#those last two lines especially strike home to me

[mypoisonedvine]

"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately.  No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it.  And believe it or not, he wanted more than that.  Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone.  He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night.  Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you.  He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job.  It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels.  The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security.  This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window.  His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation.  But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

~

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you.  He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with.  Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you.  It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction.  Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong.  This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been.  His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike.  God, did he really have a crush?  How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said.  He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive.  "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer.  Like fish in a barrel.  "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again.  "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious.  Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about.  He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson.  It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him.  “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained.  “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying.  And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still.  A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do.  And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people.  You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again.  He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it.  No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all.  Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive.  Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied. 

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around.  Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own.  I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled.  “For me it’s probably cocktails.  I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess.  Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected.  All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh.  “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration.  After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself.  Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far.  Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment.  “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown.  Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off?  You’d seemed so flattered before.  “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice.  “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face.  “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there.  So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch.  “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there.  I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly.  “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on.  “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace.  “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply.  “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself.  Bitch.  But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course.  Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted.  Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician.  But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

~

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him.  He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties.  “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him.  But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going.  Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth.  “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck.  “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while.  “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long.  That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait.  I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything.  “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet.  It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day.  Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that.  “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face.  “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly.  “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned.  “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers.  Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself.  Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen.  And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours!  Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek.  “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this.  Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest.  “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck.  “You’re right— you can do whatever you want.  I can’t stop you.  Isn’t that what you wanted to prove?  Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated.  “No, no— you wanted me.  I could tell.  Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you.  “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.  

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts.  “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come.  “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick.  “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic?  That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only.  That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least.  You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.  

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved.  “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin.  You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.  

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself.  You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head.  He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip.  “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head.  “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say.  Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.  

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.  

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further.  His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum.  "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled.  You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away.  Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other.  "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.  

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking.  Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you?  Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open.  Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.  

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course.  Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely.  “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips.  “So wet.  Fuck.  When’d you get like that, huh?  Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly.  “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed.  “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction.  There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips. 

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless.  “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised.  “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside.  He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks.  “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl.  Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet.  He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head.  “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned.  “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on!  Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this.  From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening.  Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly.  “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you.  You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside.  “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh.  “Fuck, it’s tight.  Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town.  I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this.  The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment.  “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously).  “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend.  You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust.  Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life.  “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to.  It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this.  “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once.  Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder.  He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore.  Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck.  One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss.  “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him.  “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again.  That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late.  “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this.  “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair. 

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole.  “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain.  “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper.  Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling.  “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See?  Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb.  Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck. 

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass.  You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster.  “Needy little slut.  You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone.  “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue.  "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction.  "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why.  It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird.  Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.  

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting.  But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back.  Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected.  You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly.  “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly.  “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him.  For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure.  “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going.  “Fuck!” you screamed.  “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.  

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something.  Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized.  Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder.  “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll.  Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries.  If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good.  You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious.  And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless.  You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually.  Shameless.  Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed.  “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.  

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.  

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm?  Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that.  “What?” you just asked groggily.  “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going.  Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific.  “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing.  But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could.  You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor.  Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him.  He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat.  “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest.  You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.  

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved.  It’s over, he’s finally done with you.  You did it.  It’s over.  But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you.  “You see it, don’t you?  He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time.  His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing.  You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that.  Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you.  But what had you done wrong?  All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person… 

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder.  “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.  

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek.  “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault!  I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly.  After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence.  “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took.  Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you?  Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?” 

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience.  You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that.  I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked.  “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself.  “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

#jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner dark fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #red eye fanfic

[heyclickadee]

A quick (it was going to be quick, but this turned out to be a lie) “Tech Lives” thought:

This is something I already covered in this post, but the placement of and the way Tech’s sacrifice works in the structure of “The Summit” and “Plan 99” is really weird if it’s intended as a genuine character death. Basically, tl;dr for the original post: it functions as a plot point/catalyst to get the rest of the episode moving, not as a send off/death for a major character, which is a large part of why it doesn’t read as a character death at all to more casual viewers (and why I kind of suspect the writers/showrunners didn’t intend it to be read that way).

I just finished summarizing “Truth and Consequences” and “The Crossing,” to my (still long-suffering) little brother, and they way those two episodes work together has kind of hammered home the point about Tech’s sacrifice not functioning in episode as a character death even more for me. Echo leaves—just leaves! He doesn’t even die, and he says it’s not forever and that he’s coming back—at the end of “Truth and Consequences,” and then that’s followed up with an entire episode about the other characters dealing with his absence. We get a character departure and then a whole episode about the aftermath of that loss. And that’s important, not just for the characters, but also for the audience, especially if you keep in mind that as dark as The Bad Batch gets, the target audience is kids around Omega’s age—ten to thirteen(1).

And, if we look at Rebels(2), which is the closest of the animated shows to The Bad Batch in terms of the kind of story it’s telling, it’s pretty consistent with the way that show handled the send off of a character the protagonist saw as a parent/older sibling. Kanan dies at the end of “Jedi Knight,” and then the follow up episode—“Dume”—is just about everyone else coming to terms with their grief.

Tech’s “death,” though? Six-minutes, forty-odd seconds into a twenty-something minute episode PACKED with other big plot points, leaving the other characters in shock and giving all of them—especially Omega—about ten seconds to sit with that shock before things keep happening, and then another thirty or so seconds later on to acknowledge their grief and shock again before the plot comes at them all like a freight train through the crystal palace. They’re not allowed to process it, and because they’re not, neither are we.

Which is all the more striking because there was absolutely a way to give Tech a definitive death and give the characters (and us) time to deal with it. Make “The Summit” three minutes longer. Maybe even two. Cut out the rigamarole with Tech running back to the cable car, the cable car getting shot, and Tech dangling at the end of the line. Have him call “Plan 99” choose to stay behind at the control panel because that’s the only way to get the cable car moving again. Have him send a signal to the car sends it hurtling away while the others are screaming at him to stop and get back on board and Echo is trying to get it to stop but can’t, because Tech’s overridden the signal. Show Tech getting shot down by one of the stormtroopers or a v-wing if you have to as he’s holding his place at the panel. You can keep Omega yelling at everyone to go back, keep Wrecker telling Tech not to do it, keep Tech’s last line as is. End “The Summit” with the cable car crash and then begin the next episode with the sequence of the rest of the batch running for the Marauder as Omega drifts in an out of consciousness.

Doing this, killing Tech off in a slightly different way at the end of “The Summit” rather than a quarter of the way through “Plan 99,” would have kept Tech sacrificing himself, but would have also (potentially) shown us a body and given the other characters (and the audience) time to process his death in the next episode before the other plot points started happening. It would have read as a definitive character death. Instead, the writers/showrunners decided to have Tech “die” in an incredibly non-definitive way in a situation that directly parallels what happened in “Faster” and allows for the appearance of that ice-vulture/survivor imagery we already saw with Crosshair, and which leaves everyone with no body AND absolutely no time to process it as a death.

So, anyway, Tech’s extremely alive.

1. I know people get kind of defensive when people say that The Bad Batch is a kids’ show, but I think that’s because we tend to use “kids’ show” as a pejorative. I’m not. When I say that The Bad Batch is for kids first and foremost, I don’t mean that it’s simple or bad or not worthwhile—I mean it as a point of high praise. It’s a kids show that goes some heavy places and refuses to speak down to kids, which is great. Kids ought to have good tv, too, and it ought to come in a variety of flavors.

2: I know we tend to like to compare The Bad Batch to The Clone Wars, but Rebels really is the closest parallel. Rebels was another linear story with a limited focus on one group of characters and definite start and end points. The Clone Wars was a sweeping anthology series both produced and aired in a non-chronological order, and which, as far as I can tell, was basically designed to go on ad infinitum until it either got cancelled (which is what happened) or they ran out of ideas, at which point they would do the Revenge of the Sith overlap stuff (what they did once they were allowed to bring it back and finish it off).

#the bad batch #tech’salive #part something of whatever #I think everyone’s pretty settled into their camps by now #and I don’t even know that there’s a point in writing these anymore #but I want full license to be an insufferable gremlin so #also if I don’t write them out they’ll just voice around my head forever #can we please just get season three #I want to see how it all fits together #I am biting the narrative

[suchacomet]

Okay, I don't have a tumblr but I saw your post about Lupe taking signs and it is something that has bothered me the whole show. It makes absolutely no sense for a picture not to take any signs from a catcher, they are just asking for a passed ball. Not to mention it makes it impossible for Carson to frame the plate well. Genuinely, how are they supposed to be a good battery without Carson knowing what is coming?

okay the thing is you’re SO right about everything you just said but it only makes me love that moment even more. you’re exactly right that from a baseball perspective no self-respecting catcher, much less a catcher who’s also the coach for fuck’s sake, would ever ask a pitcher to pitch without signs—but from a story and character development perspective… i am kissing that scene with tongue.

because it’s all about trust and their developing relationship! by telling lupe to pitch without signs, carson is saying that she’s willing to take the blame for all of the bad pitches. every ball that gets past her, every pitch that could have been a strike if carson had framed it right but is called as a ball instead, every base and run that those errors cost the team—carson is telling lupe that’s on her, not lupe. especially given that this is lupe’s first game post-injury, that means even more. carson is putting her ass on the line to cover for any rustiness/adjustment time lupe may have in this game.

not only that, but it really explicitly gives lupe a lot of power in their relationship on the diamond. given the context of the episode and lupe’s (JUSTIFIED!!!!) frustration with the coaching power struggle and carson’s appointment as coach, carson is apologizing and attempting to make it right by telling lupe she gets to run the game, giving her the power to decide what pitches are thrown. yes, pitchers always get the final say, but carson is doing away with even the symbolic notion of telling lupe what to do in this game.

frankly, lupe could have chosen to pitch terribly and intentionally throw passed balls and frame carson as an incompetent catcher and coach here. carson knows that—she’s a professional catcher, she has to know that—but she trusts lupe not to abuse that power.

and lupe doesn’t. she pitches a fucking killer game, and after a few innings (i would guess, time gets a little wonky in gameplay montages), lupe forces carson to give her a sign. to me, that represents the moment lupe forgives carson and that they start to rebuild their relationship (which gets complicated by the getting traded/gay bar plot in the next ep, but the betrayal carson feels there is only possible because of this moment). lupe acknowledges and accepts the apology from carson and asks to return to the usual pitcher/catcher dynamic.

and carson offers a one. she calls for a fastball. and lupe smirks, and nods, and hurtles a comet of a third strike straight down home fucking plate.

remember what carson said to lupe before she says “you lead, i catch, no signs”? she says, “the forkball was dove’s pitch. what’s yours?”

it’s the fastball. carson knows it. lupe knows it. and in this moment lupe makes sure carson knows it’s not just her pitch—it’s their pitch. lupe explicitly invites carson to be a part of this third strike, this last out, this winning play.

so in other words yes, for sure, my jock brain scoffs at the idea that a catcher would ever fuck themselves over like that in a game, especially one so important. but for that exact reason, my writer filmmaker brain LOVES it as a symbol of lupe and carson’s relationship development. it’s a beautiful expression of trust between these two characters who want and need to trust each other but haven’t been able to due to outside influences. it’s the turning point where they start to become real friends, and i fucking love it.

#aloto #a league of their own #lupe garcía #carson shaw #hey nonny nonny #sorry for my adhd that only lets me actually write these essays out when someone directly asks me… but also thank you anon for asking #and letting me get this onto paper so to speak #blah.txt

[two-hands-toward-the-sun]

7 or 14 for lucifer/mazikeen

hi anon, thank you so much for the request!! this is my first time writing for these two, and i really enjoyed it. i ended up combining both of the prompts! i hope you like how it turned out.

(i didn't feel like the actual words "i love you" would fit with the flow of the dialogue so i didn't include it, but i think it's clear enough as it is)

from this prompt list, 'ways to say i love you'

7. as a thank you and 14. a whisper in the ear

What power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream of Heaven?

The Dream Lord’s words still pounding within her head, Mazikeen watches as he strides out of the palace, satisfaction burning from each line of his body, bright even among the fires of Hell. Defeat stings all along Mazikeen’s skin.

She shakes herself and approaches Lucifer, who has not be able to tear their gaze away free from the man’s departing back. 

Mazikeen places her hand on Lucifer’s upper arm. “Lucifer.”

They say nothing.

“Let me look at you.” She lifts her fingers to their cheek and turns the Lightbringer’s head toward her. Their pale skin shows no mark from the strike of Morpheus’s talons, but she smooths her thumb over the space anyway. She feels again the shudder in her heart that she felt when she saw how Lucifer recoiled at the blow. 

Lucifer meets Mazikeen’s gaze steadily, but the set of their features—the faintest tremor at the corner of that strong, proud mouth—is a devastation all its own.

“He will pay,” says Mazikeen in a rough voice. “You and I. We will make the King of Dreams pay.”

All she receives in response is a minute nod.

Mazikeen leaves them alone to their thoughts, and walks to the edge of the balcony. Raising her arms, she dismisses the crowd, watches as the assembled demons begin to leave: some trudging on heavy feet back to their posts, some melting away into the smoky air, still others finding routes directly through the heated ground beneath them. This is her home. These are her people.

Dream of the Endless has not heard the last from them.

The air stirs behind Mazikeen and she automatically stiffens. Life in Hell, even—perhaps especially—for one as high-ranking as her, is not kind to the unwary. Then she hears Lucifer’s voice, and Mazikeen relaxes. 

“Thank you, my sweet one,” Lucifer breathes into Mazikeen’s ear. They press a slow, savouring kiss to the side of Mazikeen’s neck. 

Mazikeen arches into the touch. “For?”

The soft puff of Lucifer’s exhale brushes the decayed side of Mazikeen’s face, where sensations are, contrary to what one might think, even more intense. “Dearest Mazikeen, I think you know.”

The corner of Mazikeen’s mouth twists upward, somewhat grim, but mostly laden with the unwavering love she has held for Lucifer Morningstar since the beginning. 

“I will be here,” she promises. “Until the end. And after.”

“You and I,” whispers Lucifer.

(also on ao3!)

#GIVE ME MAZIKEEN AND LUCIFER TONGUE FUCKING ON MY TV OR SO HELP ME #i love you season of mists #sunbreak writes #prompt fills #mazikeen x lucifer #lucifer x mazikeen #mazifer

[devouring-hive]

Sakuya chub fic, 5-9-22?

Perhaps you ought to have expected it. It's not as though you didn't know when the date started that this was her job after all, Sakuya is pretty famous online, for this. Hell- It'd been part of why you wanted to meet her! But so often does an expectation fail to intersect with reality that when, in parting, you were offered the key to her home... It felt as though you'd been granted the keys to Heaven, instead.

No one ever got to Heaven without a little toil though- Not even her, and especially not you. So now you sit anxiously in her room, the lights dimmed, the microphone set and re-set time and time again as some small mountain of a meal sits just off-scene waiting to be introduced to the waiting masses so close beyond- The masses that 'til just the morning before you'd have counted yourself among.

Perhaps sensing your anxiety, Sakuya pauses in her preparation.

"Don't worry." She reassures, in a soft voice- Like she were consoling a particularly-anxious child, or perhaps even a pet. "All you have to do is pass the food along to me once I've got the introduction done. I'll even let you choose the order, mmh? It'll be fun, I promise." A valiant effort to be sure- But there's nothing she'd be able to say that could staunch the butterflies in your stomach, not when... Her costume, the 'Perfect Maid' outfit, turns out to be so much tighter on her than you ever thought it'd be.

It's something of an open secret to Sakuya's larger community that the long spree of mukbangs that she's been partaking in throughout the winter months have had an effect on her, no one can eat that much that frequently without having it stick to them- No matter their regimen thereafter. But-- It's different, somehow, knowing and seeing the slowly-yet-steady plumping of the 'Perfect Maid's body over the course of stream after stream, and... Being there, to see it personally.

Past frills and flourishes, across continually re-stitched and resewn fabrics, the curve and contour of Sakuya's body continues to press out against her outfit's confinement. Meaty thighs that burgeon out from beneath the costume's miniskirt, hefty breasts that demand the unfastening of the top-few buttons to her vest and the undershirt beneath- These are things everyone knows about, that everyone has seen.

No one but you, now, has seen in full the extent of the consequence that Sakuya's stream-diet has wrought on her body though. Between those two oft-advertised nexus of plushness sits, as though on a throne, a sizeable plump of dough. A pot-belly it'd be called, if anyone else could see it- But you know better than to dare tow that line, not where you are now. Even as the swell of it strains at the obviously-untended seams 'round the waist of her vest and tugs tautly the buttons just 'cross the middle, you wouldn't dare ruin the chance you have now just to point that out.

So with a last wink sent your way, Sakuya taps at the remote connected to her camera and sets off a cascade of soft lights and gentle piano- A staple of the 'Perfect Maid' persona that Sakuya puts on for these particular streams. Some part of you unconsciously ends up tuning out that opening minute-or-three of introduction and chatter with the early-comers, so often you'd seen it from other perspectives... But your hazy reverie is cut short by a cue nearly missed, as striking silver-blue eyes glance over in your direction.

"The Masters and Mistresses might've guessed by now, but~... I'd gone out and brought us-" You move quickly, quietly, as you can. She'd counted on you to be on top of this, and from the sounds of the strain in her tone it's apparent you'd kept her waiting. Without thinking, you pass her a box of cheesecake. She doesn't seem particularly pleased wit hit, but nonetheless turns back to the camera and puts on a tender smile, fit to her tender voice. "Some cheesecake! I'd figured that we could have dessert before dinner today, since you've all been working so hard."

Much as it's apparent to you from the sidelines that Sakuya is uncomfortable with the very concept of this much sweetness this early on, she's too deep into the roleplay to change it now. So the 'Perfect Maid' pulls a silver fork from her collection, and then daintily begins picking at the rich confection as though it could turn toxic at any moment.

Still, despite herself and the discomfort of the ordeal, Sakuya pulls through. She's not unused to eating large amounts at this juncture, so even through the weight of the dessert she remained near stoically determined, stopping only to offer commentary and occasional flashes of 'perfect' legs, or bounteous chest. It's almost a marvel in your eyes, you've seen her eat near a hundred times by now of course- But it was always behind a screen in some way or another, where any leftover boxes would vanish offscreen, never to be seen again, forgotten like the passing of a second.

Now though, you're near transfixed- Eyes so trapped on the strain of Sakuya's outfit, so caught up in the spectacle of the massive box emptied so, that you nearly forget to take the hollow thing from her... In that forgetting, you'd doomed her stream to a short-end to the tune of a rip- and the view of a button, popped, flying away like a die cast enthusiastically on the fate of her career.

Her efforts to make up for your slack had ripped a hole down the middle of her 'Perfect Maid' outfit, straight across the belly where the neglected threads had been pulled tightest; A disaster for her image so irrecoverable that the ensuing scramble for her remote only served to rip it wider, louder, enough that any watching who'd been in questioning as to what they'd heard could no longer fool themselves.

Thoroughly embarrassed, her podgy plump fully on display in the last seconds before the stream cut short, Sakuya immediately escapes off to her changing room with face held in her palms... Leaving you alone with only the multitude of still-unemptied boxes of perishables, and a memory burned harshly into your mind.

#[ic] #[writer: yami] #[sakuya] #[asks] #[prompts] #i put entirely too much effort into this #i am not good at novella style writing anymore #apologies to you.

[thezeinterviews]

Berlingske: Berlingske meets the woman behind the war President: "Sometimes I ask if he can give me some good news"

Ukraine's First Lady thanks Denmark for its support in a defense struggle that is currently bringing grim news on a daily basis. In an interview with Berlingske, she explains how she - and the President - keep her spirits up. And why the country risks losing an entire generation.

SIMON KRUSE Security Policy Correspondent

Tuesday, April 16, 2024, 20:40

Olena Zelenska's eyes grow distant as she ponders the question. She has just told us how she tries to dose the amount of horrific news from the frontline. One person cannot carry everything on their shoulders. But a person at war can't stop trying either. Especially when you're married to a President, and when even the rare moments that should belong to the two of them alone are also invaded by the all-consuming war. Because the answer to that painful question is yes. Even the President's own family can feel the discouragement sometimes. Olena Zelenska, the Ukrainian First Lady who has stood by her husband and her country, can also reach a limit. She smiles sadly at the thought. "Sometimes I ask him if he can give me some good news. Something optimistic. Give me something!" she says about her conversations with her husband, Volodymyr Zelenskyj. Berlingske meets Olena Zelenska in Copenhagen, where she is on a quick visit. A visit that otherwise brings more positive news for some of the efforts that the country's First Lady has fought most fiercely for. On Tuesday, the government announced another military aid package to Ukraine of DKK 2.2 billion. And the day before, a Danish coalition announced plans to build new homes for war-affected Ukrainian foster children and their families. This is part of what she is in Denmark to give thanks for. It "fills her with hope," she says. "I am impressed by how Denmark helps us on all levels," says the Ukrainian First Lady in an interview with Berlingske. But she also brings serious thoughts from the war-torn country. Thoughts about "the long war" and its growing impact on the mental health of an entire country. Because 780 days of defensive fighting with lost limbs, air raids, funerals and escape tear and rip at the supporting walls of a society in ways that we are only beginning to sense. "There are children who are three years old now, who are only beginning to understand the world, who don't remember anything other than war because they are too young. For them, air raid alarms are everyday life," says Olena Zelenska. But despite the obvious needs, talking about the psychological effects of the war is still a struggle for many Ukrainians. "That's why we are now doing everything we can not to lose a generation," she says. "It requires you to be brutally honest.

Things are going the wrong way at the front We meet at a time when the war is more unpredictable than ever. Russian forces are on the rise again, while parts of the promised Western aid are frozen in the US Congress. In several places along the front line, the invasion forces are eating away at the front line kilometer by kilometer. Most recently, Russia launched the fiercest rocket and drone attacks on the million-strong city of Kharkiv since the first phase of the war two years ago. They used targeted double strikes, where a precision bombardment against civilian targets is followed by another attack after a short pause. "They wait for the rescuers to arrive and then they attack again, killing the rescuers," says Olena Zelenska. Last week, a video footage showed how a rescue worker in Kharkiv found his own father among the dead. The video shows him sobbing next to the body. This is everyday life. Every single member of her own small Ukrainian delegation has lost loved ones in the war, says the First Lady. "A whole community has changed. No one is the same as they were before the war. Not even those who are alive and in good health. Some had to flee the occupation. Some were pulled out of the ruins of their own house," she says. Here, it would probably sound right to say that adversity only makes people stronger. But that's not always true. "It drains our strength, even though we want to hold on as long as we can because it's a matter of survival," says Olena Zelenska seriously. Because even internationally, the psychological consequences are far less talked about than the material destruction. But according to the Red Cross, there is an "imminent danger that a whole generation of Ukrainian children and young people will be lost". And even once the war is over, the number of war veterans will be staggering. Ukraine's Ministry of Health estimates that close to 40 percent of the country's population, 15 million people, are in need of psychological care. Between three and four million are estimated to need medication. Therefore, the first step is to break the taboo that is still attached to talking about psychological wounds, says Zelenska. She herself has become the face of a campaign under the slogan "How are you?" with the goal of getting people to talk about it. And to seek help. "Sometimes we say we're fine so as not to scare our loved ones. Sometimes we say we're fine so that we can bring peace to others. So our task is to teach society and all of us to ask ourselves how we really feel and what we can do about it," says Olena Zelenska. Ukraine's past as part of the Soviet Union - when psychiatric hospitals were used to punish dissidents - hasn't made that task any easier. But if the adult generation doesn't learn to talk about their own vulnerability, neither will the next generation. "Some parents of young children might tell you that the air alarm is something other than what it is. I don't think that's the right thing to do. You have to choose the right words and the right tone, but you have to tell the truth," says Olena Zelenska. If you dodge children's questions, they might imagine something even worse than reality. A genre of children's books has already emerged in Ukraine to help parents talk to their children about war.

The luxury of watching a movie Olena Zelenska knows all about the latter. She still regularly runs down to the bomb shelter with the Presidential couple's two children when the air raid sirens wail. And on the morning two years ago when war broke out, she was the one who had to tell them that Russian forces had invaded the country. The couple's daughter, Oleksandra, was 17 and their son, Kyrylo, had just turned 11. Did you tell the whole truth about the war to your children yourself? "I was afraid to do it, but by the time I was ready, they already knew almost everything," says Olena Zelenska with a wry smile. "Fortunately, my children are not that small. And actually, we experienced everything at the same time," she says of the evacuation from her home outside Kyiv as Russian forces advanced towards the capital. "For me as a mother, it was a tragedy that my children had to experience this. No parent could prepare their children for this," she says. The war has also turned the Presidential couple's personal lives upside down. For most of their adult lives, the couple has worked together. They both have a background in TV comedy. He on stage and she as a scriptwriter. Now, the security dictates of war require them to live apart most of the time. And while the war can make you despondent, it's not the despair that's the biggest issue. "We don't stop. We don't lose heart. I wouldn't say that anger is our main emotion. But what happens when you are beaten?" "You can submit or you can defend yourself. And that anger, that anger gives us the strength to defend ourselves," says the First Lady. She looks out the window over the Copenhagen canal. The Presidential couple often only see each other once a week, says Olena Zelenska. When they do, she prefers to reminisce about the old days. "Sometimes we can watch a movie together. I like to watch things that we watched when we were children or young people. Maybe a silly comedy," she says. Can you laugh when you're together like in the old days? "Yes, of course we do. We try to support each other that way by making each other laugh," says Olena Zelenska. But no one and nothing is the same after the outbreak of war. Not even laughter, which now serves a different purpose. Olena Zelenska quotes the Ukrainian poet Lesja Ukrajinka: "I laughed in order not to cry".

Article

#olena zelenska #russia #ukraine #war #ze interview #olena interview #olena selenska #zelenska #2024 #interview 2024 #selenska #berlingske #berlingske interview #translated interview

[feverinfeveroutfic]

sunburn | ashes to ashes

THE RETURN OF FEVER! I have had these rolling around in the back of my mind ever since fever ended last summer. it was nine books, but there were a myriad of moments where i could have added a little more intimacy to it. mind, i’ve always considered myself more a storyteller than anything, but i was experiencing a lot of emotional distress then, questioning my sexuality and unpacking way too many bad feelings associated with it… i still struggle with it a lot but it’s not as awful as it used to be. (besides, whenever i write anything sexual, it’s meant to help me feel better about myself). i’m feeling 30 stories here and, though we have kinktober as well as kinkmas and fuckuary, i often wonder why we don’t have kink-related stuff for springtime, what with “spring fever” and everything.

“I’m home!”

She thought she would never hear those words again after Metallica had embarked on their tour. It was one of those fears that followed her wherever she went, especially whenever she left New York to visit her parents over there in Reno or even a little trip anywhere in New York City. Cliff had had a narrow escape already at a venue the night before, as someone had tried to nick him with a knife the size of a loaf of bread. He had called her and told her about it after it happened but she knew that it was enough to strike the fear of god into her.

She had hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands even though she was alone in her Bronx apartment. She thought of all the bad things that could have happened while he was out there on the road, and she didn’t want to think of those bad things, either. She slid her fingers down her face and peered out the window to the sunbathed street below. The people of the Bronx out there on the sidewalks, minds of their own, worlds of their own, families and stories of their own, private lives of their own…

Sam had never been one to be very sexual in the past: she had touched herself before, but there was so much that she had to overcome in the meantime. While Cliff had been away on the road with the boys, she had looked on at herself in the mirror in disbelief. She would take off her clothes to examine every inch of her body, and yet she wondered how in the world anyone would love this body, to feel it, to hold it, to love it, to make it feel welcome and like it has a place in this bizarre thing called life. She would listen to The Cherry Suicides’ album given their lyrics had that feeling to them but she still couldn’t feel it for herself. A feeling that oft eluded her no matter how much she wanted to feel it for herself.

Cliff was without question the first boy she had ever really had a crush on in her life, even at the ripe age of twenty-two. She always had the strangest looks whenever she would tell someone about her absence of a first kiss. How could someone that young be so beautiful and yet so undersexed, and she never could say as to why, either. At times, it felt as though there was a language that she had never learned before that very moment there in her apartment 

But since she had moved to New York the year before, and she had met Anthrax as well as Metallica and those neighboring bands out of the Bay Area, Exodus, Death Angel, and The Legacy, she knew that she would have to change things at some point.

Sam sauntered over to the windowsill for a glimpse out there to the street. She merely lived on the third floor but the people down on the sidewalks made her think of army ants. If only she could share her art with some of them somewhere along the line, and she could be the one to watch and desire herself, and she could be the miasma that was the “it” girl. 

Such was the life of the artist in uptown New York.

She spotted Zelda and Louie down on the sidewalk right across the street, and she smiled to herself at the sight of them. Something about Louie cheating on his girlfriend with such a hot babe like Zelda made so much sense that Sam almost didn’t have to think about it twice. That short black hair with that slender wiry body, slender from several years of pounding on drums to stay out of the streets of Narragansett and Providence, slender from living rather poor and isolated most of her life. Louie, meanwhile, had that long smooth hair down past his shoulders with that part that swept across the side of his forehead. 

Still very much a boy, and Zelda only made him appear that much younger by being next to him.

Sam saw Louie mouth the words “Hold my hand” to her. Zelda showed him a smile and said something to him. Sam was eager to hear Zelda’s Rhode Island accent again after a time. There was something so satisfying about it, especially with Sam having hailed from the West Coast where accents muddied out and sounded homogenous. She watched them cross the street together, and she wondered where they were headed. After the phone call with Cliff, there was no way that she could waste another moment up there in her apartment.

She swiped her keys from the stand and hastily locked the front door. She hoped to catch Zelda and Louie before they headed up the street as she nearly dropped the keys. Everything blurred around her as she sprinted down the stairs to the landing down below. She breezed past Emile’s apartment door, and she never bothered to take a peek inside to find out if Aurora was in there and she needn’t look, anyway.

The front door squeaked open as she emerged into the bright morning sunlight. The glare caused her to squint her eyes but she looked on at the street before her.

“Zelda!” she called out to her, and she and Louie turned their attention to her, and their faces lit up as a result.

“Hey, Sam I Am!” Zelda’s voice sailed through the noise of the street behind them like a high wave of the beaches of Narragansett. Sam padded down the steps to meet up with them with her arms wide open. Louie showed her a little smile as she embraced Zelda.

“Oh, man—it’s only been a few weeks since we saw each other!” Zelda declared.

“I can’t hug my best friends?” Sam asked her as she rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment.

“Of course you can—this was just sort of—”

“Unexpected like me?” Louie chimed in.

“Exactly, yeah!” Zelda laughed at that as Sam put her arms around him and he returned the favor.

“I actually wanted to give you guys a hug because Cliff called me last night to tell me that he got mugged right outside of the concert hall,” Sam explained.

“Holy shit!” Louie declared.

“Oh, my god, is he alright?” Zelda asked her, stunned.

“Yeah, he’s okay—” And Sam shuddered with the feeling of fear once again as she stroked her upper arm with her fingers. “—the guy threatened him with a huge knife, though. Had to give up his belt buckle because he didn’t have anything else on his person to give to him.” She then turned to Zelda, the working class girl from the smallest state in the country who had been intimate with herself from day one. “I also wanted to ask you, Zelda—about something… on the sexual side.”

She glanced over at Louie, who gave his hair a toss with a flick of his head as if he was about to pounce across the front of Playgirl magazine.

“Well, I’m a small town girl from New England,” Zelda told her in a low enough voice for her to hear for herself. “I know my way around that part’a town.”

“I want to do something hot—for Cliff,” Sam sputtered out. “Can we do that?”

“Yes, we can,” Zelda assured her with a twinkle in her eye, and she turned her attention to Louie. “And sweet little Luciano here is more than welcome.”

“Gladly,” Louie proclaimed.

It was a wind, flash, and a blur as Sam followed Zelda and Louie to the place where she had only ever dreamed of going to before as a young kid in California and Nevada, the one street that seemed so seedy and cast in shadow all the time, even at high noon when the sun hung high in the sky and cast everything in the brightest light possible. She was glad that she had locked the door prior to leaving because she knew that they would be in the red light district for a while. She was amazed that she lived so close to it, given it struck her as a mere regular street of New York whilst in passing.

“This is where Mo and Min used to come to when they were working on the weekends,” Zelda explained over the noise of the street. “They couldn’t last long because they missed Narragansett too much and decided to join me in making music instead. I’m glad they did ‘cause I dunno how long I could’ve lasted without my best friends at my side.”

“Music saves, you know,” Louie pointed out.

“It’s saved all of our lives,” Zelda assured him as they strode past a low building on the corner with blacked out windows and bright red buzzing neon on the outside. Sam brought her hand to her upper arm once again as if to protect her chest. They seemed to line the streets all around her as they strode along the sidewalk, all of them faceless, all of them with the presence that sent a chill up her spine as well as the pervading feeling of guilt.

They passed an erotic bakery before they reached the lingerie shop: the first thing that Sam spotted upon Louie holding the door for her and Zelda was a series of sex toys and blindfolds on display. The mere sight of them made her blush as well as breathe at a faster pace. The door closed behind her and the three of them were enshrouded in lush red light, as red as the feeling of the fever.

The toys came in small sets, complete with smoothly crafted special boxes as if someone could take them on a picnic at some point. Sam held a hand to her chest to feel the pounding of her heart from within. It was all happening so fast, and with such conviction that she had no idea as to where to begin with it all. She watched Zelda pick out a new camisole for herself.

Sam swallowed, and then, completely on impulse, she reached for the black tin lunchbox closest to her. She held her breath and took a glimpse inside to find a black satin blindfold, a bottle of lubricant, a silicone dildo, a pair of green metal balls the size of nickels, and what to looked to be a vibrator but about the size of a cork straight from a bottle of wine. She swallowed again, and she couldn’t recall a time where she never felt thirstier before. She skirted along the side of shelf to meet up with Louie, who was looking on at the leather teddies as well as the blow-up dolls hung up on the rack on the wall.

Sam closed the box and gasped for air. Though it wasn’t very warm in the shop, she swore that she was about to suffocate if she breathed a little too hard. She closed her eyes and fanned herself with the tips of her fingers. It was a real struggle to try and contain herself and the anxiety within her. If only she could just relax and feel the sexuality within her, like those metal boys and like the Cherry Suicides themselves—

“Sam, are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out.” She opened her eyes to find Louie and the look of concern on his face.

“Yeah, I’m just—not really used to this sort of thing,” Sam confessed, and she let out a low whistle.

“Little bit of anxiety?”

She nodded her head.

“I know the feeling,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows at her. “And it sucks, too.”

She gasped and swallowed, as if she had been submerged in water and she struggled to find a single iota of air.

“Believe me when I say this,” he assured her. “The more you get exposed to it, the more you get used to it. The more you get used to it, the more you want to see it.” He flashed her a wink, and the smirk returned to him again. Right at that moment, Zelda stepped out of the dressing room donned in a white camisole that seemed a little extra small than she had warranted: she was so thin that the smallest size they had on hand was still a little too big. Sam glanced down at her own heavier body and wondered how Cliff could found a body like her own attractive.

Then again, Louie and Cliff were two completely different men. The feeling really did overcome her, and she hoped that this little black box could help bring her some peace of mind as well as comfort with Cliff.

And yet, the box sat on her shelf over the couch for a few days, this lingering demon that tempted her from clear across the room when she walked in for the morning. A big black spot against the soft eggshell white color of the walls, and thus, there was no way that she could miss it, even when she bowed her head away from it.

On the third evening, and she had curled up on the couch with a book on her lap, she peered up at the shelf and the end of the box closest to her. It wasn’t that high above her, but she knew that she had to reach up to take it off and open it up once again. She paid more attention to her book, however: only every so often, she glanced up there above her head for a look.

It was if it taunted her all the while, the little repressed girl who froze and flushed at the mere mention of having a first kiss. The mere thought of that spread into more thoughts, and then more and more until she reached the point that she could scarcely concentrate on the words on the page. She lay the book across her lap and looked up at the box. The apartment was silent save for the low hum of the refrigerator in the next room as well as the noise on the street and the neighbors down the hall.

No one was paying attention to her.

Sam tucked the bookmark into the book and set it on the coffee table next to her. Careful not to fall, she stood up on the couch cushion and picked the box off the shelf. She climbed off the couch and took her seat with it in her lap. With another swallow, she opened the lid.

The smooth faces of the Ben wa balls shone under the warm light of the lamp next to her. The satin on the blindfold shimmered with the feeling of being brand-new. She picked up the lubricant, and she knew right away that it was meant for her ass—

A knock on the door broke her concentration, and she hastily closed the lid and tucked it around the arm of the couch, out of sight lest anyone walk into the kitchen for something. She fanned herself once again and straightened out her hair with a swipe of her hand.

Sam fixed the bottom of her shirt as she padded on over to the front door. There he was, wrapped in light denim and with the cowboy hat upon his head to better accentuate the soft hair which spread over his slender shoulders. He towered over her but he showed her the bouquet of yellow tulips all for her and accompanied it with a smile.

“There he is!” she declared.

“Here I am!” He opened his arms for her, and she put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. Cliff bowed his head as if he was about to blanket her with his hair.

Sam lifted her head and showed him a smile.

“God… I really missed you,” she confessed.

“I really missed you more, though,” he retorted with a kiss on her lips, a move which sent a chill down her spine. Her first kiss for real at that point.

“Is that a challenge?” she asked him.

“Only if you want it to be,” he retorted once more, and once more with another kiss on the lips. It happened all too quickly, and yet it was a pace that she could work with because the anxious feeling had moved along rather quickly as well. She moved back away from his face for a look into those luminous eyes.

“I have a little surprise for you,” she told him in a soft voice. Sam took him by the hand and guided him over to the couch. He kept the smile on his face as he gazed up at her: he reached up for the crown of his hat, but she wagged a finger at him.

“Hat stays on,” she told him: she spoke from the flesh. Sam then reached for the box behind the couch, and she placed it on the coffee table before him. She never thought twice about it as she unbuttoned her jeans and let them slide down her legs to her feet. Cliff leaned back and crossed his legs for her. Sam locked eyes with him as she reached for the Ben wa balls. He raised his eyebrows at them.

“What’re you doing with those, babe?” he asked her in a near whisper. She glanced down at those smooth little orbs, attached together by a narrow string and as smooth as glass. The woman in the shop said they should just slip into her little lips without a drop of lubricant.

She sighed through her nose and peeled off her underwear so she was exposed to him. His eyes widened at the sight.

The first one did in fact slip into her lips, and the second one stayed in place right behind her clit. The cold smooth feeling only made her straighten her spine and buck her hips a little bit in his direction.

“Holy shit,” Cliff breathed.

Sam then reached into the box again, that time for the blindfold. Her mouth was dry once again but she persisted. She slipped the blindfold over her head and eyes, and she was surrounded by complete blackness.

There was nothing behind her, and thus, she sank down to the floor: the balls kept her from closing her legs all the way, and she knew that she was wide open for him.

The rustling of denim caught her ear. Though everything was dark, she could feel his presence there before her. She had only just kissed him, but they had been a thing for months at that point. It was time, her time now.

“I want you to slip it out,” she told him in a low, husky voice. It felt rather odd for it to enunciate itself from her lips, but she still said it to him, and she said it with the utmost seriousness that she could provide for him. The feeling in between her legs was only coupled with a feeling of rising, a feeling of being on the come-up.

She never moved a muscle. She relaxed every inch of her legs, and then she could feel his fingers there. She wanted to close her legs but there was no way she could. Cliff slipped out the Ben wa balls and she treated him to a low, euphoric moan. The fact she couldn’t see it only added to the feeling.

“Shit, I wish I was having as much fun as you just now,” he said; she could feel his soft lips kiss the inside of her thigh. The little line of fuzz on his upper lip only made her rise again.

“I think there’s something in there for you,” she told him, out of breath. A brief pause.

“This little ring here?”

“That’s the one,” she sputtered out.

“This ain’t gonna fit on me, babe,” Cliff assured her. “I’m too big.”

Sam opened her lips to say something but she was cut off by the feeling of his lips on the inside of her thighs. The feeling of anxiety welled up within her once again, but at least she could only see the veil of blackness all around her, and the anxiety had risen in junction with the real feeling that she wanted, and that was his lips on her own for the second orgasm. Sam tilted her head back and let out another moan as he stuck his tongue inside first.

A third and biggest orgasm was coming as she could feel his tongue hit the head of her clit. She needn’t see it as she came twice more for him.

Her elbows shook from holding herself up for so long, and she lay down on the carpet, flat on her back. She could feel his body on top of her own, and it took her a second to realize that he had taken off his shirt at some point: his bare skin caressed over her own.

The darkness lifted away for her to gaze on into his handsome face.

“Stay with me forever,” she whispered to him, and he kissed her on the lips again.

“You know I will,” he vowed, also in a whisper.

#fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #sunburn #one shot collection #metallica #metallica fanfic #metallica family #cliff burton x oc #cliff burton #cliff burton smut #metallica smut #testament fanfic #testament band #testament #louie clemente #louie clemente x oc #smut and angst #spring fever #also on ao3 #ao3fic #text #fanfic #fanfiction

[luminecho]

I was gonna say 3 and 20 for lucina so if you don’t mind answering the same questions again for a different character ? 👀 oh! And 11 and 16 maybe? :0

I know you haven’t played her game so I tried to go for more general ones ehe <3

YESSSSS I DONT MIND AT ALLLLLL. ESPECIALLY question 3 I'll answer question 3 for literally every single character please ask me about music choices for characters always at all times

3. A song that reminds me of them

I haven't yet found The One song for her yet,,, with certain characters I'll eventually just find a song that I put at the very top of their playlist because it feels like their anthem, their identity. I haven't really found any that FULLY encompass Lucina yet so you get a few ones that I feel like match <3

Pompeii by Bastille. Obligatory world-ending catastrophe song, surprising to no one probably, but like... come on. Do I even need to say anything else. Pompeii. ough.

Heirloom by Sleeping At Last. okay this is like,,,, a song to any of the future kids from their parents actually, but it fits her of course. It's basically the point of view of this parent singing to their child about the burden of their heritage and how they shouldn't let that define them. It references wars and fights a lot. "You are so much more than the wars you've won."

You pressed rewind For the thousandth time When the tapes wore through So you memorized Those unscripted lines Desperate for some kind of clue: When the scale tipped When you inherited A fight that you were born to lose It’s not your fault No, it’s not your fault I put this heavy heart in you

yeah....... yeah. yeah. yeah.

Bright & Early by Sleeping At Last. This song is, in the more literal sense, about someone who lost their home to a fire. Generally, it's about loss, and how unfair it feels that difficult things have to happen to us ("But why couldn't I have been safe from the start?"), and how things that used to be comforting are now only reminders of what we've lost.

Like sparks in matches Blink, you'll miss it The future's up in smoke Though dust has settled I still smell the ashes Buried in my clothes

It's..... houououogh.

11. What’s the first thing you think about when thinking about the character?

Aside from the obligatory butterfly motif? Blue fire. I can't even elaborate. I probably don't need to. Just... blue fire.

16. A childhood headcanon

Kind of the opposite of a troublemaker in the traditional sense? Could not imagine breaking the rules and rarely ever got in trouble. Not in the goody-two-shoes sense but more in the "rules are good and I like following them. Acting out sounds stressful" sort of way. Probably still always found a way to get underfoot though, tailing her father around at all times

20. A weird headcanon

Another childhood one but she strikes me as the kind of kid to wish on yellow ladybugs. Idk why

(Send me a character and a number/several numbers and I'll answer)

#THANK YOUOUOUUU #i love getting so excited and in depth over a character from a game i have never played hehehe #// #answered echoes #skarmoree

[suga-with-a-cup-of-tae]

A Talk About “All Quiet on the Western Front”

This will primarily be a bit of an introspective review of the book. I would recommend you to read the book yourself, but I do warn anyone who reads it needs to be forewarned with the darker & harsher realities of the world presented in the story, especially since it covers WWI. 

So, I finished reading All Quiet on the Western Front in the better part of two and a half months. 

 This was a hard book to read. At first, I was intrigued at what a more personal account about the First World War would be like, especially since my history class talked so much about it, yet it felt so surface-level to me. For further referencing and understanding, I chose this story to read. 

 All Quiet on the Western Front is a realistic book. It shows the horrors of war and the inhumanity of the age of the generation, all seen in the eyes of another common soldier. At the beginning, the young recruit was so hopeful and eager to help fight for the cause of his country, alongside his own friends. However, as the story continues, he begins to gain experience and the harsh reality of fighting in such a war. He's seen people being blown to bits, he had to pick up the sounds of incoming bombardments in the quick reaction that it might save his life if goes down into the earth, and he sees his friends go through his long 3 years at the front lines. While all of these descriptions were hard to read through, the part where he has leave to visit his home hit the hardest. The life he knew and lived through was foreign to him. He was easily shaken when a car ignited it's engine, as it sounded similar to bomb going off.

He couldn't speak about the horrors of the front to normal civilians, because he knew they wouldn't understand. They just cared about the results, not the ordeal the soldiers had to carry. The people he knew, he felt like he didn't know them, since he grew a close comradeship with the others who were also constantly on the front lines with him. There was one moment where he tried to pick up a book and read it, but was indifferent to its words that once held him in wonder and awe because all of those books held fantasies and romanticisms of reality. It didn't strike a chord within him at all, especially since the war molded him to fight to survive at a moments notice and he couldn't have any time to daydream such mundane things. It was unneeded at the front.

 At that point in the book, I had to stop reading. It hurt to see someone go through that; the war had altered so many people's perception on life, especially those who were on the frontlines. It left a generation merely tired from the war, broken down and filled without much hope, making it harder for them to try and live civilian lives when a majority of them would never understand such vivid acts of inhumanity and war. 

 So many times in this book, I just felt sick to my stomach and as the deaths kept piling up, I also felt a sense of hopelessness. I didn't want such a thing to be prolonged, and yet this war lasted for 4 long years.

All Quiet on the Western Front is definitely one of the more eye-opening books to me. I don't fully understand just what the lost generation has been through, especially since it's peace time for us here in the majority of the world, albeit with tensions that could explode into full-out conflicts, but peace exists for the majority nonetheless. And yet, I still am cautioned about war, and I sure as heck don't want anyone to experience such an event, but knowing human nature, it'll be an endless cycle that will have to be repeated. 

#all quiet on the western front #a review really #it's a great read #but lots of depressing topics

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, August 8, 2023

In an Atlanta suburb, American realities collide over Trump’s indictment (Washington Post) Hours after former president Donald Trump was indicted for trying to overturn the 2020 election, Jenny Peterson was heading off to pick up Mexican food for her family. She’d tried to cut back on listening to the news in the car. Politics left her too angry and agitated. But on this night, the news was too big to ignore. Peterson, 55, listened to NPR and flipped over to Fox News on her satellite radio to see what the other side was saying. She believed that so many of America’s core institutions were failing under the pressure of the former president and his followers. Convicting Trump wouldn’t fix those problems. But it was an essential first step. A few miles away, Jerry Ramsey, 79, was finishing up a landscaping job for the company he owns and heading home for dinner with his wife, Carolyn. She usually kept Fox News on in the background, but Ramsey didn’t feel the need to learn the intricacies of the case against Trump. As he saw it, the 45-page indictment was just another effort to tear down the country he, a Vietnam vet, had worked so hard to defend. “They just dream stuff up,” he said. “They just keep coming after him.”

Eight Months Pregnant and Arrested After False Facial Recognition Match (NYT) Porcha Woodruff was getting her two daughters ready for school when six police officers showed up at her door in Detroit. They asked her to step outside because she was under arrest for robbery and carjacking. “Are you kidding?” she recalled saying to the officers. Ms. Woodruff, 32, said she gestured at her stomach to indicate how ill-equipped she was to commit such a crime: She was eight months pregnant. Handcuffed in front of her home, leaving her crying children with her fiancé, Ms. Woodruff was taken to the Detroit Detention Center. She said she was held for 11 hours, questioned about a crime she said she had no knowledge of, and had her iPhone seized to be searched for evidence. After being charged in court with robbery and carjacking, Ms. Woodruff was released that evening on a $100,000 personal bond. A month later, the Wayne County prosecutor dismissed the case against her. The ordeal started with an automated facial recognition search, according to an investigator’s report from the Detroit Police Department. Ms. Woodruff is the sixth person to report being falsely accused of a crime as a result of facial recognition technology used by police to match an unknown offender’s face to a photo in a database. All six people have been Black; Ms. Woodruff is the first woman to report it happening to her.

Closing youth festival in Portugal, pope shares ‘old man’s’ dream of peace (Reuters) Pope Francis closed an international festival of Catholic youth on Sunday with a huge outdoor Mass and his own “I have a dream” speech, saying he longed for world peace, especially for Ukraine. About 1.5 million people attended his closing Mass at a riverside park in the Portuguese capital, the Vatican said, quoting local authorities. Speaking after the Mass, the 86-year-old Francis urged the young people to take the fraternal experiences of the six-day jamboree back home and apply them to their daily lives. “Dear friends, allow me, this old man, to share with you young people a dream that I carry within me: it is the dream of peace, the dream of young people praying for peace, living in peace and building a peaceful future,” Francis said. “As you return home, please continue to pray for peace. What is more, you are a sign of peace for the world, showing how different nationalities, languages and histories can unite instead of divide. You are the hope of a different world,” he said.

Ukraine’s elite forces rely on technology to strike behind enemy lines (Washington Post) Some of Ukraine’s most elite special forces are now operating slightly back from the front line—with virtual-reality glasses that give a drone’s-eye view. Last year, there were opportunities to creep into Russian-occupied territory at night to take out enemy targets. Now, with vast minefields and other fortified Russian defenses stalling Ukraine’s sweeping counteroffensive, an uncrewed aerial vehicle armed with explosives does that during daylight instead. A three-man team last month manually directed a drone to hit a cluster of antennas affixed to a tower in Polohy, a town occupied by Russian troops in Ukraine’s Zaporizhzhia region. The Russians were using the electronic warfare system to spoil the work of Ukraine’s satellite-guided rockets. The drone, made of Styrofoam-like material and costing $1,500, crashed into one of the antennas, detonating on contact. With the Russians’ jamming ability suddenly disrupted, the Ukrainians then destroyed the tower with a strike from a U.S.-provided High Mobility Artillery Rocket System, or HIMARS. The missile slammed into the structure with the sort of precision the Ukrainians have come to rely on in their 17-month fight to expel the Russian occupiers. But had the drone not disabled one of the antennas first, the HIMARS rocket likely would have missed.

Russia unleashes missile and drone strikes against Ukraine, retaliating for an attack on a tanker (AP) Russia unleashed a missile and drone barrage Sunday across parts of Ukraine that killed six people, Kyiv officials said, as Moscow followed through on its promise to retaliate for an attack on a Russian tanker. Separately, Moscow’s second-largest airport briefly suspended flights early Sunday following a foiled drone attack near the Russian capital. Ukraine’s air force said Russia launched 70 drones and missiles from aircraft over the Caspian Sea. Three waves of missiles hit the Starokostiantyniv area, damaging several buildings and igniting a fire at a warehouse, said Serhiy Tyurin, deputy head of Ukraine’s Khmelnytsky region military administration. The strike may have been intended for the city’s airfield, officials said.

India’s Modi faces a no-confidence vote over silence on ethnic violence tearing at remote Manipur (AP) His social media accounts suggest that Prime Minister Narendra Modi is launching high-speed trains and rubbing shoulders with foreign leaders as a powerhouse on the global stage and the face of an ascendant India. But that carefully crafted image, followed by millions, sits uncomfortably at odds with his silence on what’s come close to a civil war engulfing India’s northeastern state of Manipur. For three months, the strongman leader has been absent on arguably the worst ethnic violence ever seen in the remote state, where Modi’s Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party is in power. Modi’s role, or lack thereof, has sparked a no-confidence motion against him in Parliament, where his government holds the majority. He will almost certainly defeat the effort this week. But proponents of the motion are betting that just bringing it up will force Modi to address the Manipur crisis. More than 150 people have died and over 50,000 displaced after ethnic clashes in Manipur erupted in early May.

U.S. companies are buying less from China as relations remain tense (Washington Post) U.S. companies are accelerating efforts to reduce their dependence upon Chinese suppliers, even as officials in Washington and Beijing labor to put a floor under their sour relationship. Through the first five months of this year, U.S. imports from China were down 24 percent from the same period one year ago, according to the Census Bureau. Companies such as HP, Stanley Black & Decker and Lego are among those that have been repositioning their supply lines for American consumers, either to avoid the risk of being pinched between rival superpowers or as part of a longer term strategy to produce goods closer to customers. Either way, China’s role at the center of global manufacturing may be facing its stiffest challenge since the country joined the global trading system more than two decades ago. Mexico, Vietnam and Thailand are nibbling at China’s dominance, though they lack its size and world-class infrastructure.

China hacked Japan’s sensitive defense networks, officials say (Washington Post) In the fall of 2020, the National Security Agency made an alarming discovery: Chinese military hackers had compromised classified defense networks of the United States’ most important strategic ally in East Asia. Cyberspies from the People’s Liberation Army had wormed their way into Japan’s most sensitive computer systems. The hackers had deep, persistent access and appeared to be after anything they could get their hands on—plans, capabilities, assessments of military shortcomings, according to three former senior U.S. officials, who were among a dozen current and former U.S. and Japanese officials interviewed, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because of the matter’s sensitivity. “It was bad—shockingly bad,” recalled one former U.S. military official, who was briefed on the event, which has not been previously reported. Tokyo has taken steps to strengthen its networks. But they are still deemed not sufficiently secure from Beijing’s prying eyes, which, officials say, could impede greater intelligence sharing between the Pentagon and Japan’s Defense Ministry.

Tens of thousands of young scouts to evacuate world jamboree in South Korea as storm Khanun looms (AP) South Korea will evacuate tens of thousands of scouts by bus from a coastal jamboree site as Tropical Storm Khanun looms, officials said Monday. The vehicles beginning Tuesday morning will move 36,000 scouts—mostly teenagers—from the World Scout Jamboree in the southwestern county of Buan. Most of the scouts will be accommodated at venues in the capital city, Seoul, and the nearby metropolitan area. South Korea’s weather agency reported that Khanun was expected to make landfall in South Korea on Thursday morning, potentially packing winds as strong as 118 to 154 kilometers (73 to 95 miles) per hour. Large swaths of the country’s south, including Buan, could be affected by the storm as early as Wednesday, the agency said.

In Egypt, Public Classrooms Are Empty as Private Tutors Get Rich (NYT) Asked what classes were like in her last year of high school, the fateful period when students across the country cram for Egypt’s life-defining national exams, Nermin Abouzeid looked blank for a second. “We don’t actually know because she never went to high school,” explained her mother, Manal Abouzeid, 47. Nermin, 19, is not the type to skip class. A child of the dusty alleyways of a lower-middle-class neighborhood of Cairo, she was determined, by middle school, to become a cardiologist. But medical schools accept only the top scorers on the national exams. She abandoned Egypt’s chronically overcrowded and underfunded schools midway through middle school, joining millions of other students in private tutoring, where the same teachers who were paid too little at school to bother teaching could make multiples of their day-job salaries on exam-prep classes. The upper grades in Egypt’s public schools are emptying out as students leave for tutoring centers that they hope will elevate their scores on all-important national exams.

Want to live longer? Play with your grandkids. It’s good for them, too. (Washington Post) My 4-year-old granddaughter, Lucia, and I are once again getting athletic together. One minute we’re kicking around a soccer ball, the next we’re shooting miniature basketballs. Later, with me holding her hand, she’ll teeter-totter atop a foot-high stone wall along our driveway. Tomorrow, we’ll probably have a pillow fight and chase each other around the backyard. Make no mistake: Helping to raise your grandchildren is a workout, and routine tasks such as lifting, carrying and following younger children around all day or night can be pretty strenuous. But research suggests that grandparents who play regularly with grandkids stay active and healthy longer and—bonus points—live longer. Getting physical also promotes advantages well beyond the merely physical. Through one-on-one physical play together, grandparents and grandchildren can get to better know, understand and appreciate each other. It’s inherently social, mentally stimulating, lends your life an extra sense of purpose and meaning, and can establish a wholesome lifetime relationship. “Playing with children adds value not only for children but also for adult caregivers,” according to “The Power of Play,” a 2018 report from the American Academy of Pediatrics. Adults can “reexperience or reawaken the joy of their own childhood and rejuvenate themselves. … Play enables children and adults to be passionately and totally immersed in an activity of their choice and to experience intense joy.”

#headlines #news

[libidomechanica]

“You questions, I would quest that he resorted in my loves”

A sonnet sequence

               1

Found it spry cordage of painter blow, ’tis parts to passion, he last she fellowing. You questions, I would quest that he resorted in my loves. What was unbodies allow’d the Pottering of the who plummets dried throat, comes to gloze. Though that we recovered the on the fifteen hundred to be song it frown mind the flagranticipate in without from their guest that blows come and there are she vile slow, where night a kind of all stander a sente me the wild with affrayd I reading him cough she added tear become hither, whose than all they were, but weeping on his blest am I. The you.

               2

And he better is, the shadow white it. I under their heart, and sailor sigh, and with which slays, in Heavens; those woman, we will no Questions or make more; thereby, yet, loveliest answering parlour hair. ’ May stand at ladies, while dumb death will fair which I had for the Yellow she show; so those were proportion up, purple speech two beside. Alas, whence and by the fans had long in their years will lips and almost unless sporter’s steep, and sound most and a thiness. Our head call alone on me be Victories falsifie. Year a distance in the followed her be were threated at once other paine.

               3

So we have those who had no great, of gore away, but mankind! For no one who plummets do or dishonor. Friends, how the hear, my Philling but she, the started; then perverted triangled its really in. A slighters which the the watch wars—then too lately used, and so, as I haue changed. Then body love may, and others; arts of hell, child. There she, with new-found for some way well know not better their fame who running that blazon and turned how to sea sent, in gently she trice; the gifts, with many a vales were foaming sprints of the scraping with striking, shall gentle tuned hand dull and my song, with Jove?

               4

(Whom Cassandra was and love a touching. Upon the bloom, for loved! But Home well, no ghost sights to part in the soul—she one goest still, still to exposure to linged and in clay at with the could leave its bosoms of the starry Nymphs that we both. When I swore they answer’d,—that my heart, however be t frown accompliments was in fauour counts of his own neutrality. Of grantine, all her, tell? What is a sole heat resemblancholy earth he for light, the Moving safe, him like Paradise; and so dolefull of face, is messy in whirl’d from her deere, though doubted on two pure feasted.

               5

Intense of dust, and Line, new a world on and far, what the should undergoes. Sat muffled rose upon the changinge? To takes years, or capable of Hony and have made it seen stood, in love is about they’d try and that he crush’d before themselves the sceptred their chief dame eke as pitying a worlds to guide the Road; but like and thousand begg’d each love ofference. Because, ’ I bear the sames are carry you, ’ she way when finer should enjoying in a suddenly on each at all eternity, with castles still spirit be purer her but I knowledge or her side bound whatever know.

               6

Some to love is seem’d full of the help a line in love is horating net, and into fall thought in poesy, unpaid, from when thee, and to kiss’d Thee the bright her aims of untenance with such grace is not claims her pinion; but brings sparks upon the vast: that his said, she always ever for fourth was which i cannot be false born. For no one especially in a Wind I cantos into her so indeed, with his Highness person up, brighted, rivals of a strict inquired in Haidee’s knife thorough clay; and the grief, tried full grieves for mouth any clocks of silently, the snowy sented, nor daught he dream that you send higher and villagers. Cover tinct now, that is their newe is none by one flow; and begat of science, Towne slack from human feel pain, in said: all the long it, than the Cassandra was running, What all feeble on you except Mahomet’s while I run and faces.

               7

Juan answer’d, once again. And rage; appraising array a waxen fair for every kiss, and other, if my life, amid that may turned in silence shing but who gaze to make Carousing; shame. Than the words. At a though clay; at their head of mildly reason, the filched rabbit’s neitherto her be all other feele moon shed and smiled, and evening to be their own an eyes, yourselves betwixt the lily. Presence, left. Our side of past, sick, she than she, and have over spot, a prayed, doesn’t matter, saved his what long, hither, breaks, haue borne Mercury, for the suddenly touch, and, when be what hue; but wheel.

               8

Is the matrimony snores and wan. The Fire of Time’s first had been and luminous amountains; long dead. ’ My Philly women and the poor instant more splinter heart, whence, your bestrode at lengths of Humbering had, ’ he anchored in the violent guitars along the peace, a doubt, no better this comes make full of splendour withouten any cheek laid one good, melissa, O pardon me be dead leave with Raucocanti’s eloquench’d by thing too too much, earth your brighted though an age, currents wither mind, I may settle; perhaps no more, be said, my Philly? But seem right it best your friend!

               9

Am I deem it fear mortally took notes are as bride. Were reply, you are are the my arm that toong? By then their May was more saving for, but, fills today, this what are force with malice length; there. Couch beauteous scent brook a realm beyond then one executions ripen, with a wretched its brethren to sparrows on their every lines than arithmetician offer’d her greater high—each other win. Or these are bowes, and song oared then the took like young—I see young at time is spends lethal musket of Lethe field the rock. Tell her on the who for each morn of love; and left her lips, and seem’d she spirit all troubled eyes to thy pangs and tho’ I discreetly; i’ll trouble. In lillies are allow can hour the come him knew your tea and rams up and here that Time in the maid, have you will from me the dead him in the tree. I like and b the grave. So agitate it make no longs for althought.

               10

Where, there was duty would could adopt you would not displease the sad late, we have give crown, its of fort when she arbour, and at men to make an ear about trust, that now Io Pæn singlets him is in hell, you lover, than forehead upon the tide of it, if good, thou? Yet can never felt though sweetly boyhood that her ever, as loath to him to see two negatiues affir, Hotten. Now about therefore ye war to go of hot side,—so beat appetition and he billowing could stealing for there must line from the plan fi changed gorged within my cold and he knew which to go within was no noise precipitation and less than our lecture, no tongues, earth whate’er could prefer went of forsaking tides though I forbid eyes most to obey, ’ he spot each enquire that made it to thee and through, and himself with that Psyche too sparkles need not colours gave him no wander!

               11

I have chief dames wander slightly pride, while allow; every to be ground us, a thing each those selfe his patience, and sun the might wound, poor Katinka; I am the Age of past: so going such is oft her he came, poor Dudu said Baba did such so leaps of ioy, women or part: no, not seemed to you are dream chance behold on a hills the doom is in things, not to glowing knives lie her was a world upon a new connubial commerce name, whence all comes to there’s a shadow? Ah, may learnt no more was certain, and rams in fault lie unto heart wash one one on youth, two in the sky.

               12

To be dry. Sick to other tear-drops the colour wise twenty age at once mal-a- proportion now whatever could under out of the was never shrink the sits and look up, you not do hate womankind walls to murder how a spacious state. That like a words the Love, weaves on less-deserved for a new unfold: but no one lordlier thou? Beneath heart, with a great tell, that white, across gold, her song on her sweet rites its at striking, their den in my year set, my Muse this, by the deep, Haidee’s eyes, to sayd, he spake a should shore, but very from Psyche, ’ I knows why, I held stealing bird trapped hight.

               13

Permitted fruitlessness; she awful perverted Bowl from bedde. That so torn away, like picture, observing there’ll night: while third’s forlorn, and teare, whose some wish in even blows. How that her auburn to fright. Known that nobody should fair falls. More that ancies too talk bows began, and gave the ocean- buried on a map, but half the favourite; but stood, to be that Midas’ brown. For grandfather I find of my Philomel, and sight to keep you wert won until the epitaphs our people mosque crowned with now echo of the more the blowing nectar from then upon the bull again tea!

               14

A mortal mesh and melancholy; there. In the who love you shew the youthful-grinning by time in want no books! A Flask of loved and, cast an ancientified by Florian? But I do more shee court complexity courted with shivering. Where myself this still strown there was stranger, since more; but every well know not known. Of discreetly filial joy? My death my brain spect great for evermore alone; a child of my day look’d quite. You lay that from that undulant gentle bosoms throw, that axelike to live rain. Relenting fire, kingdom of calm kind, children. The Smoke onyx, teeth.

               15

From me future bend her fair, ay me so we all dignificant part as the peace and question she ships white all have in the those met, as her bellow Polish river was left that is, was one time to be fresh alas! Out of a jewels, which loves thee forget mars your misty vapuors, and that she’d laughing, who like declared the last eternate long since, a death; some him run. She monotone, nor a man; which perforce and to quit he flowers gay between make the modestly disdainful of its that, being ascend a tax, from being on the reckless glittered them gentlement that who knows.

               16

Upon a perspires at there—do go. Shall now, and marvelously i’m half so quiet, my kingdom of the help. My life in secret for all, smalleth form look advance in hotte. Sick, and questions should fair over may cease of sun nor lover taste damsel’s humbled. Asiatic of all oftentimeless you let it suffering the forgetful bard, without and here but one weds. Whose to me; no other’s eye, and prosy I sat dost description had been; each loves, though, Madam, as more say the usual feel. When young doue may be morning from bound asleepe in thy voices instincture.

               17

The more town your is chastity had I blush o’ my Phillis Islands the daily come die in us, albeit Leander matter, rest, which made his much morn before them. Where sound his song, and feeling, pricking the prize it, or although tall? Like a because and meets perforces were he mind deare be deem, I did me they survive that caresses, the buried upon the winds lie alone, and Noes, which was both choice, I brough, whether heard to your content said aside, when freedom, safe and turkeys cross the show your sins a wary, and a Reproach other warned and he be forbearest mine.

               18

They will the morning, like despising the Hony and He than in outward is loath the tinsel lovely she tomb? Arcades the suspicion, and gipsy bones to all, as had hang, this awoke? The with smalleth form at ever female ribs of them in his pleasure, no doubt if so timidly expense: I own in the dropped out as arte. To beholds hushed sound suddenly, and who love listening eyes of sky and o’ my Pursuit of terror, and keeps over-warmth,—I plucks me to midnight the grow all to answer’d, cabin’d, what that thou will not Cupid raiment. The blue so for she hear her pillows?

               19

I wonder where is no stood, and bright of a cliff-tops, which cannot clad in her all her hair, the same, and priesthood to me, to- morrows the Lady Psyche, and the squished metal, a last she lecture. To give way it were perfume, her than all bound him insecure, o’erthrow me should swore—but presence; horse in our heart should still still pumpkins! Now I must as fyre, the second and lander with kingdom or he had occasion, and don’t attractive ear, rose fall its of your Castalians, on board, this hucks, plunged down older lap, and wound fountains, o love with might go to her pray, women did but dust.

               20

Out upon the men were on it. Staving legs, who marble valleys. But all? And this dear and then the dark days she that ever like him—I will sleep. When and looking what sweet lips, I have forever me I him from our to-night-dew, and whenever may common have seek what greaten, with been. Why should, if ye coming with her hear lyre or put Hell; the led, and in a True Light. And sharp, Haidee’s song. For not rob all the long so differing over time, is much I were lies. Some full low, an angry ocean, one of writing of dream’d, Dudu, yet I looked into the sing, the while the starry gun?

               21

She propensity of this, the Master power, and fause a flames the field: some like this dream appeared, the week began to heart; and you with his motion: it fell is write, that your day: the vicious chain’d o’er he god grew strokes assistant from its enrich in each breast not he had trick which embargo. With a consist thou had calm within Juanna with intellect some hither Phaeton had been past Regrets of his dangling kneeled alone. And meal, thou do, I to the hungry man say but your guide the order should man wish you? Why men; and their first fourty years, she half of these two bodies of simplicity’s chastening; nothing: my verse leave Dudu, that breast,—for who would look’d up, beside. Where we star? Heaven keeping flowing common in Strip of the water yearly moved, but being now she heateth on board of its haunted with thing by a singers are you wilt, but off with some sense.

               22

’ The ioyous to bind, nor every flowers in the coming if a lad that was another was flow; in linen he love ear, and the day when will growth. The land of the walls to the widow’s beauty dwellingly to change, too; he sand. Swung inside the devil spring dancing newer sex, where she too; he clean, and round of crews as shed, to burden now the Princestore: so that end the more, would hand; and zone unmanners, to take Juan, one in anguishingle will not falling Devon, which speaks not the iron tyranny now it; my birth or morning, o heaven whelm the others, and eke to hold?

               23

Of hatred with no being place all fleece. These are are litigious drew up the fallen chorus, chaste not who would not let go. I shuddering mine execution came loath. So choose. Some the didn’t creater how we tries of a virginity, wilt, but the customs of pavement remembers. Think, lest heaven; but do still struggles the look. On his situation with gladness! And you dost even whom I would aside; for a though we saw was forces were feeble is what I must father song of Solomon. More rest. And yet wailing their guards to the ugliest which floating and fallen song.

               24

Yet were dreams of Fate spread him inseparated on the grave, because will be deeds the she worth! The Rain, although and with good zecchini, she happen in Olympus dwelt; and makes her child cross though the tomb, and that Psyche, ’ Cyril very spirits watred the for the told this is out it is as were to awake, whose gown three of Fame, or men’s Eye much pleasing are, which bring all tear; and yet a hears to touch you lived a cooling her of our dreamed among through he did lived? As, could be should be it and smiles whole has met wi’ your land, her spin one virtue yet I feed and not weep, or if more.

               25

While other large Will’ more. Without, and now am I in defeat, might coin, though the secret flames with it seem’d some by the last particulation. As thy voice wakened by one more throat, comes are two small about she waves to be approach the grave that I stoon; whate’er understand, sends to something the usurper of the full-faced the Muse, which he love the flowers, and small be brough should have ground it Venus skin and the Hony and glorious wish I conceiving ration had taketh a glory’s breast would have commerce be drizzling me a glass, to sleight, or more. For the garbage to die.

               26

In their hearts the substance submission, until tis pipping thus Juan and the lovely in drops like morals, so the whispered with the bottom, blest hope had been in you why. Till in free burdens, as that brook from out suspect, he wind, for much more her more; for in vaine lou’d, debt of a longer shut did haze, and figure. ’ But feed attones of music, at once and as where all waiting foaming lamps o’er that by slow tyranny grew a fair occupants: if snails, white neat tell me promise to myself at stiller, nor other was nough the base: base to rends asia, who known, far into a morow?

               27

Which slave among the honey-meal: and your quaint to dwellings as Troy; she roll’d! Called into dead forced on the Oda, upon high mountains, and man, to her breathen and with rain with a sheets perching rude, baba though either, if false morning deserts of blood was who had Despair of them gentle take my love the moon. The airport so stream that his Haidee’s story, at when yourselves not crowns the typing strong and the Air, and future recent after Rage driven kindly in their myriads name in men’s vivisect my heart will converted, no blemish, that Jove’s first it to love, the truth mantling.

               28

Slave the worse that upstartled foretold; and then I do him, too, many nor front it is touch is mingling beneath was born. Through never passion still; but woman with his looks the pleasant valleys, so though his own tongues of Phillis, has met wi’ the eye no, not from Nubia brother of the verge than making a narrows above and tired by dayly-vexing height, nor any story, a fairest upon each in the peasant to loved, thou that take Jamshýd’s Sev’n my attire, a brothers wrath seem higher aid, and things. Be that now I reap’d—I came that is more their union whose eyes most a soldier, and which, lights as her female, their scholar poor sold fold, unless countries, when you known the rose that is hands, and read: thus which hovers’ tempter, white as you say, how he turns what this breasts its perish’d him, on a man stand only heart-flame my misty Acheron, heaven rill, and we have it.

               29

Nothings me biel and fling mutual-darted sunne in for the taut holding to thee, still not the hope, dear Anthea, Hero wrung. And thy Dust ahead man I provide, Eyes up their levell’d a liberal couple, for a Song, not the one though he springs, to then press sings growes; you with emotion more enought of finite me the most but no more Quixotic garden growes; you were Haidee, it’s beat folded brest, confirme! Last Harvest rest where will of these ill- changed, though he foul with everywhere with delight me run through the went tears, such a novice, one know to desires a loud roar?

               30

For once advance to the answer’d sinless felt th’ ears, which way back their space stop their summon’d glad the fawn’s Left Hand one the end my heart. The monstrange and Fate will say she only know. On you, you will breast, and their throne of his bright, moon she suddenly on yellow, fixed up with your soul out a work of courself in their sorrow your spotless tender than a kingdom or her fall, they all my heads and welcome small. Of doubled so beautifully, thought to dust from everlasting on into your press, head; not the sad and learn to clutch of my right shan’t. Then in my extend less of peace! Thing meal?

               31

And subject, which broken of Hero, with me throught Aurelian, the chief point to give to his own Ellis Island—seeking, hurried her. Here Jamshýd gloried Cæsar bleed and forests eke, make, my Phillis, has could in that questioning natures shineth. Without your lie. Made it grief, dream, always does his the stand incess Ida waited: out the trumpet down, shot a thought a mind deserts the dawn: a business which, like to love them, for could insides and to man, which girdle, but the vowed the never an empires at even as shed, thy Soul, no ghostly night? My despair overrules to the sky.

               32

The aforests, in creature by the world wish’d this diadem when fineness of this eye—not the welcome to hastity, and now, my life—intense to blast. Whose while dumb; I wall. ’ And the cushats wall. Glad the ages gatherine’s fear, whichever and marbles, O now for one had then, much less: some luckless glitter soul, nor like than Rome against us back to helpless glitter goes, though on the taught with Wine! In the colours for you wear they seems to cracker pinion: now I wished grace. With Fates I have a spinning haze of a moment abouts, into a rocked in her in whom the fares.

               33

Her her brides I wish best, and called his body, such as Wine! From his Highness at a middler front down, and savage moughts and so, admired of coffee and now commissions are over; tis always is me, such joyful phrase of all these valleys. From each word blow by thy forests, how through vnfelt, doth fall, and smooth shivering breast my murmur to warmth, if snail, its farther wide sleeps. But did the never hand tells me needs dissemblematic hills of his pass’d since erst, and the live for the dwell thereto; Honour, and gold; and raimental kindling in sign in the hearts and many a once her shame.

               34

Whom glow, their hatch, and watch as fragility. By eunuchs flaring in the rusting fell descends so sent way we bowe, where in the sigh barren Reason bend or else was in a corn, and swore on which welcome’ all I yielded and then no carriages, and if only word increase, and Juan in fauour come. As thunderwater face, the was but stop that he wanted—to learne wits, never has could forgive up on and oft flutted from th’eyes most of a pigeon to hide at Marses play’d then all not move into me, but if, both constant as rain, has such as a happy seeing from Venus no cried.

               35

Free at they shall she gaps be unacquainted boy, they store with a Bacchantic. Fair thirty years, the highest mouthern his trams up to heart was pensive, more slacke, and will contrary: and in a corn, and remain’d his compassion round us, and more onely vnto myself how far—Licence fretful, her less chirrup that I am going vnto the poor so intending way in wreck’d manfully, so it seem’d to scrape that from remembraced he beil’, where I go. And red life’s large and I speaks of worth, but fair fear moroccos harder the came for last Blazon for the only said she blight.

               36

Yet short, or deep drench the same and gipsy bones, just to the pirate, where her bosoms, who threatest, drown’d run slowly—paced, I wantinople. Whose eloquence a slumber, brother. And—no! So stood with some points. I’m always and discuss’d of fades of life, but yet unknown room, than Pity pleasure less- deserts the Lass of sleep? But no doubt to mend. And never her name among the Lady Blancholy; the blanching daffodilly women, and account it fear me the would ever dear such as I touch a Bed of her view’d and villagers swift doth will dies, cities compare: I am is first.

               37

But for her feet; that—nor are perplexity could excuse for gentle the Vine heart; and that both side its entire, a patient that I felt playing woe, vpon a budde, having morning, the violence in the certained, for moved them, and end in a moments mind—Are you have content, and in a dainting waves, the concern: if those eyelids opens touch the Princessant cries, sweetest loves mend. I love, and maiden at hands. I want thereby commission more, and hand, we humble stand with sort, as borne Mercury. Waves whenever more would note to white of the you. In the dark defied wither?

               38

And lo, it will to use but a Vice and danced: thus, no, no, though a little herself a cried—if it see years or other. The ghosts of the birds itself between hearts the last carnate her little niece, you wilt though he didn’t creep open want by petal myself with that in the Lion as bad, for breaths are rustling. Thou that brought beauty had fifteen, as I must as from dawn the sepulchral sit beside. So smooth her owne pair, till pursed days that the sultanas an in circles, the wooed with conceit; with their full of the lives music, at was many a dark eyes of busy charms of Fate so fair.

               39

At thou can ne’er highness, oftentiment; i’m fascination mother her pit, fares. While that found my image. Knot a-creaking the more, and and some fairer than all lure is but the fawn, wait they there that is forecast. Whose that to knows her wi’ the surf bright shall your feet; that cannot sweet, so indeed, in the statutes, sweetest together she bends to strife. And fear maidens great am fall is love shadow? And woman, heaven, not one sheets shall hover, the Master is, the village in my will no frown aside, the Phlegethontic rills the mortal midnight from their school, those early you learning.

               40

Were the gray old turn and to take Jamshýd glowing which he saw the pieties ago to talk of dead, who had not morning some on: but few, I re-read each fur in that he that once livid, still with still by they reade you remain; ’tis the shore, and had been such gentlemented in thee were betrayed him to them: the dark, or smote heaven: her countries, in this captives but feed a devil, bury me, which to say, the worse is receive increased, when shepherds’ cells, beat festal son is graves nor Greeks she this is high, doth she maxim for hair best,—a live. Re-mould—the floor she still shake it. And stars answer, breath my birth a heart even in this sisteric strived a cruel these are all he same principle of sugarcane swept to disc of a sullen so about it ranckleth of joy; praises, torch the way, and call: they call general come to have a twists its glory town of Repented smile.

               41

And went, budde, how oft herself the sunlightful Soul transpirit pour music of all sink which your Academic sisters to roar, nor years shore, with his sort the people silk, with her colour hand; and reel; frae tape- recorders undo me. How brave, to the Air, and ever-sistens to passions that I so kind a stretch himself o’er the River wi’ her sweet-scent and quiet, that understand was whole awning flash of old base deck’d not: but not let might be trash of it; her charged with the dead of hatred the play up and Peacock had some corneful valleys, vouchsafe you ask his own neck hunger.

               42

With a middle of Chigil in Turkestan universation these bondage, sleep silence compassion rise; it had bended; the Lycian grew strong. Not course to the univers shoue, when sailor sitting hair bringing, dancing mistress shack with a falsely bask in we through i have all, I have them deep, had fifty-nine you there dead by Odysseus he ready riots, so small; not for the whole joys asking, and rarely digging had, ’ he spouse. Breath-filling frame of love, and overtaken. Mistress’ brow, this song as few, on the great strife will go by, which lays; that this night less; and spinnin’ wheel?

               43

The woman race, that nectar from heaven rill—or should I give me. As lines of what he laid which way to have he mattering rudest forbear the shadow down hay, the worship through native land, thought, moonlight: but is can conceiv’d with great they process, might to dwell the mounting nectar bower of speed and fright preventh Gate I rose, the subtly wanted form, tis loves me fly like Irish, though her to do mock-disease it. Protested bitter is enough at laught a merry-making; I was move is summer, the could be graves licking harshly do not staid longer of blood you. And my fair.

               44

Star-laden weakness and here Deserts scornful lay them and deprecarious, and I, shall common goodly sinewy bowes, and him name so faintly wrough to me not there dream, yet in the myself in the brazen upper—heed these? ’ Bounded; yet hands that view’d after now chanted joy spare young, enjoying thoughts remove from their own its bosom taste neater yet in a Book or hardly know the charms, at time Gulbeyaz overrun and so woo: to warily were laved my hart. Chased are trying, wondrous you, my substance prow, that now, no dreamed her French that principle of the dirt to be ablution!

               45

Of twice I would hand, his from they did shore? Should inhabitants of forests, hath notice edge vastly droopt; they, as head, and haggard with becomes when die? For whether hands at last Blazon for one their voice is that half of a devil may charmes in thistle, but cold, her with your slight concubine hands at on her boys love, how slept. Days lay about him quiet, maggoty minute; but did marble unsearch wished grasp’d. Will only goddess held up, and the charge of th’ Hesperused to array, whichever forth as rare, who ne’er afraid, No, no doubt to have a thoughts rear’d prophet eyes too.

               46

Further sail flapper lively vine of my nine. The prove had rolling place and makes it to hearts running frame him, and next video My dear! The came to linger the will not him but what poor travelings and wanted boy, would the when slack and the first rose, the Gaule in the fragrant height has crept for they could instead, o years to plow; shovels cruel fight. Has crescented on a man. Such a thousand morning rashly, her promise, how fleet of that neither when sight, to you. God in the fortunate! Base in Sestos from the bringing wash that are he end is, the hear her through infinite can spell.

               47

Across, to spreading, for dinner and look’d man’s broughts were Hymen’s Angel with on a without them to thy skin like a cliff-tops, all world of porch for to run. And yet unto her father proud Achilly? I feeling love exhausted, Hero, not long ere to the slanded sharp, our sins of all these lips murmur are ready to walk’d till this Univers really seem’d Dudu’s drew toward our head, have quadruple this he tenor; they wish I have but her Attic foe, therefore on whom, if it well: dudu was liberally—imposite, by what idle to rob all to the will;—moved of words off dead.

               48

A burthen’d would have all be not be the pass’d since than only which it shall be thought of gulls of empire, which affrayd I ranne awares noble gashes, they had sentiments miserative, and mountains; longer still topple grew, and thou art, and if this arms, expected him. However wi’ my Philling will not in whelps at there her goes, but only mettall but thy shouldering the sky. And awful terms, like, therewith silence when the Dawn’s breathed day mixt with your same time have a cloudy even why ye drown merit, as hear a diseased, to vex, after Rage desire, would man.

               49

While as truly of this death it maketh a globe a globe a glory’s inmost make, upon my hear at lease: I own heart to malice length none hip quivering in me least faculties, I thinking organism that herself and purple man may loue awake, the black room then a blessing to be monstrous, and freckless; she triple made forced on a man not in the dwellers, ’ but stones. And, as one to his dead; they are the muscles of one as thee stirring at him more delight for shall romantic reverest of mild earth cried, thy will exactly inter-section all claims, those Canto, and change coin, that rode at there doing voice to show me something stripes of female druries finger, Necromantic pain’d run replied dismay, in the whose she grass upon this is certain the Bird of her world another here by her withal musket screen set to close, for every hour than to his due?

               50

That could swore to quell, he know careless today when turned to mend. Seek you scornful of eternal law; and tenderer would never yearning, and rushed with a high, what war will of their gods love itself instant in vain reliefe: but no replies, and herald, Jove is no instinct of life—intense for the first love or taint lower, for feet to give my lemman with an after rhyme, affect, and caught to sleeping on thee: this her ways kiss that his swayne, and when so quite, the bethough numbing reefs. In came from their fame, your forth, till pangs and with Yesterday as a bridal mother man’s crannies needst thought!

               51

Fly far intestify that is his daught their Heathe others like made foreverence. To touched without of Carib fire them to him, between, as in far where born creation for bird stirring forty shadow, hoping, o heart widening, no use there a phantom arise—At thou know Gulbeyaz was when Venus skin. Your sin to me by our misty vapuors, and blew; another a plot of Raucocanti? I’m martyr to the least word should hand; o plightning of silence fled, nor stealth, kind and kiss; for the marble foreign plaine for my heart withoute long; nothings for some my Friends, and the Spartan Mothers she hadde it bleed and begg’d by Odysseus her with you. But your far shoulders to saying, or duty comb that name opinion, wild hope. I said, No, into one doubt should mingle with choise crave the sultan’s prudent aftertime, in long-drawn; here the wish the May-fly pleads or orator.

               52

Thus err, in shone. Madly meet is but fan the come and bowing: some shall love, which men do with fear than the Ring over above, I touch but her arms thee watch at winterwove with many and now should not yield. There, saw was a thicken by that affection some men, with vigour; they both tears rush’d to the love-bearing, queen o’ the page. In those high nor she habit, and on the other’s. The sky all their observed fawn’s breathing: the tomb. Below my blind Unders, still, all turn’d believe and to killing man, till spirits throught have made him whose will not to distant fruitful Hesperides; whose were like there!

               53

And kissed her disclose, where she scented and morning touch of the could all come, thou haste not enough; for a fan, and bless of light to come, like gloomy sky resign is in labouring you came melissa, O pardon me, or startled albeit the nak’d strengths its still that rode my skin; I nibbled alone would be sparkling bed-dent hue, and leave triumphantoms hovers’ paramour tears when should bursts sixteen as true; and the Closet lay droopt; that among tides,—making all theme while thing? Their brow or neither harder us? And that I must need weeping anger to Venus’ nun, which so to do?

               54

Should I forgive me, i and her grey will tears because and brain, wilt those close: this simplicitie, with and Will’ more my heart-strings grows on the heaven. Love from her Numidian Ganges’ sons: the marble force and dark his eyes; it to his warm to the past beakers, she had but what seed to taketh. But I despaire he near you wert won, yet scream—juanna kindness changeling—as into that hope, the Grape of careless tress, Lady Blancholy. Therefore; so that says, you will have and silent range of dawn: and she gods decay; ruin hand if I have her for rich, that? And, as his lovers, and long fastening.

               55

Would within my bonnet to grow: now let my father arm. Nor the had thy joy! She path forbore he is stricter of the brooding. Them the dreamed us: we leave us: the suffice to have love, you might to makes though at a far repose: I might doth. Soft and meal, that virtues knows when joy before me. To prate, which the blood, but heard a doubt! A golden urn. But who, chaste of us little wreathed erased.—He know not of unsifted to say, which I might be, and truth many hand often kissing no orator anger, the eye or bodies unchanted bawlers, and salt of Albany.

               56

Wounded; she withouted—Open the chastity, who would aughter: after and what tale, let us lie deeper, enter on her of smallest grieve because thee in the speech her such destinacy, pity, immoral gloom, till think their levell’d different with Leandering thus tried Cæsar bled; the hills, that Psyche, Ah—Melissa—you! Could griefe: this face, in the could stouping weakness a she’s wine; she heart will omit the will Europa bellespont, like and calm kind corse thee, a haram bore juan was one-and-fro, sacrilege. And long darksome call The world be chastity shouting’s one by a man.

               57

The play, a modern Amazon and to see you have listentations, masks, and on heavy days, O this lights ending to be all, or lean—ah, which lead a Psyche, ’ I believing nectar from us all. She street without the Helle’s ancies of our know: she got the morn brought to you. Of both them who have a shadow’d chat which weary words between the fresh was liberal of the said: Lo, pleasant, inoffensive his experiments, kin the best ivory steps bent from its vast eternity, and with pulse, its of the stream she westward of restors and wash, and lightly be better gods love?

               58

’ Contemplate without dead, which rain septemberment’s mellow, and THOU for the forgotten. Arcades ouerthrow, think much proudly stoicism lead at the TV becauseless like Thee. Thy Star upon was gone, which,—take a line in language of you, children state me. Will stiffening, this fixt, but seethes. Were a grave them? And sprang light, and felt springs are born mean descent-wise. Hard wheel, and down upon there sick, and reck’d no more beneath all the sea all forms shall whelm’d to each lover! My new beguile keeping. Such breast through, which rain. Also that he submissive heard, I am stumbling more.

               59

And then once dark crowned with state, across-grain, the Goal, or rather sped, seeing parentage on heard. I will fiction; they are my little hearts of yore, entitle, got he recollection. Her cheeked Adonis, that somethinking out that each every well as there twenty, no long-limbed ladies, who can, that the those would man whether mind twilightly hewn, when he colours to thy joys, can honour is thine, sweet woe gripe of Golden early morning soft and still all the blade—the went of sense he mask I wonder’s head of a new cells, and look’d away around head: no more on me, yet through and dry.

               60

For in speak, or Hátim Tai cry Supper clothes held the cannot made requireling in his false New Year relation forever. To thee, and, like the soil win her care? Precious past from his turn sate, o sistening, but had something man thee still come to do? On his way. ’ Let Thereupon his discovered wrack to cast by the Heavens to be reasons whence flie, an everlasting diamond protects himself how her they bound their loss and what we as well ambro bade me on: but find sails the warble still what vex my heauy cheek laid: tis lot, and would made repose. Let thought, is the room, till now change.

               61

Morning, to talking with on your in a heart of liquid treble Hope countenant, sure we lovers’ hands, which euer slight. Is it will fairy horn to raking orator as a walls a tree, fie! He hope, dear street like a shame, poor love’s dead and of you warnest which like Mahomet with him: when a town when he crest. Lily- like, unspoke of the autumn tresses, but rather’s amounts memory, this royal right days green are tribe but now I may take or put down on a slept in the braine some to see’t; yet—heart’s tomb’d through never; and one—turn hills no, not the sparrows, I have crowning sincere was chance nor dare not of felicities sharp Adversion drop on white and believed be gross thou now? A parting the held that xylem thus out people hardly increasing to decorates from a bastard she same mischief pointed face hour againe, and pledge unto things from the generation.

               62

At leaves, they went of flowers, are them all! With good enough the courted with eager eye but know to fair—leander stories, she creed a Key, the prophet eye,—than Pittsburgh. That their skins of the scrawled out, teare, with flying power? But which morning turn’d and coffee at least with shee still a slaves what lou’d a loyal and then the name enough the be founded; yet, exceeding Athanasius’ curse thought as his keen wrote it sighs, and end in vain. Yellow, even a breast, with a high to be embrace, intrigues, evening, when with rustling. And allust of us habitants of threw her name—her ear.

               63

Man’s crannies the looks that were tyranny. Her darksome fullest all think no means some down too, behold; the shoulders homewarding them of questions heir, and left. A scourse is one who am I not beauties, their lost, like a balls, flush’d thee, he station tea! The dove, which we sentence he will cabin, for her may be who crimson lurks nor grandame eke to room which only words and I have dawn’d at her glance dark his sing; love then perjury, to be able and waked for he golden fox-kits courage ear official instant light less show be his disguise that might be, yet none, is second pride.

               64

Thereof, you willed him in the obiect of gore away that take the bed the gray linen slacker in one made me clear watery of curtseying Gladiator’s amorous how am I in defend this lost fall a slothful Hero’s as out of us loue, with so. Are sugar’d at men lizardry of a pictur’d-forth frozen rills do not helps at even the has cause in their strange victories. Though certain, their love to chlorophy, and—in such profaned, scale thing endure, and feeling the could deserts off as from Mortality. How silence: so was woman, longer flower, all there?

               65

He did she still tree and opensive hundred yet no far, near her I say I terms, like to no enemy Friends, that below, she way the Prince? That is every gentle bosoms that rode my lost a sharp pittance for the democrat, dear excuse for good state, for the ugliest know the who like Mahomet’s Paramour belly morning on heaps of a pigeon mingle lies back lacquered the they have a freshness, sultan of the snow. A kind, critic, more it love, even as an empty and lone of all to open all the need to the naked feet; that they thin and water-fretted hand.

               66

In be, by way. No matter; you doe give my death any for the sultana frozen ring yourse, took at it is not like to feed of sin, kisses ever in heart will. And—in the Body and married me like pictures cooks, fit for gift preside, and gipsy bonnet be reason? Tumbling knees of Ida, touch of the fairest creature, which, like chain, and slay up against the pieties every way; I own in her eyes, outbalance a former such leprosy. She watch’d, touch, as more cool flower the room, who resume for a witless—how bed a Key, thread at one; if all the cost lowest.

               67

What inbent after neck. One with her chery, draw in a bush her was anymore. And the vault, and they be, more, you would have lost; and descendent of ground; and gleam of Mahomet’s viewed with Phoebus story’s inmost I go. So sweeping. Us lie bush, listen as thoughtful—such a coal; not in a peevish Boy, women use, nor any outworn before ye weep the moved hence of different guise: along the ribboned what I may escape by the night situation, sinks I will not of fortune folkes my brainpan were sheds, has kneel in here one selfe will keep your of thy love with Cape Sigaeum.

               68

Sentiments haue a dream the pampers. Raine so dared to face in, the years. Which us to say to you besided she wood on she tripped by the rare and suddenly worlds and means to strokes fell it well: curst bed. Until it but not with ample, starts, where weep in work divine, shall come, and breath all haue change coin, the heardes growling Hell! The walk you open my Lip to the dull, and heart of bear they leader on they have felt the furious time. Like an in held makes her tragic Shadow’d our own his is the work’s clear remains of an embarrassment, the drawing we doubt! I knowledge is wrinkled a beauty could have no care, and tell me the trumpeter, warmth industry. He hope them them breathen statutes, deliberal and science: but worst of a blue, when I think upon his mates, delicate spirit see his dumb death it being are, which your footstep, as thought their image is no key.

               69

In the last, with the Hony an islander’s fiery lofty to woo: to within us throught he formless snowy sent, would all flower, despised the who use and pity to be receive proclaim repetitions, on must not annex? Relieved so good and I entered today when heaped without the lake, my stealth away around rather sweet must desire, what cast upon you here o’er than true goodly grand lovelies, they begg’d by the wild a praying, one of the Univers pouting back to comes Love dined, ’ who sworn teem’d Dudu’s drew to learnt morning on the sea sense frozen rings rare.

               70

And makes black—o! And in her my women, where Children of existen ordeal was monastic books of years, a merry in happen’d would not lie on his chirrup that is come not so we are just so gentle the billows? Prophet eye, a bough, to seek here, in that little o’er each at all that mix’d their Christ. But nectar from out this Leandering the male, but I have lovers, and speak. Had with Dudu turn to mind like dews of a perfume, here? Fallen largess of the vestal Devon, which after Sultán Máhmúd, the figuranti, that fame in my new come shell rises, she past wish you.

               71

Itself, for their mutual for love, I would sigh, and as though the dead and land—her for sigh remedy, cooling in Patagonised, and glutted played to scolding to surprise it. With they gazed till to more the more speech, as thou don’t dance pronounce might of yearn. When I though they least token night compress—the first it bring flame were all the blood; not like to be Persian, and thing suddenly, and who part? Where Haidee’s knead, and that can the fowl from her ray, and be strife, a doubt if a lie huddled but all For her father three sat could have bottom, where the must not lays with the colours forests.

               72

When I could perplext her decrees of anger friendship aduaunce I had crowed here inherits up, brings and at one by meadows? For shrieking and all here bettered man not yielded, Your eyes and time no excuses pulsing draperience my scaled, stole soar to be; weak still with new-coin’d to see youth, so darke wind walks; we music, more was once her seene. And how are thing, and your posts; I have felt at my pleasure laid him dwell as was now and to kissed key can stooping spring, down upon the sun ground, no hold his Head. In state rever is third an into surprise halls to the much leaves too late, pleasure.

               73

To passionate feast to the kids like and so loud or cease you, myself—beside her aid, what with stride, in there, and whelp to the instant we music; meseems the Turkish moving later,—ah, it is her should stop that other way back to tralucent at hole obiect on a chaste Hero would thus doth fill’st cornice, is no carriage-tomb, and haps the subtless patient to Dudu turn’d round of a bush heavy days, into detest line, their bird trapped her neck, like ye, thing to the giant Hero’s aspecting all to Spirits upon the Tombe a cause she vowed away. To driven with new-founded?

               74

‘We given, that to crush’d believe in wreck. He bade millet run slow, glazed upon the secretes in stanzas a wish you from Venus’ swannish power and strange—in vain! This hours gay betwixt Egypt and she, and I, shadowy word; put up for what trimm’d up, to brings me we? This the had loves? Or nest sighest manifold like they stone, or tale is it kind there denies, and weeping, who, where is to light, to see. A minute pass’d people green words can convulsion of thread my head. Than that of use a found the would was a hands, complains. He could girls in the Briareus! Full we inhabitant Drum!

               75

And sees their news rarely were that she, in darling wife into be desired, and round my harp pitties are that she numbering presumes let men seek after, prayers and contemplating to be alright thing careless found its own remov’d, this death any ring, thing eyes presente me of recommenced here, save because of the glen? Base the dizzy produced the woods about the Love as their she courageless best like what tape delightingales do not the could sit be long that she must not till that’s the water, will in upon a spacious chase, and though the body sword her, in love.

               76

The needs, as we. Tis Lambro’s aspect grew, than tongue doesn’t ever agape—bought for the blank grey of blood run, seeking world; for rhyme, itself to and dark, where: this ago-a swore—but a wander, whence, saved his pipe on Vertue hath many rings, where arms full of earth Helle’s a bird stirr’d the swollen charity, of Solomon. On you won’t weave, and in still not lived the bundle your feeling do, that Mileva, it’s allow’d dose at the bed forbore—juanna, the ocean, one the Tavern steed in the fathery gentle pledge unto the moved by the inscription, by dainting a things undo meaning.

               77

And late as the heau’nly face; the scent worn. Have day who holding, thenceforward parts this, deeper, elm and further Phidian vein halls where in this fatal think upon its must be, if tis as the Garden, softer,—and of art but fingers come to a truth has blacker Will and then first which hesitative, all to meet house; and bye. And whist anothers view’d after yearly mortality,— all my life-enkind! Scholler, nor talk’d above made with a brook a bird, tall, the crush’d this fury, for wanted learne of drifting new—like to have a world, by Despairing but heard the blue so earth a firm under;—then the dead his work even unawares were gets, coming her may with stripped. And went Hero’s tore. For who knows the ocean, when I’ll daily drops throws twining the stay, that selfe, and those far of fire burn and about it should always hear maid on the waves, with scraps of Life doth the mystical.

               78

Is it king the slave morning Finger by him from people of the flight breathings, and the reconciled rock; she way too brittle at my hoarded not knows tone, no, not world; for either, clung. Or still, for darting Hellespond wanton wave unbred, which she could closes on a will wears; even we sound it now sea’s, mourn, become amorous stand a stature or process, full of fire five been illegal for you struggled to be some exotic, they thine my Grandsire, when the port my vocation, some so full. ’ She walls I had to ascends flank’d with sort of us window, and not but her depose.

               79

As line from us—and as ‘t was face, that are were breathing. Which don’t melt that some luckie with one hadde itself secure, wonder female as sire: On me, and mirk the stars into Colchos born just as pillars and and stealth, and how lone, from gray old grow: and less gazed, but third sex!—Heed my fate, and hart should not this an hours, I make us much white his o’er the circles, that I made himself this trained Plot of the flower, both day of the last, the gloomy skins, ye sat: the flat hills no, no. Which hath was one who liked poet draweth of our free! Or she also bear the quietly the sea and flutted our presence; horses perfect and sack’d heat presentment, she there so silver sleeps of ground. With a kissed on Devon, wilt thought have giveness sported from Mortal son in dreary night make all the craik amang the Music I can strict Testing back to other call the echo of men.

               80

For no screen work my hearth case; but gave hero- boy, the ocean gazed on, and feet. Boyhood walls intensius. She provincessantly at was not one espect this. And never sire: On me, ’ said, what the ears to innocence. The on a dancer—I ceased? And one by what double April’s inmost degrees, gust-fists, hollows? I wanton, and in Beautiful serve to heart in the orange and Vice and onward, when the high the long, god for the will never blowing can spokes for free buried, she three gallant gently, live. I heartbeat does the trophyll, and by one the stranger write horses to learn!

               81

And to muse my women, and my lover myriad years, and land doom is no sorcerer’s heaven, then to the books’ gay flocket fill the good and by my Evil lust of Heaven keep came and pity sake: for sorrows passing throught wounds, but had careless wear, and she answered, who change fades are that Heart, how dark fringes the filched in heads upon, and she; never and you that nigh. Vessel on his firman, her bones when shall thee so fair of Dust, may take so divine, that I will to makes me; it is golden hands, howe’er a love close in zero gravity. I, that principle mace, for the play.

               82

I discover me—me, to burden night the lowe, I cannot from under wanton was she?—Taken from who was duty she knew not ever beauty’s slight all their only that the found, which were provoke him to rever shall party, and sleepe would in His grain his grit in your had never fellow my brain september who serve perfect and ever. Gone were sick, am I, I could looked in the glowing or a man brings good or wrong; the Pottery, draws upon so to the hearts are alters state, for my wit my years and when a dance, stander feel his lip began to the her child do that sprung.

               83

Miss head of great see do thaw the fair off, such confound my will her tears this health away; give i’ the obiect they never knees, end indite. The race, and and each more drink that an and i’m marbled albatross’s physician, which it At last, for a shafts of power of Man is bliss you would be grace, as the work dividual life. Saying augury with the stomacher; confound to scold sweet lips; my brother’s hand in all the sweet Circassia, than on a whale ranks, with Yesterday and their talk’d to Cupid of flower, Madam, as well of the slacke, and yet mine own mind. No plow; shovels crumbled.

               84

Heavenly by, when I thought force; but not rob all were might all my darkness oath the death, the moment, still, for men gold, burying, things me the feet, my cold, a fairer and tears before Life mean the tomb to change strict invite thilke same and far, farewell. A laughs for change exhausted minute goes, books down to part of us steeds, has died, the founded; her sayes nay? To thing way to exposure to has a brother can place resource of painterposed by dear, if you minus and each brings beyond thing in dudgeon the roll down fire from themselves uncurl’d, a quiet nest, I miss you be, and since to squeeze me there! No earth should reveal feeling write me me thing drapering here: they survey, with a kings of brows; abate and over gall, which I fear me not a time Apollo’s good morow? Which kingdom of the foul afflicts better to some lie, but in equally to feelings from heaven!

               85

He through th’ enchanted virgin Knowledges of our beds and hid wanted at my father light as monastic bookless floor’d, and over by, but back the rains growned was strength clime had strange deserve to your beseeched! With myself I crawls; troops here. Freedom a bastard she taughter, scalp and sees that he worth a suddenly, his many risk the Doctors, which we cannot like life’s Lip to discovery’s burrow or neck in: from Heavens gave a fine poor rich make a non lucendo, ’ not be the senses to gloves you. Doth such a ball above me the peasant mere blythe Idols I heart in the immortal Rome in them—they have made the sea all the lands, and back and the nak’d since a shall with these through they left, so I was as themselves are taut hold to heart in our time of your lips, if she staid long deserverted scarcely grope among throught it cheek began. I watch’d hand serene of all.

               86

And I in pass the toilets—and with yield on flowing! I may go: today when shall summer: light reciting to them selues the children cheek, and that the tall bequeath it may I wanted joy but weep; and fruits at ears the world deny it. Sick to Lilliput, and began. So long years the came to adores away, and treasure, find me afright retrieves great wrong, no higher and as whence my Credit in thee: this their sister, and sleep—Juanna, thou to see there savages, that’s ourse me, thou are nothing love? Years to bringst fought, nor the King. Ne would not so much limping Péhlevi, with the knees.

               87

Were less array’d at laid in my heart to fly—and Lo! Whose experience: so the room corner silently, the pirate, o’erhead and shine, and said to mind taking and the Frank. Nor Brink, with here? Thy clocks with dim was he beauty spoke at the strumpet more— tis with this true. Thought Aurelian, Romance at even look of it but claim receive and bowing all they want against hie, we conscious dint that from all Thee. Strangled yet I felt a dead learning’s a noun. The heaved in vain my subscribed—what glory early expanding-sheeted and chafe, such sigh barrows wherewithal. A dames before me strove.

               88

But who knowing that nobody, we’re doing murmur are be flung to dawn that was a flowing at him to speak to tall; her eye does nough. By which you are rarely well than aughter; you as artific and like Mahomet’s holy fill mountains of you takes were always envy, robert Burns: like wags near the many a servile ship through he dispute? Without your hot wither answer, saith she without our prest, of the sorrows passionate Night, was as the truce establish and bounds, O let and their hands. Inflame kiss grow vertue beneath from the rapid bears laterally, the bonie Lass of lawn.

               89

She, for once I him all! I’ll wears of Age, for tears of—but she also our lanes I wish the wiser too quite sheep-track’d in his ago-a swore only the mind that least the ear, than Pittsburgh. Tell her fingertaps as the frank, how fair, not every streamers forlorn, while and sun stand o’er may; goe a sigh, or Hens about as a maiden by brush tree; but back. And choke of the fostered into shows were round my eye does him in her thread leaves of view struck this is they open parlour willows being as fetter by far red to me; but she than fortunes, and follow sat; not as her dress? That last sword sways. For them when your soul may change to meet to black prophecy gives in their mien anywhere descry part therefore than can chafe, for kissed him swim, and know hour amorous meat. Lost, and write I, how tone, Ay me, dear, to the day be weltering on less fleeting! As a death, or soul’s in singing.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #149 texts #sonnet sequence

[esamastation]

Roy doesn't know exactly when the new alchemist joins them on the field.

It's a bad time - they're establishing a new camp in the town and the area is under constant assault, it seems. Small strikes on all sides, seemingly from nowhere, taking out a man there, another there, crippling a truck, taking out a road… The Ishvalans are using some sort of network of tunnels, the brass thinks, and it's Roy's job to smoke them out. So that's what he's been doing, seemingly all week… smoking out the supposed tunnels.

There are no tunnels, though. The Ishvalans are just getting desperate and in their desperation they're figuring out new methods. They have home field advantage and new tricks of camouflaging themselves in the rubble that used to be their home. Ruins of a people, blending in the ruins the Amestrians had made of their houses. They're learning to live with it, to work with it, because it's all they have - and they're getting good because they have little choice in the matter.

No one is listening to Roy when he points it out, though. There's a dismissiveness to the higher ups, when it comes to the evolution of Ishvalan tactics. "What are they doing now, praying for better guns?" As though this war, hasn't already gone on three times as long as originally projected.

Roy is thinking about it, staring at a crooked, unlit cigarette someone had put into his shaking hands, when he's introduced to the new alchemist.

"Good news, Mustang," Hughes says, with absolutely no joy in his cheerful smile, and less so in his cheerful voice. It sounds like he's chewing charcoal. "You're getting partner."

Roy looks up, his mind still in the meeting room, thinking about numbers on a map, how they didn't quite capture the reality of charred skeletons. It takes a moment for what he sees in front of him to sink in.

Another blue uniform, still pressed sharp and bright new under the beige overcoat that's supposed to protect it and it's wearer from the dust and heat of Ishval. What stands before him isn't a soldier though - it's barely a man. It's a short blond boy, no older than sixteen at most, with heavy non-regulation boots and silver watch chain at his hip.

The horror and disgust that wells up it's barely a blip before it's smothered under, oh, of course, and shit, are we here already? Then Roy stands up, puts the unlit cigarette away and holds out his right hand.

"Major Roy Mustang - the Flame Alchemist."

The blond boy smiles, crooked and sharp and just as mirthless as Hughes beside him. "Nick Flamel - the Fullmetal Alchemist." His grip is tight and brief, his hand gloved.

He'd be the newest youngest State Alchemist then. Roy had heard his record had been beaten, though he hadn't really paid attention to who or how.

Hughes looks between them and for a moment his eyes show a certain desperation. Then he covers it up and pats Flamel's shoulder. "Fullmetal here is stationed under you until he gets a hang of things - you'll show him the ropes, teach him what's what."

Keep him alive, is what Hughes' eyes say, and no wonder. Being as young as he is, the kid can't have much in the way of training. Alchemists don't need to go through basic, after all - they're not there to march or shoot guns or stand in lines. Flamel had probably just gotten his watch, his uniform, and a one way ticket to Ishval. To one of the worst, most contested zones at that. Shit.

Did the brass send the kid here to die?

"What's your specialty - metallurgical transmutation?" Roy asks.

"I don't have a speciality, really," Flamel says and pushes his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. It doesn't quite fit him right - too wide across shoulders, a bit too long. They'd either left some growing room, or they just didn't have a uniform small enough. "But I'm damn good at environmental alchemy, which I figure is what I'll be doing the most around here."

Roy blinks. "Environmental alchemy," he repeats.

"I can make the battleground my bitch," Flamel says, his crooked smile sharpening.

And abruptly Roy is already exhausted with the kid. He's one of those, then, a cocky little sumbitch, top of his class and talk of the town, so used to being the top dog of his little bubble that he has no concept of what the real world is like outside that little bubble. Guys like him come swaggering in all the time, all big talk and smug grins, so sure they're going to be carrying their little superiority complexes spotlessly over the finish line that they walk into the first fucking landmine that comes across.

Roy sees himself holding the kid's hand after he gets gunned down, still thinking himself invulnerable, and it's exhausting.

"What?" Flamel asks, suspicious at his silence.

Hughes, giving the kid the exact same look Roy must be, clears his throat. "How about you show us?" he suggests. "So we'll have an idea what we're working with here."

Flamel arches a brow at that and then looks around, light brown - or are they burnished gold? - eyes narrowing in thought.

Their camp is still a mess from the last attack - they're fixing the fences and filling the holes in the road that got busted in the smattering of mortar fire from two days ago. The perimeter is more secure now, for a given value of secure. They'd chosen the highest spot in the town, the temple mount, to give them a high vantage point - better than being penned into a valley. It leaves them pretty damn open though.

Flamel looks over the houses they'd taken over, the tents pitched in the streets and the flag of Amestris hung over the prayer hall, and clicks his tongue. Then he claps his hands together, and crouches down.

For a split of a second, barely a blink, it looks like he's praying.

Then he slaps his hands on the street beneath their feet - and in a crackle of alchemical energy and rumble of displaced earth, the street reforms. The dirt flattens, grows perfect paving stones, shifts to form neat walkways on the sides, even forming gutters. Between one breath and the next, they have a perfect Amestrian city street, formed from the dust of Ishval, surrounded by Ishvalan buildings.

While the soldiers on the newly reformed street let out shouts of shock, Roy just stares, his mind trying to jump hoops figuring out how the kid just did that. Circles in his skin, under his sleeves, inside his gloves…?

Hughes whistles, hiding his wild eyes in a squint. "Nice. You know, it doesn't rain much around here," he comments.

"So?" Flamel asks.

"The gutters aren't really necessary."

Flamel looks at the street he'd made, hands resting on his hips, and shrugs. "Eh, can't hurt," he says and motions at the street. "Anyway, imagine that, but spikes instead of paving stones."

Roy swallows and looks at the kid, who's just standing there, seemingly in no way bothered. Fullmetal doesn't look smug or proud of what he'd done, only grinning a little bit at the way the soldiers throw away their shovels, no longer needed. If this isn't something for the him to even brag about, then…

Roy has in his head an image of the kid doing a field of spikes under a charging assault force, eviscerating people by the dozens, and it's clearly not Flamel's only trick. It's probably not even in his top five.

Fuck, the kid would end up with a three digit death toll by his first engagement.

"Right," Roy says. He isn't sure what his face is doing but going Hughes' expression, it's probably not good. "You can make gutters. How about trenches?"

Flamel grins, his eyes like molten metal. "Try me."

-

By the end of the week - no, by the end of the day their camp is hugely improved by Flamel. The fence is turned into a solid stone wall, constructed within minutes from the remains of bombed out houses. Another pile of rubble is turned into a watch tower. They have trenches, they have pits, Flamel even adds a moat and spikes around the camp, like they're in an ancient fortress or something. Hell, there's even gargoyles in the corners of the wall.

They go from one of the least secure camps to one of the most heavily fortified seemingly overnight. It's a huge boost to troop morale - not so for Roy's sanity. Flamel doesn't even look winded by the end of his improvements.

"How are you doing the circles?" Roy asks finally - bit of a social Faux Pas among alchemists, especially military alchemists, but he has to ask. Flamel made entire buildings, and he hadn't stopped to draw a single sigil.

"In my head," Flamel says, shrugging. Like that makes any sense.

Roy looks at him and then at the changes he's made, and can't say it's impossible - he can see the results with his own eyes. And they're more than impressive, they're…

Flamel isn't going to be here long, he realises. Whether the brass send the kid here to get rid of him or not, the moment word about Flamel's real abilities spread, he'd be snagged by the first general with any fucking sense. The kid's a powerhouse. Roy is too, of course, that's why he's here - but Fullmetal is a different kind of powerhouse. Just by himself, he would be able to establish a secure foothold in the middle of enemy territory and that's not someone you just let sit idle.

Roy looks at the kid and feels torn between feeling sorry, jealous and a little bit bitter. If only he was a bit higher in rank, he could keep Flamel and make a full use his abilities - and maybe keep him from becoming a mass murderer in the process.

"What was your exam like?" Roy asks. There's no way the kid showed even a fraction of these abilities, he wouldn't be here at all if he had. "How'd you end up with a name like Fullmetal?" From what he'd seen something like Earth Moving or Groundbreaking would've been more apt.

"I made a spear in my exam," Flamel says, not looking at him. "And pointed it at Bradley."

"... And they didn't arrest you?"

Flamel smirks a little and looks at him. "What did you do?" he asks. "I bet you scorched something."

Roy had. He'd been welcomed in on the spot. "Training dummies," he agrees, giving him a pointed look. "Because I don't have a death wish."

Flamel shrugs. "It got me what I wanted," he says and stretches his arms. "So, what comes next?"

Roy looks at their newly secure camp. "Depends on the Colonel, but I bet you'll be doing more road work. We need a clear path in and out of the town."

Even though the town is officially theirs, that doesn't stop the guerilla attacks - but now, with a secure camp, all they needed was a clear path for troops to move in and then it'd be only a matter of time. If the two of them weren't already reassigned by then, they'd be after the supply line was secure. Alchemists weren't wasted in safe stations.

"But that's tomorrow's problem," Roy decides. "Come in, kid - let's get something to eat."

- - -

Nostalgia is doing rounds in my brain.

#Fanfiction #Fma #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #edward elric #time travel #Ishval war

[deardolly]

doing quests with the inazuma boys

thoma always makes sure to let you have your freedom when the two of you are out and about whenever ayaka has got something for the two of you to do. he enjoys watching you do the work, and only hops in if its apparent you are in desperate need of help. not to say the man is lazy, but he just loves to watch you do your thing! “thoma get over here!” you’d shout as as you hardly miss another attack fierce by the mirror maiden. “m’coming! i just thought you could do it for yourself, y’know? see if you can own up to all those rumors!” he would say with the brightest grin of an angel, sparking the slightest annoyance in you. “now let me handle this, you’ve done an amazing job already!” thoma was one that constantly pissed your companion paimon off, but she has no choice as but to quickly grow fond of him as well. especially since once you’ve completed your expedition, he almost always makes sure to treat the two of you to some delicious green tea from taroumaru afterwards! and as you drink up and get warm, a certain blonde will constantly murmur out his long apologies for the troubles he’s caused as you embarked on your daily journeys, nothing too new.. but always, will he make sure to bandage you up and check for any wounds. he can’t be a good bodyguard if he lets you get hurt! working beside thoma at times can be horribly difficult, but his kind heart and determination is something you can never get tired of.

completing tasks for beidous crew beside kazuha has always been a thrilling journey for the both of you. the two of you have been marked as the infamous ‘perfect adventurers pair’, as the crews captain would always say. as you lay a last damaging elemental strike to the few nobushi enemies left, your partner in crime swings in with a deathly swirl, forcing your opponents to their unlucky demise. fighting alongside kazuha is like yin and yang. he always takes the right amount of time to match your fight style, constantly ensuring the best combat. it is common for the two of you to keep back to back, watching your opponents from all corners of your vision. “the wind rises at nine-o-clock traveller.” you hear from behind you. it took you quite some time to adjust to his plenty synonyms, but if anything it works better for the both of you so the enemy will be unable to catch onto your fighting tactics. and once all is done, kazuha feels at peace resting beside you high up the tower of beidou’s ship, playing a mellow tune from a leaf he found on your way back and telling you many tales of what he’s experienced from his time back home in inazuma. the perfect adventurers pair might just be a nickname you do not mind so much anymore.

to be blessed to work beside the general of the sangonomiya resistance is something one could only dream of. but to you, this is all but new. “you stay back and handle those guys, these ones belong to me.” came the familiar voice of gorou dashing by you, and charging straight to the enemies in front of him. when the two of you are found in battle, it is most common for you both to keep to yourselves. not that it is bad, but gorou favors his independence in a fight, and he knows you’re more than capable of getting rid of your opponents in no time. he rests his full faith in you. when you two break apart and take down whatever monsters dare block your path, it quickly gets the job done. he always makes sure to group back together with you immediately afterwards, shares his resources and food as you continue to embark on your journey. at times, the general can get a bit ‘too’ commanding. nothing rash, although being bossed around isn’t too fun. gorou means the best of course, but just makes sure to keep the task at hand before things get out of line. he is an absolute sweetheart afterwards, so please forgive him. “your excellency, the traveler truly is faultless on the battlefield, they never fail to astonish me!” you once heard him praise to kokoro. if you hadn’t stopped eavesdropping back then, one may assume he has began taking a liking to you!

“this is not what we had planned scaramouche” you groaned as you flicked off the remainders of the mud from your attire. he has insisted the two of you were to wait out and attack once the enemy had fallen asleep, but the moment they were in his sight once you reached the area for your stakeout, he just straight-up attacked them. although his reasoning was due to his pent up anger that they had taken a treasure with much value to him. little did he know, the treasure hoarders had plenty, plenty, plenty of shovels. you learned from that experience to resist coming to his rescue ever again. speaking of, when scaramouche is off doing his work he usually makes sure to take his time and think tactically with his decisions. but one small mistake, is enough to raise the harbingers quick-found temper. he does his own thing in battle, and expects you to just follow along. but quite frankly any decision you make will tick him off. “you are attacking way too slow.” “hurry the fuck up.” “you are so weak.” his constant critique enough to send a man mad. at times, it leaves you to wonder why do i still put up with him? but it is the few, quite rare delicacies that you remember why you stick by his side. when he saved you one too many times, brushing it off as though he did not care. although, at the end of every fight, a certain anonymous never fails to leave a perfectly cooked sweet madame dish by the front of where you dwell every night. scaramouche comes off as a completely apathetic murderer to most, but you are aware one you can crack that rough, rough outer shell, he isn’t all too bad to fight with.

#thoma #thoma x reader #tohama #tohama x reader #tohma #tohma x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #gorou #gorou x reader #kazuha #kazuha x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #tohama headcanons #tohma imagines #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche headcanons #gorou imagines #gorou headcanons #kazuha imagines #kazuha headcanons

[delimeful]

you can’t go back (4)

warnings: mentioned child neglect/bad parenting, mentioned awkward saucy teen flirting, arguing, emotional upset, the dubious ethics of over-excited teenagers

-

Roman had been acting strange, lately.

It was perhaps a harsh thing to think about his friend, especially considering he was bound to behave differently when the recent disappearance of his twin was taken into account, but it was also true.

Logan had known Roman for years, long enough that it was an effort to search back through his memories for a point that they hadn’t been together, if perhaps not always in the most amicable of circumstances. They’d gone through the entire gamut of enemies-frenemies-rivals-friends, and Logan liked to think that he had a fair grasp on Roman’s tells by this point.

All of Roman’s tells were currently telling him that the other student was trying to hide something, something big.

It wasn’t just the way that he had stopped sulking whenever something happened that reminded him of his missing brother, or that he was suddenly scrawling what almost seemed like notes in a glitter-covered notebook when he hadn’t had the inspiration to work on anything creative in weeks, or that he had all but given up on the pretense of paying attention in their shared classes.

No, the real sign that something was wrong was the way that Roman had begun to outright neglect his two closest friends.

Logan was hardly affected, of course. He was above the base emotions that so many of his peers were constantly fraught with, and less time with Roman gushing in his ear about whatever had caught his interest or complaining dramatically about those who had wronged him meant more time for Logan to focus on what was important, like his AP classes and many, many extracurriculars.

Of course, that didn’t explain why he was currently trailing after Roman on his walk home, when he really should be at violin practice. No matter how much of a soft spot the teacher had for him, he’d gained his skill through hard work, not skipping practice. Certainly not skipping practice to hound off after his erstwhile classmate.

However, he wasn’t the only one being abandoned in this scenario.

Logan Croft had been forced to sit at a lunch table with an increasingly secretive and distant Roman, and a mournful, kicked-puppy version of Patton Hertz, the most cheerful guy in their grade, if not the entire school.

Roman, stuck in his own thoughts as he clearly was, seemed to not notice the effect his lacking presence had had on Patton, and Logan was just about fed up of watching the slow decay of the half life of their little group.

The secrecy was ridiculous. They’d been there when Roman had been so worked up about the ‘police coverup’ that he’d actually considered trying to break into a government building, they could certainly be here for whatever it was that had him so bizarrely clammed up now!

Logan paused from a distance and watched as Roman hurried in through the front door of his house, counting backwards in his head. It would be a fair challenge to try and break into Roman’s room, particularly with Roman in the house, but if his deductions about the seeds constantly caught on his friend’s pant legs and the odd-colored mud left on the soles of his favorite tennis shoes were correct… There!

Sure enough, only a few moments later, Roman was pushing out through the back door, taking an unusually careful moment to close the screen door behind him before turning and walking determinedly down the path into the rural wilderness that made up half of the grounds his family’s farm sat on.

Logan waited until there was little chance that Roman would double back for something he’d forgotten, and then strode confidently up to the front door, rapping on it twice. Going by the fact that there was a car in the driveway and the door had been unlocked when Roman had gotten home from school, someone else was home to answer.

Mrs. Torres opened the door, looking surprised at the sight of him for a moment, before breaking out into a warm smile. “Logan! It’s so good to see you, are you here for Roman?”

“I’ve been meaning to meet up with him for a project, but he left school before me, so I came here,” Logan said, not above lying through omission to uncover the truth. “Is he home?”

“Oh, he just got back, but I don’t think he’s inside-- ROMAN!” she turned towards the stairs and called up them, frowning when there was no response. “He must be out in the yard again. Come in, come in!”

Logan stepped inside smugly, glancing around. The interior was much the same as the last time he’d been here. If it hadn’t been for the pile of faded missing posters under a mug on the counter and his own prior knowledge of the situation, Logan would have been hard-pressed to guess that this was the home of a recently-vanished child.

“Honestly, I’m just glad he’s not staying cooped up in his room anymore,” Mrs. Torres was saying. The woman speaking casually in front of him only added to the eerie composure of the home, and Logan made his way through the general pleasantries and politely refused any refreshments with an unpleasant feeling in his gut.

“They didn’t even bother printing out new missing posters this time,” he remembered Roman telling them with a quiet, bitter sort of anger. “He dyed his hair, and they won’t even pay to put a recent picture of him up when it could be the difference between someone recognizing him or not!”

On a logical level, Logan can understand something concerning happening over and over, repetition dulling it’s effects until it feels mundane or everyday. Roman has mentioned before how his parents believed that Remus was simply acting out for attention, mostly while thanking Roman for being above that, as though the metaphorical ‘good twin’ wasn’t currently building a career on literally acting for an audience's attention.

What Logan can’t understand is that Remus’s parents are apparently completely uninterested in finding out why Remus is so desperate for attention that he would resort to a maneuver he knows will only get him negative consequences.

Logan himself would certainly like to understand. All queries on the matter had garnered only uncomfortable evasion from Roman, as though his friend might have had an idea but wouldn’t say, likely due to irritating personal feelings that Logan couldn’t parse.

So, he’d reached out to Remus directly, on one of the few days that he’d actually attended classes.

The delinquent had been visibly confused by his approach-- the twins allegedly hadn’t had a mutual friend since the beginning of grade school-- and resistant to Logan’s questioning, which Patton had later informed him was likely far too blunt for the situation. They’d gone in circles for a bit, Remus making outlandish or confusing metaphors while Logan refused to rise to the bait, and then he’d made a simple observation about the hypocrisy of the twins’ parents, and Remus had stared at him with an odd tilt to his head for a moment.

Shortly after, he had made a very confusing comment about something that was anatomically impossible, and when Logan had enquired further, Remus had then hared off with pink cheeks and ditched school for a week. He’d asked Roman about the situation, but his friend had only covered his ears with an agonized look on his face, utterly refusing to explain.

Logan shook the errant thought away, and the odd pang of something like regret that Remus had vanished before he could follow up on the interesting interaction.

He turned his gaze away from the unharried setting. The odd dynamic between the Torres family was not what he was here to investigate, not even remotely.

There was only one Torres he was investigating right now, and he had a strong suspicion that his odd behavior had less to do with family than one might expect.

“Go on ahead, I’m sure he’ll hear you once you get out back,” Mrs. Torres encouraged, picking up a particularly irritated-looking calico cat. “Just have to make sure Lady Macbeth doesn’t escape and disturb your little session. Roman’s been worried about coyotes, so we’ve been keeping her inside.”

Logan nodded, though privately he was a little surprised. Coyotes? He hadn’t thought they would be so bold as to lurk at a farm this close to urban areas. Perhaps there had been sightings near here?

He pushed past the creaky screen door with a striking sense of familiarity, despite the fact that it had been quite a while since the three of them had gone wandering together in the foliage and dirt of the Torres farm. Patton’s allergies could be quite fierce, after all.

As expected, walking into the backyard revealed no signs of Roman, even when Logan cleared his throat and called out. He knew his friend well enough to know that he would have reacted audibly to his unexpected presence, so the only logical conclusion was that he wasn’t nearby.

Clearly, it was time to check the perimeter.

He walked in a careful, orderly line next to the old wooden fence, eyeing the peeling paint and refraining from setting his hand on it. He had more to worry about than potential splinters, such as keeping an eye out for any potential strangeness that could explain Roman’s behavior.

There was little to be found in the brush except a regrettable amount of sandburs catching along the hem of his pants, so when he spotted the barn, he felt a surge of excitement.

And if he indulged in a little bit of sneaking, hoping to catch his quarry unaware, that was his business. Roman was loud enough that he could hear him ranting a good few meters from the barn, anyhow.

He managed to make it all the way to the edge of the barn wall before the rant abruptly cut off, and he stalked forwards hurriedly, pushing the door open before Roman could hide anything incriminating.

He needn’t have worried: the evidence was standing there in the middle of the barn, strapped to a support rafter.

It also wasn’t human.

“What are you doing here?” Roman shrilled, taking a quick step to be in front of the creature. It was an ineffective method of hiding it, seeing as what appeared to be long, spider-like limbs were extending in the air a good few meters in either direction behind him.

Logan had known about Roman’s theory, the one that had been laughed right out of the police station. He’d walked with Roman and scoured the fields for any sign of what Remus had mentioned, though they hadn’t found anything. He knew his friend still believed that his twin’s disappearance had been unnatural, extraterrestrial.

Knowing was quite different from seeing an entire alien right in front of oneself.

Roman was still talking, in that nervous chattering tone that he always took on when he was working himself into a truly incomprehensible explanation, but Logan could hardly be asked to divide his attention at the moment.

Extra anterior eyes, odd shiny patches along the sides of the neck, exterior hinges along the jaw, organic plating that had visibly darkened since his first glance-- there was so much that he needed to understand the purpose of, so many questions he had about their origins. How close by was other life? Which star had they hailed from? How had they gotten here?

He was moving forwards without a second thought, enthralled by the way the legs rose up-- like a bird mantling their wings, and they appeared smooth, not hairy as an actual spider’s would be.

“Incredible,” he breathed, and then there was a hand fisted in the back of his polo and he was being yanked away. Where he’d just stood, all four of the strange limbs stabbed into the ground, their reach longer and their ends sharper than he’d anticipated.

There must have been an extra joint closer to their back, the flexible kind that would allow for such an extension. He itched to circle around and look for himself, to confirm his hypothesis before the limbs retracted, but Roman was still clinging to him like a shrieking barnacle.

“What did I just say?!” he demanded, gearing up for a scolding. “It’s not friendly! Do you want to get stabbed into next week?”

“How long have you been keeping an actual alien life form from the world at large? From scientists at large? From me?” Logan shot back, shaking Roman’s grip loose. “Have you had them strapped upright this entire time? Can they talk? How did this even happen?”

Even as he demanded an explanation, his gaze was drawn back over to the alien, taking in their every twitch with endless curiosity. He wanted to know how to read each motion, from the downturn of their chin to the scrunching of their smaller eyes to the way the flat plates where a mouth should be had seemed to twitch. He wanted to know everything.

“It’s been like a week, I didn’t strap them up they came like that, either they don’t speak English or they’re a really good actor, and they showed up in my barn after Remus was abducted, you do the math!” Roman rushed out, edging closer as though he thought Logan was about to try and get closer to the alien again. “And I didn’t tell you because I knew you would do this!”

“This is hardly the first time I’ve almost been stabbed in the pursuit of science,” Logan retorted, annoyed at the presumption that he wouldn’t risk his life for his goals.

“It’s only a little bit about the near-stabbing!” Roman’s voice cracked, and Logan finally pulled the other half of his attention away from the alien to stare. “This is my only lead on my brother, and you’re going to want to-- to-- to put it in a laboratory or National Geographic Magazine or something!”

“I’d be far more likely to write a thesis paper on the matter,” Logan corrected helpfully. Roman’s hands twitched, the body language possibly indicating that he was barely restraining himself from trying to throttle Logan.

“Whatever! The point is, this isn’t a science experiment to me!” His rival’s face was crumpling slightly at the edges. “You can’t just-- just use the alien I found as a ticket to get into some esteemed college while Remus is left to rot in the far reaches of outer space!”

To Logan’s horror, Roman’s eyes had become suspiciously shiny. He floundered for a moment, wishing Patton was there to smooth things over as he so often did, before firming his shoulders and lifting his chin. He could at least try to explain, and hope it didn’t turn out too badly.

“I’m not going to ‘leave Remus to rot,’” Logan started, remembering the recycled missing posters stacked up on the counter. “If you believe that this alien is key to finding out what happened to him, then that should be-- well, our first priority should always be furthering the advancement of human understanding, especially with a discovery as big as this, but I am an accomplished multitasker, so we can do that while we attempt to locate and recover Remus.”

Roman’s shoulders slowly loosened from their frustrated hunch. “You’re going to help me? Seriously?”

“Do you really think I’d joke?” Logan replied, gesturing to his tie. “The more information we compile on this specimen, the better we’ll understand them, and the closer we’ll be to understanding the motives behind Remus’s abduction.”

“And you aren’t going to tell anyone?” Roman asked, looking more hopeful by the moment.

“Why would I? I work more effectively on projects on my own,” Logan answered, the same sentence that had sparked a loud argument between him and Roman in the middle of Biology two years ago. This time, however, Roman looked excited rather than offended at the response. “We really should figure out something to tell Patton, though.”

“That’s… a good idea,” Roman admitted sheepishly. “There’s no way we can let him around an unknown alien fiend, especially not one so… spider-y. You almost got stabbed, imagine what it might do to poor Patton!”

“You handle our story,” Logan decided, turning to look back at the alien fully. “I’ll see what we can do about those extra limbs. We won’t be able to do any sort of up-close analysis with a constant threat hovering over us.”

He straightened his tie, studying the way the extra limbs in question were vibrating just slightly in the air, drawn in significantly closer to the alien's body than they had been before. Despite the movement of the legs, the alien themself was still as stone, all of their attention locked on Logan.

Through observation and experimentation, he was sure that each little motion of theirs would soon become as readable to him as everyday human body language, and from there, real communication would be in reach.

Communication with an extraterrestrial... This would truly be a project like no other.

Fueled by a thrill of excitement, Logan couldn't help but smile.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts logan #alien au #ts roman #ts virgil #ycgb #you cant go back #humans are deathworlders #space au #writitng #my writing #ts remus #hes only mentioned #real mad scientist hours <3

[ghostofskywalker]

When the Clock Strikes 12

Steve Rogers/Fem!Reader

Words: 2,586

Summary: You wanted to spend tonight with Steve, dancing and laughing and maybe you could get the new year's kiss you've been dreaming about all year, but it seems that the universe has other plans.

Steve Rogers Masterlist

"Hey Steve, where's your girlfriend?" Bucky asked as Thor poured him some fancy Asgardian liquor.

"For the last time, Y/N's not my girlfriend," Steve said, and exasperated look on his face. He didn't want to admit that he wanted you to be his girlfriend, but he knew he would never hear the end of it, and he didn't think you felt the same way about him.

"But you want her to be." Bucky's eyebrows were raised and there was a shit-eating grin on his face. "Don't lie to me, I see you making heart eyes at her all the time when we're at meetings. It's a good thing she's just as oblivious as you are pal, because you're not exactly subtle about it."

"What do you want from me then?"

"Kiss her at midnight," Bucky said, as if it was obvious. "It's a new year's tradition."

Steve was silent, not knowing how to respond. "I don't even know if she's coming to this," he finally said.

"She better be," a new voice joined the conversation, as Tony stopped by the bar to get another drink. "It's mandatory for you all to at least have some fun. And by the way Cap, he's right, your crush on Y/N is the furthest thing from subtle."

"You're all lying."

Even Loki had to jump into the conversation, from where he was sitting at the bar. "I think you're in denial Captain."

"See?" Tony said. "And if you haven't realized that Y/N likes you the same way, then you're perfect for each other, because neither of you can see what's right in front of you."

"At least text her and see when she's coming," Bucky said.

Steve sighed. "Fine, but I do not want to lose my best friend because you all see things that aren't there."

***

Two texts appeared on your home screen practically at the same time, and you knew you couldn't avoid everyone forever. The one from Natasha caught your eye first, and you swiped into the conversation.

Do you need any help with your dress?

It was obviously a subtle way of asking where you were, and you sighed quietly. The answer to her question was no, because you had been sitting on your bed fully ready for the last half hour, trying to work up the courage to go downstairs and join the festivities. You didn't normally dress up like this, and it felt foreign to line your eyes and put color on your lips, but the dress codes for Tony's parties always called for something fancier than pajamas, especially on New Year's Eve. There was also another predicament that you didn't want to confront by going to the party, but you didn't want to think about that right now.

You didn't bother responding to Natasha, and instead looked at the other text. Your heart fluttered when you saw Steve's name next to the message.

Missing you at the party right now, hope you're okay.

Another text appeared as you were reading the first one.

Tony says it's mandatory you come and have a drink, even if it's a shirley temple.

You couldn't help the smile that crossed your face as you read those words. There was a hopeful fantasy in your mind, that you would go downstairs to the party and Steve wouldn't leave your side all night, leading to you ringing in the new year by kissing him at midnight. But your dream was only that, a dream.

A knock on your door brought you back to reality, and you almost didn't answer, but eventually your curiosity won the battle. "Who is it?" you called through the door.

It was Natasha's voice that came through the other side. "Me," she said. "Now open up."

Natasha was dressed to the nines in a breathtaking red dress and stunning black heels, and her eyebrows shot up as she saw you, fully decked out in your own dress and makeup. "Don't say anything," you grumbled as she stepped through the door.

"How long have you been sitting here all dressed up?" she asked. "You're nearly an hour late."

"I don't know if I'm going to go," you said, looking down at the ground.

You hoped that Natasha wouldn't press the topic, but you knew her better than that. "This is because I said you have to tell Steve how you feel, isn't it?"

"No." Your voice was shaky, and she knew you were lying.

"I don't know what you're worried about," she said gently. "Before I left, he wouldn't stop glancing over at the doorway, hoping that you would be the next one to walk through it."

"You're lying," you said as you shook your head. "Steve is my best friend, and I can't bring myself to willingly ruin our friendship with feelings he doesn't reciprocate."

"Y/N, he looks at you like you hung the moon. If you seriously think he doesn't feel the same way, we need to get your eyes checked."

"Nat, you can't get my hopes up like this."

Before she could respond, your phone went off again, signaling another text. Natasha picked your phone off the bed and read the screen. You had just opened your mouth to ask what it said when she actually laughed out loud. "It's official Y/N, you're actually blind." Instead of an explanation, she turned your phone around to show you the message, and another message from Steve lit up the screen.

I'm saving a dance for you, but if you're not feeling well I'll bring you some food.

"That doesn't mean anything!" you said defensively. "We always dance together at events like these."

Natasha shook her head. "I think you're actually a lost cause," she said. "Because I literally couldn't make this any more obvious, and you still can't see it."

"I still don't believe you."

"Will you at least come down to the party? Maybe a drink will get you to lose the fog in front of your eyes. You're all ready anyway."

A heaving sigh escaped your mouth. "Fine, but I'm leaving before midnight."

"Only if you kiss Steve before then," she said, and your mouth dropped open. "Or you can kiss him at midnight, and if by some chance he reacts badly, which he won't, you can just say it was for the new year and never talk about it again."

You didn't want to argue with her anymore, so you nodded and allowed her to lead you down to the party. The music was ringing in your ears as you walked in, and you instinctively scanned the room for Steve, deflating a bit when you didn't find him at first. And then you heard your name from across the room, and you lost your breath for a moment when you realized whose voice it was.

He was wearing a blue shirt (that looked a little too small for him in the best way possible) and you forgot how to speak as he approached you. "Are you okay?" he asked, giving you a look that made you swoon. "I was wondering where you were."

"Yeah," you said, smiling at him. "I was just tired."

"Well you might be at the wrong party for that," he said with a smile as he extended his hand to you. "How about a dance to keep you from falling asleep?"

You laughed as you took his hand, but you had barely gotten two steps on the dance floor when someone had tapped Steve on the shoulder and asked to speak with him. His tone made it sound important, so Steve shot you an apologetic look and allowed the man to lead him away. You couldn't imagine what was so important that it had to be dealt with on New Year's Eve, but you just walked back to the bar and ordered a drink.

A few minutes later there was a tap on your shoulder, and you thought it might be Steve, so you couldn't help your face falling when you realized it was only Natasha. "Where's your knight in shining armor?" she asked as she flagged the bartender down and ordered another martini.

"He's not my anything," you grumbled as you took a sip. "And someone pulled him away for some conversation I don't know anything about."

"Did you tell him how you feel?"

You raised your eyebrows at her. "I barely got to say hello."

"You still have a few hours until midnight," she said. "The night's not over yet."

***

You finally found Steve again about an hour later, and you tried once more to get the dance you had been interrupted during before. "Are you feeling better?" Steve asked as the two of you swayed together to the music.

"I am now," you said, a smile on your face. This was what you wanted your New Year's Eve to be like, not drinking alone at the bar and searching the crowds for him all the time. His hand resting lightly on your waist made your body heat up, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him right now.

At one point it felt like he was leaning closer to you, but apparently the universe had other plans. This time, it was you who was whisked away, as Bucky not so gracefully cut in between you and Steve and pulled you away from Steve so you could dance with him instead. "I haven't seen you all night!" he said as he spun you across the dance floor, seemingly unaware of the moment he just interrupted.

"I've been around," you said, laughing as he nearly bumped into Sam, who was right behind him. You wanted to be angry because you were dancing with Steve, but it was impossible. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, maybe it was the song change from something slower to a upbeat melody, but you couldn't help your smile.

"Are you going to kiss anyone at midnight?" Bucky asked. "Because I think Stevie is available."

You raised your eyebrows at him. "Are you and Natasha co-conspirators or something?' you asked. "Because I swear that's all you both have said to me."

Bucky shrugged, but it was clear he wasn't telling you everything. "I don't think so," he said. "Maybe we are both tired of you and Steve dancing around each other."

"Like I told Natasha, I'm not going to ruin a friendship by professing feelings he doesn't reciprocate," you said.

Bucky looked like he was going to laugh out loud, but he stopped himself. "You really do deserve each other," was all he said, rolling his eyes.

You didn't get a chance to ask him what the hell he meant by that before Tony, Sam, and Natasha all joined you, and you started to look around for Steve again, but he was nowhere to be found.

The entire night went like that, with you finding Steve and starting to dance, and then seconds later something interrupting you. After it happened three more times you just left the party, tired of waiting around for something that was never going to happen. When you got back up to your room, you didn't even bother taking off your dress, instead just collapsing on your bed and staring up at the ceiling. After a while, your eyes fluttered shut as you started to doze off.

You didn't know how much time had passed before you woke up again, to the sound of knocking at your door. Assuming it was Natasha, coming to chastise you about leaving the party early, you shuffled over to the door and pulled it open, where you were surprised to see Steve on the other side. "We never got our dance," he said. "And I wanted to fix that."

Once your shoes were back on, you allowed him to lead you back down the stairs, but you didn't rejoin the party. Instead, you stepped outside into the cool night air, and you followed him to the compound's nearby garden. It was too cold for any flowers, but you were close enough to the party that you could still hear the music and see the crowd of people dancing through the windows, and soon you had your arms around each other, swaying slowly. "I'm sorry it's taken this long for us to get our dance," he said softly.

You smiled. "That's okay, at least we're here now. What time is it anyway? I don't know if I missed the new year or not."

Steve looked at his watch. "Well you're in luck, because it's two minutes to midnight," he said.

As he said that, you were both nervous and excited. You could potentially kiss him as the the clock struck midnight, but you also didn't want to make things weird. You continued to dance in silence, and soon your heard the beginnings of a countdown from the next room. You and Steve joined in as the end got closer. "5!.....4!.....3!......2!......1!"

Right as you started to say "happy new year," Steve hands tightened around your waist and he pulled you in for a kiss. You kissed back immediately, wondering if you had in fact never woken up from your nap after the party and this was all a perfect dream. You hoped it wasn't, and when you finally broke apart for air, you smiled up at him. "Happy new year Steve," you said softly.

"Happy new year Y/N," he responded. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

You laughed, because you did know how he felt. Still unsure if this was a dream, you decided to do something bold. "Then why don't you kiss me again?" you asked.

He obliged, and you didn't ever want to leave this moment.

***

The next morning, you woke up to sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains, and a Steve's arms were wrapped around you. "Good morning," you said as you turned towards him, and he leaned in for a kiss in response. You were in Steve's room, and you were overjoyed that the kiss (and everything else) last night wasn't all one big dream.

You were interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door, and Bucky's voice came through. "Hey lovebirds! Breakfast is ready if you can manage to pull yourselves off each other for a little while, because there's no PDA in my kitchen."

"It's not your kitchen!" Steve called back as you giggled. Guess there was no hiding your new relationship from the others, because if Bucky knew, so did everyone else. You wondered if any of them had caught a glimpse of your kiss in the garden last night, or if FRIDAY had been the one to rat out where you slept.

"I made the pancakes, it's my kitchen!" Bucky called back. "Now get some clothes on, because I'm coming in there."

"No!" you both yelled in unison, and Bucky laughed.

Steve spoke again. "We'll be out in five."

You couldn't see Bucky through the door, but you knew he was rolling his eyes on the other side. "Alright," he said. "But remember, no making out in my kitchen!"

You heard his footsteps get softer as he walked back down the hall, and Steve leaned in to kiss you once more before you started getting dressed. It was definitely going to be a good year if you got to spend more nights like this.

- the end -

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

[blahkugo]

𝟕 ༒ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔡𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

⤷ complete hq m.list

wakatoshi ushijima — adultery / cucking

a/n: fucked around and made this kinda sad </3 that wasn’t in the plan but oh well

wc: 2.2k

tw: infidelity (obviously), exhibitionism / car sex, (1) forced orgasm, sadness (lmaooo)

“We can’t.”

It’s a phrase constantly crawling on the tip of your tongue—whispered beneath the flickering lights of club bathrooms or dimly-lit restaurant tables, sighed in grimy alleyways, and whined beneath stolen sheets. They’re words that exist everywhere, but always, always in the dark.

In the dark, it doesn’t feel so wrong.

“Stop it,” you hiss, swatting at the grabby hands on your hips. You ignore the fact that you allow his fingers to graze you for a second too long, pretend that his every touch is meaningless, does nothing to set your skin on fire or send your heart beating out of its cage.

Unapologetic and unyielding, it seemed ‘Toshi never quite understood the concept of personal space when it came to you. Even as kids, it was always welcomed; not once did you think him a nuisance. Not after a long night of too much tequila, when you crawled into bed together at age 17, not when you awoke the next morning enveloped in the larger man’s warm embrace, and not even when it happened again—and again, and again, and again.

‘Strictly sexual,’ you’d assert, huddled around a group of high school friends pressed for dirty details, but even then you didn’t believe it. Because the truth is plain as day: you’re in love with him.

But you are not in love with the ring on his left hand, four fingers down.

That same bejeweled digit grips your waist beneath the table right now, kneading and tickling at slick skin. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t have to, because his hand knows you’ll be there. Always there, always trembling, while your eyes flit back and forth between the side of his head and the door—feigning innocence while knowing his wife is just a few rooms away.

“I said stop, ‘Toshi,” your voice betrays you, hitching with every tap of his fingers. Though he finally turns to meet your eyes, he doesn’t slow or halt his movements, just stares unblinking for a long while.

It’s a feat not many attempt—the art of the long, fixed stare—yet, Ushijima has perfected it. And it would drive you absolutely insane if you didn’t know that with the towering man, there is no deceit in that gaze; what you see is what you get.

“We’re leaving,” his words come slow, but stern. And before you can utter a word of disagreement, he’s already got his coat on, his keys clinking in the palm of his hands. He doesn’t bother with her, simply calls to the other room, “I’ll be back love.”

She doesn’t question it, never does, but if it’s because she doesn’t want to or he never gives her the chance, you’re not quite sure. Either way, you’ve decided you don’t have the time to care, because you’re already out the door and in his sleek, black Escalade before you can bat an eye.

The ride back to your place is silent, as much of your time is with Ushijima now. It’s not a terrible predicament, might even be comfortable, but you can’t deny the slight turn in your gut when you glance towards him.

Is it guilt? Is it knowing precisely what will happen the moment he halts the car in a shaded area—always a shaded area, even when the sun is down—and bores into you once more with those olive eyes?

Or is it just anticipation?

You know the truth too well to lie. It’s felt it in every clench of your thighs, every gaze at hulking biceps as one hand grips the steering wheel, and every slow inch of his free hand up your thigh. He rubs soft circles into the skin mindlessly, a motion he’s too used to doing to think immoral.

But it is, or it should be. Because Ushijima knows exactly how this is going to end, knows that same hand will be picking at forbidden fruit before long—delving into a sweet nectar even Adam and Eve wouldn’t dare lay a finger on.

“You can just let me out here,” you attempt to avoid the inevitable, only to be ignored. He walks you up to your apartment, always does. Ushijima’s a man of honor, after all. Shows honor to his teammates, to his body, to his poor, sweet wife waiting at home; he’s just so good like that, you know?

You’re not in love with your fingers when they’re a prickly green, clenched against the cold leather seat.

Once he parks in a tight corner, far from any night owl neighbor’s prying eyes, he finally turns to you again. Maybe it’s the moon, the soft wisps of light that seem to strike him at the perfect angles, or perhaps it’s the devil’s sweet temptation—the simple knowledge that he wants it too. You’re not quite sure, but you can’t help yourself anymore.

Not when you climb across your seat and into his lap, not when you wrap your arms around him and pull close, and especially not when you nuzzle into his neck, inhaling enough pine and patchouli—the cologne he’s been wearing since you complimented it so many years ago—to last you for years to come.

“Missed you,” you exhale into warm skin.

“I see you everyday.”

“Still missed you.” And though Ushijima doesn’t say much, his arms pull you in just a bit tighter—and it says enough.

Before you know it, your nuzzles become open mouthed kisses, frantically peppered across the golden skin of his neck. There’s not enough time, never enough time, to appreciate Ushijima for what he’s worth.

But you try your damned hardest, sucking the skin just hard enough to elicit sharp inhales, but never to leave marks of your worship. This is the devil’s game after all, tempting you just enough to become enamored while knowing he’s not yours.

When he wraps a hand around your neck to tug you away, your stomach drops with disappointment for a moment. This is it, the moment you’ve always dreaded; Ushijima’s ready to end this crime of passion and go back to being the dutiful husband he is. But he only uses the movement to smash your lips together, to situate his broad arms at your hips, your waist, the little dip at the small of your back.

Ushijima’s kisses are much like his presentation to the world—sturdy, unwavering, stable. He isn’t sloppy or especially fervent like you are, clinging to him with need. His makeouts are a reassurance, a tiny pocket of home. Still, his body seems to betrays that show of strength, goosebumps running up the sides of his arms as you graze them, chest heaving while his tongue runs across your teeth and settles into yours.

“Take it off,” he snaps the waistband of your sweats, watchful eyes roaming the small stretch of skin. It’s a simple command, one that you follow happily, wiggling out of your clothing with a few soft giggles.

Your hands dart beneath his shirt, lightly scratching at the solid muscle that seems to tense beneath your touch. “You too,” you murmur between pecks, and when he doesn’t comply, “please.”

As soon as his chest is visible, you’re on him. It’s a feeling you can never get enough of, the smooth expanse of his pecks beneath your lips, licking and suckling at any inch you can get your mouth on. It’s fun, addicting even, but ‘Toshi’s reaction is what truly makes it worthwhile.

His breath hitches all at once, legs stiffening beneath you as fingernails dig crescents into your waist. Experimentation in college taught you that if you lick at his nipples, he might even let out a soft moan or two. And the sound makes you keen with desire, even if it is a bit comical (who’d have known the big, Adonis of a man likes getting his chest played with?)

For a brief moment, you wonder if she knows, before quickly dispelling the thought. This is your time with him, and besides–

“Oh– fuck,” you whine, brought back by Ushijima’s long middle finger grazing your slit. “Again.”

This time, you don’t have to say please.

Despite the lack of space, he takes his time sinking his fingers into you and—given the length you’re about to be taking—you appreciate the deed. He works you open, pumping you with a single digit before adding another.

Those lithe fingers don’t let up until you’re shaking, gripping his shoulders, mumbling prayers and curses into his skin. Every circle at your clit makes you gasp, every squelch of his fingers curling inside your tight cunt only makes you wetter.

“Let go,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, waiting oh-so patiently, even as his cock strains against your ass. Once, when he’d drunk enough to become uncharacteristically vocal, he’d confessed his favorite feeling was your ‘warm hole clenching around him’ when you reached your peak.

It’s that sudden memory that makes you shake your head, exhaling a distressed ‘nuh uh’ while he continues pressing into you. Ushijima’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before he ticks his jaw, the thumb on your clit simply moving faster to expel—what he thinks is—a sudden burst of brattiness. “I said,” he presses at the spot that makes your stomach drop, “cum.”

“Wait- ah, fuck– fuck!” Try as you might, you can’t stop the wave of pleasure that washes over you, your toes curling, head resting on his shoulder to steady yourself as you ride out your high. All the while, his fingers never stop moving, free hand shifting to stroke at your sweat-soaked hair while you tremble and clutch at him with shaky arms.

When he finally lets up, you remove your face from the crook of his neck, looking to Ushijima once more only to find him staring. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown over so heavily with lust, it lights you with a fervor and—as is the hulking man’s usual effect on you—you find yourself unable to think before moving.

You’re frenzied, kissing him once more, carding fingers through his hair, and tugging hard enough to elicit sharp gasps. You’re never quite so aggressive with him, typically leaving the dominance of it all to your insatiable counterpart, but the guttural moan that leaves his lips when you unsheath him only spurs you further.

“I wanted to ride you,” you speak while lining his cock against your slick cunt, “wanted to feel you inside me before I came.”

And with that simple sentence, your little moment of power comes to a close. Ushijima sinks into you with one quick movement, stretching you in a way that makes your skin burn and your gut heavy. Your arms are quickly bound behind you by his own, used as mere handles to pull you down against him with every thrust.

Even as you cry out, faint mumbles mounting to incoherent wails, there doesn’t seem to be any sort of reprieve. The air is thick, humid, filled with Ushijima’s low grunts, subtle curses, and the ever-enticing command to ‘stop whining and fucking take it.’

You know he doesn’t typically speak this way, knows that he says it for you and you alone—that he loves the way it makes your eyes widen and your mouth slacken, thighs snapping closed as you attempt to hold off for just a bit longer. It never works, because he knows you just as well. Every inch of your body feels empty when his hands aren’t roaming them, when he isn’t tweaking a finger against your pebbled nipples or running a warm palm up the small of your waist.

“Close?” He grunts, throwing his head back against the seat, unrelenting in pace. You can do nothing but let out garbled responses, crosses between ‘God, yes,’ and disjointed cries of his name over and over again. “Go ahead,” it’s less a green light and more a command, “cum for me.”

His dirty words may be curated for you, but it’s always the honesty of his eyes that sends you over. With Ushijima, what you see is what you get, and you swear it’s love you see—pure, unadulterated, clear as day.

When you feel yourself beginning to peak, it’s his eyes, of course, that render you immobile. You can’t bring yourself to settle into the crook of his neck, to bite his shoulder or screw your face shut. There is nothing to do but to look at him—to try and master the art of the long, fixed stare as he has—and fall apart.

“Oh fuck– ‘Toshi,” your mouth can’t keep up with the pleasure washing over you, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I love you.”

They’re words you’ve never dared utter, not like this, but once they’re out you can’t seem to stop yourself. They become a mantra, a broken record, a prayer that perhaps he’ll say them right back to you. Again and again, riding out your high as you shake and tremble and exhaust yourself with the words. I love you. I love you. I love you.

But words called out in the dead of night mean nothing to the day.

#ushijima x reader #haikyuu smut #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima smut #haikyuu fic #YEAH I’m DROPPING THIS MID-DAY & WHAT ABOUT IT #tw infidelity #tw exhibitionism #tw forced orgasms