valiant husband’s gaze coasted over her, and follows the hypnotic gestures of her hands. She smiles slowly, skimming them down the front of her camisole to the hem. Gathering the thin cloth in her hands, she began to drag it slowly up her body. Revealing her stomach; the planes of her belly. It hiked up higher, just beneath her ribcage and then beneath the shape of her small bust. The light against her warm skintones was luminescent, casting a drapery of shadows against her hips and curves.

Amon licked his lips in response, and lurched forward. The wooden frame of the bed protested, and the silks yanked him back into the pillows with a ragged gasp parting his stunned lips. She snickered, flirting her half-mast eyes across his expressive gaping face before flipping the garment the remainder over her breasts, and pulling her head out. With a flick of her arm, she sent the top fluttering off to the floor, her chest rising and falling with her eagerness. It gave the small mounds of her breasts a bit of bounce, which captured his attention for a lengthy intermission.

“Goddess,” the nobleman crooned, giving no indication on if he meant her or a true deity. Judging by the fixated attention of his gaze groping her however, she felt sure she knew the answer. The flush of color in her face heightened in response. Playing her fingers across her collarbone, she grazed lower; momentarily stopping to mold her palm against her breast. Amon heaved for oxygen, sucking in large gulps of air, as her hand relaxed and skimmed lower to her pants.

Bending forward, Essätha reached down to push the fastener through on her slacks, one at a time. She shed them aside, revealing the lace-covered panties beneath. The Briarton Lord let out a noise both miserable and primal. Her movement is slow and cruel; peeling back the dense cloth to show more and more of her supple thighs, all the way down to her knees. She raised her ass in the air, reveling in the way he huffed and wrestled in the restraints to lean forward at the edge for her. Bracing with one hand, she wiggled the apparel down further, and repeated the gesture on the other side until every nude contour is visible, save for the hidden crown of his lust beneath her knickers.

Extending her arm, she dropped her slacks over the side of the bed. A stern squeak emits from the posts as he tugged at them once more. A trace of pity hits her, seeing the strain in his face, in the muscles of his arms, in the pull of his eyes. In the most enamored, awe-struck voice, he managed to speak; his voice husky and deep, “Undergarments. Remove them.”

“I’m sorry, are you commanding me?” she taunted, moving to loom over his struggling form, smiling broadly. Keeping herself aloft with one hand, she used the other to cradle his face. He sighed deeply with enjoyment, nestling his face into her touch. A turn of his face, and he kissed her pulse-point gently, searching her face for a sign of reaction.

He must have found what he wanted, because he grinned. She realized she expression became vulnerable; staring, wanting, a jolt in her heartbeat and mouth parted with flush lips. With a scowl burying her heated need, she snatched her hand back, caressing it instead down his bare chest instead. “Was that a Lord command, a I’m-Your-Husband command, or a I’m-Desperate-To-Be-Fucked command?”

To her delight, he appeared suddenly sheepish. His throat jumped, and he rasped: “My apologies, my love. I demand nothing of you. The shackles, they just…” His voice faded out as she hovered closer. Lightly pressing her lips to his with sympathy, she kissed him softly. Her words breathed against his ear; light as a butterfly’s wings, “Not so easy having no control, is it?” She felt him nod, swallowing thickly once.

In a sign of forgiveness, Essätha leaves sensual kisses across his neck, carefully nipping along his sensitive skin. She stops to lap at his nipple, enjoying the faded growl in the back of his throat as she brushed her breasts to his torso. His chest hair tickled her erogenous zone. Moaning weakly, she traveled over the model of his magnificent chest; suckling and nibbling down to his underwear. There’s a damp spot from the dew of his pre-cum and where her tongue had been earlier. She strips them away; sliding over his body to throw them across the room.

She exhaled, breath fanning over his straining cock. “Gloriousss,” she managed to hiss. Her tongue stroked the inside of his thighs in a single line towards his balls, and he keened with pleasure. Her cheek grazed his rod as she moved up along his leg. She left wet, lewd kisses along his leg; listening to the rapture of his his voice rather than the words in a tongue of elves that made little sense to her.

Shimmying lower down the bed, she anchored her knees for support, and lured her tongue over the head of his cock. His reaction was instantaneous. Amon arched; his hips lifting, and a ragged moan poured out of him in a reverberating tones. Without looking up, she feels the burn of his eyes on the top of her head as her braid falls on his thigh. She encouraged him to nudge his legs wider for her, dragging nails against one leg and taking a steady grasp of the base of his length with the other. Through clenched teeth, her husband draws out a fizzling gasp of hope.

Swirling her tongue along the head of his manhood, she tasted the tangy musk of his desire. Her lips kiss along his slit and she engulfs just the head, sucking lightly. He pulled up like a bow strung too tight; tense, rigid, stiff in the groin as he grunted loudly. The moment he urged his hips up again, requesting more, she retracted; laving her tongue down his shaft and back up again slowly. She paused to leave an open-mouth kiss on the underside of his length before repeating the gesture; smoothly gliding her tongue over the other side of his dick and back up to leave a filthy kiss beneath his leaking slit.

A string of ‘please’s tumbled out of his mouth. Essie offerd him a sinister smirk, casting a glazed look up at his face. He’s more flush than ever. Wriggling into the mattress, he huffed and screws up his mouth with vexation. It’s gone in a flash; parting his mouth into a gratifying cry of euphoria as she dipped her head once more, taking him into her mouth to suck deeply before popping him out with a prurient wet kiss.

“Essätha,” he appealed, twisting his hands to hold the silken lengths. She hummed at his inquiry, lowering herself to lap along the base of his erection. Her tongue darted out against his scrotum; dipped lower and moved along his sack. A whimper escaped the nobleman and he thrust into her hand that still gripped him, wheezing helplessly as she took one ball into her mouth and sucked gently. “More,” he wailed involuntarily.

She was more than eager to please. His reactions were perfect. Yearning and hot. She danced her tongue along the sensitive skin, moving him up and down in her mouth. From one, she moved on to the other; leaving his balls shining with her saliva. Her nose pressed into the base of his cock as she stroked him gently, up and down. His legs trembled with the effort to remain steady, to not plunge himself into fucking her hand and mouth in a sad attempt to finish himself. A ravenous moan of bliss fueled him as he sank into the covers, head lulling, mouth open.

“Good girl,” he gasped, her tongue flicking at the skin along his dick and scrotum. She kissed and licked her way back up his member, listening to the unsteady roughness of his breathing. He groaned as she sucked the tip of his head once more. “Essie, please. Please.”

Gradually, she bobbed her head. Lowering further onto his cock, she takes the girth and weight of him deeper. Her throat flexes, her cheeks hollow, and she sucks him a little tighter the deeper he goes. Amon’s groans grow animalistic with hunger; constant, wild, and passionate. He flexes his hips forward, as far as he’s able, scrambling for more.

In a rhythmic motion, she begins to fuck him. Swallowing the pre-cum leaking from his slit, she moved her lips over him and dipped her tongue along the side. It grazed him; swirling and flattening in different directions. Her hand fists him all the while; clenching and relaxing, moving up and down to caress and bring him higher. She cupped his balls in her other hand, breathing deeply through her nose, and massaged them slowly. He babbles some sweet-nothings, but it’s near impossible to make out in a rush of crude words and whining.

Darting her eyes over him, she appreciated the erotic dance of his hips, the helpless writhing of his body. Perspiration drenched his skin. She relaxed the suction, aiming her tongue to throttle over the head of his hardness before taking him deep once more. His eyes open and close; moving from her to the ceiling, hissing through his teeth. She can make out the slight chaffing against his wrists even from where she was; turning a reddish hue as he struggled against his bonds.

“Close,” he bit out. “M’close.” Another gasp, and he bucked up towards the heat of her mouth engulfing him. She winced; tears momentarily blinding her eyes from the sudden jab to the back of her throat before he settled back into the bed. His length passed the spread of her full lips, and Essätha dragged in a large breath, licking her tongue along the slit of his cock one last time before sitting up. Her jaw ached. She let go of his dick and ballsack slowly to rub along her jawline for a moment. Despite herself, a smile pulled at her aching face, watching her Lord lounge in the sheets, trying to catch his breath with eyes shuttered to the world.

While he was wonderfully preoccupied and trying to regain composure, Essie rolled off of him to crawl further up the bed. She fumbled with the nightstand, producing a condom from its contents. Leaving the drawer open, she ripped open the packet and pitched it. Taking the contents from inside, she rolled the damn thing down his shaft, still slick from her mouth. It fit snuggly in place, right where it should, with the end slightly extended as it should be.

Gripping the edges of her panties, she yanked them off in a single fluid gesture. They fell off the edge of the bed as she slipped forward, straddling her husband by the hips. An ecstatic moan of impatience dragged out of her chest. Amon’s eyes snapped open wide and sudden as she slid down, allowing his cock to glide against her folds wet with want to brush her clitoris.

The entire headboard lurched forward with a defiant shirek. Twisting his wrists, a bellowing sound of remorse filled the room from his lungs as she moved again, a shaky sigh moving past her lips. Gods the pangs of need were torture. She was starving for just a pinch of his love, just a bit of his fiery elation and the taste of his lust. Just a little relief. Her walls clenched against nothing, wanting more as her mouth fell open, that sweet bundle of nerves in her bud blooming as her back arched to move against him once more.

Slamming his head back into the pillow, Amon drove his hips forward maddeningly. “Untie me!” he relented, his eyes catching hers. She blinked sluggishly, lost in the dark colors of his eyes for a moment not comprehending as he turned the cuffs around in his grip. “Essätha. Please. Untie me. I need to touch you.”

Wearing a saucy smile, she inclined over him. “So elaborate for me, my beloved: a blow job doesn’t get you hot and bothered enough to demand being released, but my pussy against your cock does?”

He groaned, gyrating his hips once more to grind his shaft into her clit so her eyes fluttered shut, and she mewled with astonishment. His lips wet his lips, and he groaned softly, “Untie me, Essie. I want to feel you. I want to hold you. I want to participate and please you by the Light of Pelor, please.”

His gaze was rounded with pleading. With a hitch in her breath, she leaned back. The nectar of her want glistened against his erection as she hung just above against his chest, dotting a kiss to his upper collarbone while reaching for his left hand. “You are a sentimental softie, m’lord,” she murmured, unfurling the first knot as she finished close to his ear, making him shiver, “I love it. I love you, m’lord Amon.”

Calm. His scorching eyes slipped over her face with in the soothing silence. She felt a sense of unease; as though she may have been tricked, as her hands worked on the last knot. His free hand moved to her face, brushing frizzy strands of loose hair from her braid aside. He cupped her chin, examined her swollen lip, and stroked his thumb along her jaw. As the silk slackened on his other wrist, he pulled his arm free to hold her cheeks instead. Turning her face, Essie pressed an apologetic kiss to the tender area of his skin, worn from the fabric chafing at his flesh.

“I love you, Essätha Meduza Illiad, my wife,” he rumbled conclusively. He followed her as she pulled away, his lips mirroring over the outline of hers as she panted. Pulling his legs in just enough to offer support as they sat up; her in his lap, he ran his hands down her throat. She trembled beneath the light contact, barely grazing her shoulders and massaging down her curves. He halted as she lifted her hips; kneading her ass and guiding her forward.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, she sank down on his member. A synchronized set of moans pushed past their lips. The broad hands on her rear smoothed up her back, embracing her close. With a steady thrust, and rotation of his hips, Amon moved deeper. She clenched against his cock, keening pitifully. By all the gods, he felt incredible. She was soaked for him, and he fit so perfectly inside her.

They moved slowly; finding a gradual pace. Feathered kisses lined her jaw, up her cheeks, to her forehead, and over her nose. Essie gasped, gripping his shoulder and his waist while rocking into him. He found her lips. A tender pressure; careful of her inflamed lower lip. His tongue swept against her own as her mouth parted and she shuddered. It was gone too soon. Her head spinning; already dizzy and lightheaded from the waves of heavenly bliss as he moved on to leaves kisses down her throat. Scrapping teeth against her skin, circling his tongue against her sweaty skin.

Amon’s hips bucked firmly up into hers. Throwing her head back, she moaned with ecstasy. With a hand against her back keep her steadily in place, her breasts squished to his chest, Amon edged a hand between them to the juncture of her thighs. His pointer and middle found her clitoris and he circled her nub. Flicking the hood, rubbing her furiously, she ground into his hand and moaned close to his ear. Her fang caught his earlobe and she licked against the shell as he bit her neck gently.

“Darling,” he grunt; honeyed with fondness. He jolted; driving his hips at just the right angle to spark a dangerous fire inside. She whimpered, riding him fast. His groans increased in tempo and strength, and he kissed her vigorously, repeating her name over and over again like a prayer. “Essätha. Essätha. Essätha-”

The nobleman let out a loud groan. She could feel the ripples of him spilling into the rubber as he continued to move. His fingers changed tactics; one barely whispering a coaxing gesture against her sensitive bundle of nerves, and the other tickling just to the side. It was a strange combination, but the sensation worked. She jumped; hissing. Her thighs pressed close, moving against his limp erection. Too close though. It was right there and he cursed; trying to help her chase it-

The world faded, and she toppled into paradise. Screaming his name weakly with release, her walls fluttered and pulsed around his cock. Her climax coated the condom, and dripped on to the sheets as she slumped weakly against her husband’s chest, gasping. His hand retracted from her mound and she quivered once more, resting her head to his shoulder.

Sucking her juices from his fingers, Amon wrapped his arm back around her. She winced as he guided her off of him; a slight burn in her loins. He rolled the condom back up, and ditched the used latex off to the side. His beard rasped against her cheek as he nuzzled her. A kiss pressed to her temple and he flopped back into bed, guiding her with him to lay sprawled out across his torso.

Leaving a delicate, romantic kiss to the underside of his chin, Essätha exhaled heavily with contentment. “That was extraordinary,” she stated quietly, lifting her head to gaze at him with a sultry smile. “Good for you?”

“Fantastic,” he replied, chuckling.

She grinned. “Think you’re ready to go back to work?” she teased.

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, rubbing a hand to the back of her neck, urging her forward. “Now com’ere you, it’s my turn. And I want to kiss all over your gorgeous smiling face, to start with.”

Snickering, Essie climbed closer to the temptation of his crafty grin and tranquil, loving eyes to meet his gentle mouth in an intimate kiss. A strong arm around her, another tucked in the loose curls around her ear where they’d fallen. He breathed her in; kissed her sweet and soft, and whispered a poetic verse in elvish she recognized that made her insides melt. This moment and this man, it was all hers. And as she smiled into the kiss, she knew in the depths of her heart, nothing could possibly make her happier. She found refuge with him. She found home, with him. He took such care of her heart and its misshapen form; and her soul, which some days she still wasn’t sure wasn’t tainted by some blot of darkness.

“I love you,” she muffled against his lips once more. “I love you,” he repeated quietly, caressing her spine. She sighed pleasantly, arching into his touch. With lowered lashes, she allowed herself to be vulnerable. Limp; safe in his arms. The safest place she ever knew. His mouth pressed to the corner of her own and she curled up into him. Nothing to fear touched her here; no doubts, no sorrows. Only happiness. Only him. Her hands slipped over his cheeks, rubbing his beard and gliding up into his hair. She drew him deep into her lungs, kissed him tenderly in return, and did something she’d never done before, until she had him.

She lived. Perfectly happy, lost in the moment, and cradled in the security of his arms. Home, loved, and utterly and totally at peace, with him, her beloved Lord Amon.

#eci artz #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #ns/few writing #//ask to // tag