#COUGH COUGH this with thee remains

[readingwriter92]

The hype I have for rereading a fic rn—

(Psst it’s this h50 one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255227/chapters/397369)

[lanafofana]

Cuckoo for a Cuckhold

(I forgot to take screenshots of daddy zevlor so have this instead, it still fits cause...well you'll see)

Just under the wire (depending on your timezone) DAY 5 for HalsinTavWeek has come crashing through the finish line! But Lana! Where is Day 4's prompt?? Shhhh, my beauties, it's sleeping.

Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F)/Zevlor Summary: It's a special occasion. Halsin wants to watch someone rail his wife. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warning/Tags: Modern AU, Cuckholding, smut, masturbation, established relationship, banter, P in V sex, innapropriate use of tiefling tail, consensual kink No beta, we die like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And lo, an AO3 link for thee

Sitting at a gaudy bar, heavy bass music thumping loud enough to make him regret having ears, and drinking some of the worst swill he’s ever tasted, Zevlor was not having a great time.

Despite being the only patron physically sitting at the bar the bartender seemed pathologically incapable of giving him the time of day. When he tries to wave him down and the man, yet again, turns to someone else walking up to order something, the tiefling grits his teeth, tail lashing and resists the overwhelming urge to give him the stern talking to he so richly deserves. 

“Excuse me,” says a warm friendly voice. “We noticed you across the bar and really dig your vibe. Would you be interested in fucking my wife?” 

Caught in the middle of draining his glass, the last sip of lager slips down the wrong pipe and Zevlor chokes, coughing and sputtering. Regaining his composure he wipes his mouth and turns to look at who’s approached him just in time to see the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen smack her hand against the thick bicep of, easily, the largest man he’s ever seen.

“Not like that!” The woman chastises with a mortified smile. When she turns her attention to Zevlor he feels his earlier irritation fade as if she contained some innate ability to soothe the ruffled feathers of grumpy old men. She hands him a napkin which he uses to dab at his chin while he eyes the pair expectantly. 

“Sorry,” she was explaining, with an exasperated glance at her husband. “He was raised by wolves.” 

“Bears,” the man corrects. 

“My heart, my love, pleasestophelping!” The man grins, pecking her on the head and settling himself down on a stool miming the action of zipping his lips and placing the invisible key in her hand. “What he means to, er, say is hello, I’m Tav and this is Halsin.” 

Zevlor reaches out and gently takes her hand in his, gallantly lowering his lips to her knuckles. “Zevlor, my dear,” he intones mildly, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Enchanted.” 

“Oh!” Tav’s nervous smile softens, pleasantly surprised with the little display of chivalry. She looks lovely, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, a soft blush dusting her cheeks and he’s amused that she only thinks of withdrawing her hand when he lightly squeezes it. 

“I believe you were making a proposition?” He asks wryly, eyes flicking to the man behind her, who hasn’t stopped watching the proceedings with interest. 

Tav coughs,”Right.” Then, cheeks remaining stubbornly flushed she proceeds to stumble through the most charmingly awkward come-on Zevlor’s ever witnessed, let alone received. 

“You two are terrible at this,” he remarks not unkindly when she’s finished and Halsin stifles a laugh. 

“Practice makes perfect,” defends Tav with a sniff but she looks just as amused as her husband. “What do you say, Zevlor?” The heat in her eyes could have scorched him where he sat. 

“It would be my absolute pleasure.” At his wicked smile the petite woman grins and takes his hand, tugging him along behind her while Halsin settles the tab. 

They don’t go far, which is just as well considering the electric tension that practically fizzes into view everytime they catch each other’s eye. The fancy hotel they’re staying at already has a reservation in Tav’s name and the three manage to get all the way to the elevator before Zevlor’s tail snakes around her waist to yank her close enough to kiss. 

Hands snake up his chest to find purchase on his shoulders and he barely swipes his tongue across her lips before she opens up for him, moaning prettily as their tongues glide against each other.  

His hands on her waist travel down, untucking her shirt roughly. He slips his thumbs just below the waistband of her short skirt to trace circles on the sensitive skin of her hips, an action that earns him a particularly lewd moan that he greedily swallows with his tongue and teeth. His tail wraps around her leg and snakes upward towards her skirt and when he traces the warm damp line between her legs she shudders. 

“I know you don’t mind if I enjoy the show but I feel obligated to point out that this elevator has cameras,” says Halsin and Tav jerks back in alarm. Zevlor chuckles while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding from the camera’s view, the tips of her ears burning brightly. Reluctantly he removes his tail from her skirt though he does take a moment to trail the tip down the back of her thigh as he does so.

Soon enough the door to the suite is shut behind them and Tav leads him by the hand to an impressive bedroom with a wall of floor to ceiling windows that reveal a breathtaking view. A sea of city lights spreading out into the distance, a cluster of artificial stars outshining the night sky.

Tav puts a finger under his chin to direct his attention back to her and gives him a look that could incinerate. “Unless you’re thinking about fucking me up against those windows, I think your attention is better served elsewhere, Commander.” 

He quirks a brow at her. “I didn’t tell you I was a commander,” he chides, face breaking into a slow smile. 

Tav shrugs, eyes twinkling, “You were right. We’re terrible at this. C’mere.” 

The tiefling bends his head to kiss her, hands finding her hips to tug her close. Her perfume smells like coffee and orange blossoms and he slips a clawed hand into her hair to hold her close, deepening the kiss.  

“I for one would like to revisit the window suggestion,” Halsin chirps from the bed where he’s already bare chested and under the covers. 

Breaking the kiss Zevlor gives the man an exasperated look. “Aren’t you supposed to be the silent observer?” 

“She broke character already!” Halsin defends. 

“It’s not your birthday, is it? She’s allowed to break whatever the hells she wants!” He leans back into Tav’s orbit to press a lingering kiss at the pulse point of her neck. “Well, my lady. Where would you have me?”  

Putting her hands on her hips Tav surveys the room, gaze lingering on the windows. “You know, this feels a lot less sexier than I imagined it. What happened to letting everything happen, y’know, organically?”

“Says the woman who planned out an entire scenario to pick up her own husband at a bar,” says Zevlor, unbuttoning his shirt and smiling innocently when she rounds on him with a frown. 

“What was wrong with my scenario? It had a lot of potential!”

“Oh yes, right up until, ‘We dig your vibe’ over there couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.” 

“Yeah, well your wife was too head over heels seeing you scowling at the bar to do anything but stare at you. Someone had to do something or we’d all still be down there.” 

“Fuck’s sake,” says Tav, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to fondly amused. She takes off her shirt and tosses it aside, stalking towards the wall of windows. “Right, you,” she points at Halsin. “Sit at the edge of the bed, there, where I can see you.”  

Obediently he does as directed and Zevlor, kicking off his boots and unbuttoning his pants gives him an arch look. “How are you already naked?” 

His husband shrugs with a wide, self satisfied grin. “No buttons.” 

“And you,” says Tav, feeling a little like she’s trying to wrangle cats. “Come here.” 

“Finally,” breathes Zevlor, crossing the room with wide strides and wrapping her in his arms. 

He kisses her hard, sinking his hands into her hair to hold her steady while he plunders her mouth. She tastes like sweet water and cinnamon and he moans when she sucks his tongue into her mouth. Breaking apart for air he grips her thighs just under her ass and lifts her, pressing her against the window pane and leans in to suck a soft warm nipple into his mouth hungrily. 

With both hands and mouth occupied his tail glides up between their bodies and sinks between the lips of her damp folds until he brushes against the tight bundle of nerves.

“Shit, Zevlor,” she gasps, jerking, mouth falling open. Through half lidded eyes she spies Halsin, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand palming his own erection while he watches them. When his gaze finds hers on him the man smirks, widening his legs and leaning back to improve her view. “Gods.”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Zevlor growls against her skin before switching to her other breast, sucking on her nipple to the point where pleasure meets pain and she keens, one hand fisting in his hair tightly while the other grips one of his horns. Releasing her tit he bares his teeth, his eyes burning bright with the ferocity of his lust. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wrecked for me, aren’t you?” Between her legs the tip of his tail slips warm and wet against her clit in a slow and lazy pace that has her blood burning in her veins. 

“Fuck! Zevlor, I can’t–,” her breathing comes in shorter, desperate bursts. “I can’t think.”

“Shhhh,” he smiles into her skin before he drags his teeth against the delicate skin in the crook of her sweaty neck, licking the salt from her body greedily. “Don’t think, my dear, let Zevlor take care of you.”  

She rests her head against the glass window at her back and her gasps give way to wanton groans and back again as he works at her clit with maddening precision. Her orgasm hovers just out of reach and she’s powerless to chase it, caught in his meticulous rhythm. 

Glancing at her other husband on the bed she whimpers at the sight of him, skin flushed with arousal, his leaking cock being stroked at the same careful tempo that has begun to beat like a heartbeat in her cunt. 

“Kiss me,” she demands, feeling the burning ember of her orgasm fanning into a sudden blistering wildfire. She tugs on his horn and he grunts but surges in to crash against her mouth, swallowing the moan that rips through her throat in tandem with her climax. 

He holds her through the inferno and when she can finally meet his gaze with eyes unclouded with mindless lust he lets her down gently. He removes his tail from her body but she’s always been faster than he gives her credit for and she snatches it. Holding his gaze she brings the tip, glistening with her arousal,  to her lips, sucking it into the warm wet heat of her mouth with an appreciative moan that punches the air from his lungs. 

He places his hands on the window on either side of her head, boxing her in, and breathes out harshly at the roguish smirk she gives him with his tail sticking out of her mouth. 

“You’re playing with fire, woman,” he mutters roughly. 

Tav swirls her tongue around the tip of his tail before pulling it from her mouth with a pop. “What do you want to do about it?” It’s a challenge and permission all in one. 

He turns her around kicking her feet apart and pressing her against the window and wishes he could be outside looking in at the sight she must make like this. Wet pussy dripping, pupils blown wide, skin flushed and hungry for a fuck right after an orgasm. 

He runs his hands down her body reverently, marveling that she’s given him the privilege. She’s so fucking soft and sweet and perfect. He runs his claws down her spine to the small of her back, smirking when she gasps and her hips jerk. Lining up his swollen member to the tight wet slit he kisses her shoulder before pressing his hips forward, clenching his jaw at the overwhelming sensation of her body taking him so beautifully. 

“Hells, woman.” He pauses, head bowed as he draws in a shuddering breath. 

Over her shoulder she grins at him, nothing but wicked mischief in her eyes. It’s all the warning he gets before her back arches and she presses into his crotch until he’s fully sheathed in her cunt, his balls brushing against her clit. 

Zevlor curses, grasping her hips tightly to hold her still, his tail flicking from side to side in agitation. But his wife isn’t one to be swayed and her back bows and arches, her hips rolling into his and he grunts. He can feel his composure slip through his fingers at the undulation of her tight wet heat squeezing his cock and in the reflection of the glass window he can see her smirking at him. 

“I warned you,” he grinds out through his teeth. The brimstone of his eyes flaring bright and hot sends a shiver down her spine. He tangles one hand in her hair, holding her face to the window and with his other he grips the soft plump flesh of her hip hard enough to leave bruises. He snaps his hips, pleased with the resulting lust drunk moan it elicits, fogging the glass. 

Her cunt is a hot wet heaven, swallowing his dick and his brain cells with each increasingly desperate slam of his hips. Their breathing becomes more labored, loud and harsh and peppered with desperate moans and grunts. Tav reaches a hand between her thighs and places her fingers in a ‘V’ where his body meets hers, adding a firm pressure to the base of his shaft that has his eyes nearly rolling in their sockets. 

With her face pressed against the glass Tav has a clear shot view of Halsin who looks nearly as wrecked as she feels. His hair, already loose from its customary tied back style, frames his face, strands stuck to his sweat slick throat and damp face. When their eyes meet the unfiltered intensity could have set her on fire. Her spine curves and she pushes herself back into Zevlor’s thrusts, desperate for release. 

The tiefling releases his grip on her hair and instead reaches between her legs, encircling her wrist and yanking it up to pin it against the glass. He doesn’t linger in the position long, her inner walls are bearing down on him so tightly he can practically taste her orgasm in the air. 

Taking both her hips in his hands he fucks into her harder, faster. Tav’s panting sighs turn into guttural moans that taper off into delicious whimpers. With each wet grasp of her cunt on his cock her breathing increases, each cry coming faster and sharper as she begins to unravel.

Wrapping a hand around her front he jerks her body away from the window and against his chest, slotting his mouth where her shoulder meets her neck. Pressing his teeth to the silky flesh there his tail lashes around and slipping deep into the lips of her pussy, grinding hard against her clit. The orgasm tears through her with a wail from her throat that goes directly to his balls and a tight clamping sensation on his dick that has him exhaling a breathless moan, his vision clouding with his own climax of euphoria. 

Spent and panting they stay locked together for a brief minute before with a tender kiss to her shoulder he pulls out, smiling softly at the noise of complaint it tugs from her lips. She turns to face him and pulls him in for a breathless kiss before they both break apart to look at Halsin.

The elf looks ruined, skin flushed dark, laid back on the bed with his arms spread out. His cum covered chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath. 

“I changed my mind,” he says when they join him on the bed. Zevlor, running a warm damp cloth down his husband's chest and cleaning the mess of ejaculate, arches his brow in question. “That was an excellent scenario.”  

Tav scoffs. “That was hardly what I had in mind.” She rolls over, nuzzling her pillow drowsily. “Maybe role play isn’t for us.” 

Halsin and Zevlor trade a look, their faces breaking into slow conspiratorial smiles.

“I don’t know,” says Zevlor casually, tossing the used rag to the floor.

“Practice makes perfect,” confirms Halsin sagely, grinning when he peels back the blanket to tug a squawking Tav into his embrace. 

The End

[tacky-optic]

Had a question about who our favorite Zenigata partner is in a server I'm in and now I can't stop thinking about them. Tis the zaza sickness.

anyway here's literally all of the characters Zenigata's been partnered with that i could find (within reason). if anyone wants to elaborate on any of these guys (cough yata cough) please feel free to go absolutely ham. *(obligatory spoiler warning for a whole lotta lupin specials, waow-- notably zenigata keibu since that's probably the most unwatched of everything i cover. but if youre here im guessing youre as unfortunately well-versed as i am so LETS FRIGGIN GET INTO IT)

Starting off nice n' mellow. I'm pretty neutral on Yata, tbh. I just think he's neat and it's easy enough to write him and not much else. I've rambled about him being a stand-in for the viewer before, but overall i just don't have all that many thoughts on the guy (seriously someone please do yata). ironic considering he's hands-down the most prevalent sidekick to date, but alas. head remains empty.

MARIYA. Mariya my girlie oh how i love thee. finally, someone with a Gimmick on par with Mr. my-sword-can-cut-anything. Plus she's super sweet and smart and sharp and just an all-around endearing character. AND SHE'S DIFFERENT!! she's tagging along with Zenigata of her OWN FREE WILL like gurl what are you THINKING. there isn't a shred of coherent interview material to draw from this man, especially about Lupin. The dynamic they end up developing is on point, though!! Zenigata's initial total miscall of it aside, It's just plain ol' wholesome. If Yata's his surrogate son than Mariya's obviously his daughter. No shot in hell they don't at least keep in contact after the special's done. plus her snapping a pic of him every time he eats shit is peak comedy journalism

MOTHAFUCKIN' MELON COP!! an absolutely magical reefer-smokin' shitbag, especially in the edgy Tokyopop translation. He's a great foil to our otherwise serious(ly neurotic) manga Zenigata. Not to mention the combative potential with a down the line Melon.... ough. A more toned-down "newer part"-esque Zeni getting slapped with an extremely smug and insistent reminder of his angstlord past is such a delicious concept to me. i will be using this guy extensively in that exact way one of these days-- he's too fun not to.

a bit of a sidenote but i've gotta point fingers at gray jacket again (can't recommend it enough) for having my favorite melon depiction in fic; walther recently had him show up in their fic secondhand vanity as well (which i also can't recommend enough), so needless to say i think he has some fun potential.

Sakuraba and Kunikida from the live-action show get honorable mentions, obviously. They're both so different yet learn so much from Zenigata all the same. As far as reacting to the inspector goes, they're the ideal Yatas (again i am so so sorry yata-- surely someone will do you justice). Even though they aren't technically "new" to the force they're new to the Zenigata Shenanigans, and that is where the entertainment factor is. Sakuraba's the traditionalist keibu method-doubter whereas Kunikida's this mousey blue around the gills fella, and over their respective case file appearances, they both gain faith in/learn confidence from Zenigata, respectively. It really is a great bit of development to watch play out.

I'm gonna count The Guys™️ as a collective group/formless mass with maybe one of the Guyest of Guys as Zenigata's right hand Guy, like that one dude in Cagliostro. Apparently the name he's given in one of the dubs is Sam?? That's neat. Sam's neat. for anyone interested in some homework, here's the link to the highly informative lupin forum thread i found that out from: [x]

But yeah the Guys! Right from the start, Zenigata having this army of inexplicably and absurdly loyal cops was always a fun trope and i love to see 'em whenever they show up. I had this idea ages ago for this fake documentary-style miniseries based around them-- all the usual Lupin nonsense goes on in the background while we get a peek at the typically unseen shenanigans happening on the law-bearing side. Getting assigned to the lupin taskforce is probably seen as some kind of punishment, but that just makes the camaraderie all the more tight-knit. There'd be some behind-the-scenes Zenigata/how he interacts with them, what they get up to on their own whack case assignments when they're in a Lupin sighting lull.... hell maybe we even learn why they're all so damn loyal to this one supposedly hyper-independent guy. I think it'd be fun but maybe that's just the Zenigata hopeful in me. Surely he's capable of building some semblance of rapport with the fine group of folks he drags around the world with him....

Let's just rip the band-aid off-- I dislike Oscar with a burning passion. which is weird, right? because i like Melon Cop, the dude who's totally cool with straight-up cold-blooded judge/jury/executioner-style murder. I dunno dude the obsessive daddy kink simping's just too feckin' weird for me. i checked the hell out so fast. If the goal was to make Oscar extremely disquieting, they friggin' did it. Granted he was written to be a bit whack from the start, and getting raised(?)/mentored by THAT Zenigata would irreversibly mess anyone up. I get that the fucked up-ness is part of the appeal, but man. How anyone can gravitate towards Oscar without heavily modifying his whole deal escapes me.

I've seen him written tolerably in fic maybe... twice? He's in gray jacket (there it is again!) and SMRO (needs no introduction nor explanation), so obligatory kudos to anyone who can wrangle [gestures vaguely at all of that].

Vicky though. Vicky Flannigan from Island of Assassins is so goddamn funny. Still can't believe they took one of the most badass Zenigata character designs and actively went out of their way to make him bedridden. I've seen folks call him "Proto-Yata" and. Yeah. Can't argue. He's a glorified babysitter, if anything, and the only reason he's even remotely effective is because he (accidentally) broke both of Zenigata's legs. Funniest shit istg

ICPO LADIES!!! They're cute. Designs could be better but it's Babylon yknow. Despite being an admittedly fun romp, the special has its obvious.... uh. issues. product of its time and all that. iykyk. anyway LADIES. They're competent. They take No Shit from Zenigata. The random little crush that comes out of nowhere between Chinjao and Goemon is cute as hell. Plus, I've seen some pretty rockin' fandom redesigns floating around.... wouldn't mind in the slightest if they made a comeback.

I'm gonna lump all of the Betrayers into one category: Emily O'Brien from Angel Tactics, Kazami from Fuma Conspiracy, and Terry Crown from Alcatraz Connection. Never expected the "Zenigata's partner is the bad guy!!1" trope would be so prevalent, but it tracks in retrospect. It's a neat enough idea-- bummer they never seemed to nail it down, though.

The only reason O'Brien is so predictable is because she's so goddamn unlikable. There's hardly any screentime of them working together and in every single scene, the incompetency just feels so blatantly intentional its almost offensive lmao. Zero surprise in the slightest when she showed her true colors-- just mild annoyance, which tracks for the whole special tbh. Only worthwhile parts are the beginning and the end, and absolutely none of that has anything to to with O'Brien.

Kazami just has that chump secondary villain face y'know. Again, a bit on the nose how obnoxiously dorkish he is-- but them playing up him putting on his glasses so Fujiko can recognize him got a little laugh outta me, ngl. He served his purpose, plain and simple.

I'll never know whether Crown was predictable or not because I stumbled across ""Evil Columbo"" before I watched Alcatraz, but despite the spoiler I can at least say he isn't lame as shit. Pre-reveal, he's probably the closest we'll get to a taste of what Melon might be like in modern Lupin media. He's your run-of-the-mill corrupt sleazebag detective-- steals evidence, generally doesn't give a fuck, takes cheap jabs at Zenigata-- but their final standoff is what puts him above Kazami for me. Just a real melodramatic overdramatic moment of Zenigata Zenigata-ing his heart out.

Welcome to the ELDERLY MEN CATEGORY, OORAH. The old guy from Twilight Gemini, Kogoro Akechi from the pilot, and George McFly from First Contact. I could track down Gemini old guy's name, but I hand-to-god couldn't care less. The only worth a damn thing Gemini's given me is that one jigzeni screenshot, so we're just gonna move on to the next two.

Not much of Akechi, huh. He only shows up in the pilot and doesn't do anything of note besides be someone for Lupin to disguise himself as. Dare i say Goemon was a more effective ally to Zenigata than Akechi...? yeah sure, why not. Goemon's a zeni sidekick. i'll die on that hill. anyway I believe he's also a reference to a pre-existing character...? like Lupin, Goemon, and Zenigata are. All in all its probably for the best that he didn't make it to part 1.

Finally, the only old guy that actually has aspects to talk about. I actually really like McFly and the role he plays in First Contact; it isn't Zenigata learning from whoever his partner may be, but McFly learning from Zenigata. He's a jaded, on-the-verge-of-retirement type that thinks he's seen all the force has to offer, but here comes this young (is he considered "young" in this?? early, maybe) freak-ass foreigner cop with a vendetta he's practically frothing at the mouth to rectify. Neither of them are exactly enthused to be working together, but McFly sticks around anyway and learns to see past a lot of Zenigata's first impression baggage; the tenacity, the passion, the genuineness of it all. Not only does he want to make real change, but the crazy bastard can actually friggin' do it. ...Or at the very least make a sizable dent.

Zenigata sincerely adheres to the idea of what a cop's supposed to be, fundamentally, and not what a "cop" actually is, as a vague collective occupational concept. Zenigata has a genuine effect on McFly-- enough to make him just the slightest bit less soured by the end of it all. It's a nice sentiment; that no matter where you are in life, ideas can still change. It's a small arc that flies beneath the radar of everything else, but i noticed it. I FRIGGIN' NOTICED IT, MAN

tl;dr Zenigata's a lonely guy, sure, but he doesn't have to be.

That should cover all of the significant parts/specials/movies, but if i missed anyone (any notable episodes? manga?) lemme know. Either way, it's nice finally having 'em all in one place.

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

How do I love thee, let me count the weeks...

Fellow Travelers Valentine's Celebration: Week One Round-Up

Week One Prompts: Slow dancing “Sing for me.” Favorite song that makes you think of them

✨ Be sure to show your appreciation for the authors’ hard work with kudos and comments on the fics after reading!  ^Authors: if your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it. Or, if are linked, and you'd rather not be, please contact me and I will remove it.

Works below can be found in this collection, except where noted (*).  

❤️ You’re the one I want to go through time with* by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [E, 773] 'Don't you need me, Skippy?' Hawk said softly.

'I have you,' Tim replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

🧡 The Way We Danced Till Three by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [M, 2K] 

“There we go,” Hawk said, as he found the jazz station he often liked to tune into. Billie Holiday crooned through the static, singing They Can’t Take That Away From Me. Hawk tilted the bottle toward Tim in offering, who took it and tossed back a large swig before coughing and spluttering on the sharp taste of the alcohol.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Tim said, shuddering and sticking out his tongue.

Hawk laughed and took the bottle back, placing it on the desk near the radio. “Lots of practice.”

“Dance with me, Skippy?”

💛 With Your Kiss My Life Begins by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [G, 785] 

4 times Tim and Hawk dance.

Part 1 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks...

💚 Hold You In My Arms by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove(Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] 

Tim entices Hawk to dance with him, and then sing for him.

Part 3 of Bravery | Part 1 of FT Valentine's Month

💙 One Desire by@lovebunnie | space_kid [T, 1K]

Tim instinctively stepped towards Hawk, before stopping. “Hawk, I don’t-“

“You said music doesn’t sound the same,” Hawk cut in. “I figured… it doesn’t have to sound the same. Let’s make it sound better.”

Part 1 of Fellow Travelers Valentine’s Day 2024

💜 Unforgettable by @justviwriting | justviwriting [T, 1K]

Hawk and Tim dance together for the first time.

Part 4 of My Fellow Travelers Fanfics

🩷 Cheek To Cheek by vexinganthony^ [T, 2K]

An extremely fluffy one shot about tim singing at hawk’s behest, written for the fellow travelers valentine’s month event.

Part 1 of valentine’s month prompts

💗 Anywhere You Wander, Anywhere You Go by Anonymous

As he was now, the man he was now - Tim could not deny the longing in his heart. The need to close the distance between them again, to take his heart back into his arms.

Or, another cabin husbands dancing together fic.

Thanks to all the creators for your wonderful efforts, and to the readers for taking the time to enjoy and share these fics!

Thank you to @fellow-travelers-events for hosting this event. Prompts for the remaining weeks can be found here.

Ao3 Collection 💗

[lesser-mook]

Fantastic Four #47 v6 (Sue, how do I love thee.)

Mixed bag on this, but the art was great.

Nice Sue-Centric issue, minus the narration boxes, author is trying too hard to vindicate Sue's greatness..

Villain was ass

narration bubbles began sweet at first (because husband professing love for his woman is great) then dragged onto self-indulgent pedestal propping for Susan, very cringe.

She's great but holy moly, dial it back.

Next, the Marvel Universe wouldn't exist if not for Sue Storm, writer needed to balance the romance with the sycophant energy, you can admire & sing the praises of your spouse and not sound desperate for a treat, Christ.

'I wouldn't have explored the stars if not for her. '

Whatever you say Reed. Your life's ambition would've remained grounded if not for this woman. That really takes away from his character and revolves all around Susan.

You don't have to diminish or be reductive of his accomplishments just to prop her up, its unnecessary and its predictable.

You'd never write that she only became what she decided to do with her life cause of a man, so don't do it the other way.

There's nothing "overlooked" about her contributions either, Reed/ *cough >>WRITER.

Are you tryna tell me people give more credit to the guy who's power is being a walking rock than the woman who's arguably the face of the goddamn team and spends almost every fight on crowd control which involves people SEEING what she can do and what she contributes.

Let's not even try to forget how old this team is in the timeline, so how the fuck with her being the ONLY woman- is she overlooked, how lmfao.

That's the kind of stuff I'm talking about, needless gaslighting just to kiss her ass. Trying to make Sue into an underappreciated underdog when in reality, she's multiple MVP.

EASY MVP, like just put respect on her name without the weird shit man. It's simple.

Besides that cheesy garbage that unfortunately is littered throughout the issue, the art and story was solid. I like that Sue doesn't see herself as a "superhero", still even now, it's why she's not more powerful than she already is, she doesn't revel in that side of her life. She doesn't entertain it beyond necessity, not training or honing that Celestial tier power she has.

I don't like how Marvel shys from her other past, wasn't she a model or clothes designer? (Showbiz/actress) Is that not STEM enough for this current generation, now its explorer and activist lmfao. Kinda boring resume'.

I guess women aren't woman enough unless they fit a certain box nowadays, everyone's a genius now.

You better want to go in STEM ladies or else you're not womaning right.

maybe I remember it wrong, I coulda swore she was in fashion like Janet or perhaps, I'm conflating her with Janet (edit: Again, she dabbed in Showbiz, acting).

But regardless she's been in the game long enough to be Administrator for The Baxter building, that's a good move. She's mature enough to handle it while Reed is lost in his braincells.

Decent issue. So much better without the sycophant narration boxes though. The envelope was pushed a bit for me in the overtones, it's like: "I get it, alright? Relax."

The action panels are really, nice, pg 14 her assassinating the robo goes hard.

[baladric]

for the flash fic prompts: beshelar is granted a Day Off ™ and doesn't know what to do with himself and oh nooo he's forbidden from the training grounds whatever shall he do (spa day?? honestly go nuts the whole thing driving this is the sudden image I got of beshelar with a clay mask and cucumbers on his eyes)

(ehehueue ur my FAVE)

"Deret," said Cala Athmaza, exasperation drawn heavy in his every line, "I swear to Anmura himself—thou wilt leave this place."

"I cannot simply leave, thou knowst—"

And though he protested, he still failed to put up much of a fight as Cala spun him around by the shoulders to propel him out the door of their rooms.

"And do not even think of the training yard," he said, and Deret bristled; Cala barrelled on, immune to the sour look Deret shot over his shoulder. "For I've bribed several people to throw thee back out on thy pert little arse should thou so much as glance in its direction."

Deret gave a choked sound of offense, followed by a shocked, "Inappropriate!"

"Yes, yes," Cala said, patting vaguely at him. "I am a nuisance and a wretch and a lackadaisical cretin who wouldn't know propriety if it slapped me in the face with a live haddock—I hear thee, oh snippish song of my heart, now get thee to the damned... Oh, I don't know, library? Opera house? What do people do for fun? Oh—Csevet!"

Mer Aisava froze halfway down the stairs above them, glancing up from his writing board with raised eyebrows. Clearly sensing the athmaza's overly whimsical spirits, he spoke with no small sense of wariness. "Ye-es?"

"What do people do for fun around Cetho? I can't for the life of me think of anything but books, and I know for a fact that those aren't my other half's vice."

"I read," Deret groused; Cala ignored him.

Mer Aisava relaxed visibly, and finished his descent of the stairs.

"Well," he said, returning his straight-pen to its proper compartment. His writing board had long been a strong positive influence on Deret's respect for him—clever, tidy and an omnipresent show of his dedication to lightening and fine-tuning Edrehasivar's work load. "There are the taverns, I suppose, and a few gaming halls—though we're not supposed to know about them. The shops, of course, and the theater. A few penny operas."

This all sounded utterly deplorable to Deret, but he did not have to tax himself in finding a way to say so diplomatically as Cala merely hummed for a moment before saying, "I am fairly certain Lieutenant Beshelar would not be caught dead near any of those."

Csevet tucked his laugh away inside of a polite cough.

"There is a lovely bathhouse off of Hanevis Athmaza Square," he said. "Relatively private, very partial to lavender oils and a lovely sort of eucalyptus steam."

Before Deret could say No, Cala had already begun to grin.

"Oh, that's perfect," he said, and turned at once to Deret, whose frown he disregarded. Deret was beginning to suspect that he was being handled, and he thought he understood a little of Edrehasivar's dislike of the experience. "If ever thou loved me, thou wilt go take in the steam and sip some cucumber water."

"That is unfair," Deret said—and of all the idiotic things to come from his mouth (a long and tiring list), he thought that this one might be the worst. Cala Athmaza, being amiably unfair to coerce Deret into taking care of himself? Must be a day that ends in Y.

It was entirely possible they had been together for too long. This was a worrying thought, because they would remain thus for the rest of their collective lives—and Ulis only knew how much worse four or six decades would make them.

Or how much better, said the part of his mind that sounded most like Cala.

The man in question grinned and twiddled long fingers at him, a fey gesture that never ceased to fill Deret with an annoyed kind of fondness.

"Right thou art," he said. "Now off thou goest. I will see thee for dinner, and not a moment sooner."

Deret did not quite know what had become of the world that he did, in fact, go—and wonders only got less believable when he found himself stepping into the bathhouse, irritated and anxious at once. Just as Mer Aisava had said, it smelled powerfully of lavender and the especial scent of maz-heated water.

An attendant stepped up with a slightly nervy smile and a deep bow—clearly, she had recognized him. Which means others have done the same, and thence know that Edrehasivar is down at least one nohecharis, which—

"How maybe we help you, Lieutenant?" the attendant asked.

Deret released a long, studied breath.

"We would take in the steam," he said, and suspected as he did so that Edrehasivar would have approved of the tenor of his politeness.

"Of course, Lieutenant," said the attendant. "Right this way."

***

"Was it as horrible as thou expected?" Cala asked as the wine was poured.

Deret straightened his cuffs.

"They put mud on my face," he said, and sniffed. "I did not... hate it."

Cala beamed.

"That sounds awful," he said. "I'll have to go with thee next time."

[kiaroscuro]

Title: as the world caves in

Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

· · ─────── =^.^= ─────── · ·

Arsene goes first, this time, leading Ren towards an apartment complex and then to the higher floors, checking any doors they come across until he finds a locked one. The persona tells Ren to wait, breaks the lock, and disappears inside, and Ren bites his lip in guilt because he knows what Arsene is looking for.

"Everything seems safe," he rasps after the third apartment he's done that, wingtips trembling from where they're winched against his back, and Ren steps forward and hugs him tightly, feeling the tense muscles relax marginally. Ren is allowed to enter the apartment, no sight of any dead around -- the door to what he assumes is the bedroom is tightly locked with a chair placed before it as a warning, and Ren can see from the swirling dust that Arsene was the one to place it there. Ren coughs, once, and Arsene is by his side in an instant, mask lighting up and glancing around in worry.

"I'm fine," Ren mutters, dropping his packs onto the ground next to the couch. The apartment is deceptively normal-looking, no mold and no plant-life intruding into its frozen stillness. Arsene drops down unceremoniously onto the couch itself, dematerializing his heels and jacket until he's left in black slacks and his vest and shirt, groaning and brushing the palm of his hand over his mask, head leaning back and exposing the long line of his neck.

"We should go back-- to the market and get thee a box of facemasks... nonetheless," he rasped, voice cracking dangerously. Ren frowns, steps closer -- unheeding of how dirty he is, because that can't be helped -- and ghosts his fingers over the wire-thin line crossing over Arsene's throat, warmer to the touch than the rest of the persona's body temperature.

"Stop talking out loud, Arsene," Ren murmurs. "You're hurt." He brushes over the reminder of how closely he'd gotten to loosing his persona a second time, lips touching the soft, snake-like skin reverently. They've been dancing around each other like gossamer silk for a few weeks now, tightly-woven as all persona and humans are, dependent on one another unlike they'd been before. Ren doesn't find it in himself to care.

Ah, Arsene sighs, inside their shared mind-space this time. It is not good for thou if thou never hear voices out loud, mon cher. It makes thee feel even lonelier.

I'd rather feel lonely than have you lose your voice, pigeon,Ren remarks, softly. There's not much reason for us to talk out loud surrounded by mutated anyways.

Arsene remains tellingly silent, the fire of his eyes dimming until it disappears, and Ren lets him rest while he glances around the apartment, drawing the curtains shut and finding enough candles to both light their room and stow away some for later use. He examines the signs of life surrounding him, peeks into the kitchen and the bathroom both, finds a baseball bat smeared with blood next to the main entrance. Ren lights a candle and places it on the chair in front of the bedroom, the family picture he'd found next to it, and scribbles down on a piece of paper: here lie Daisuke and Ichigo Morimiya.  May they rest in peace.

With that done, Ren sends a prayer to anyone willing to listen -- shadow or false god or real god, it doesn't matter -- before he wanders back to the bathroom, eyeing over the bathtub with a critical glance. Everything is western-style, but they're far away from civilization that the possibility of running water is pretty much halfway split. If he's lucky, a dam generates running water for the town, like back home, and a dam can run for longer without human interference than electrical works. Ren tests it out with a quick flick, and rusty water starts running in spurts before it becomes only slightly pinkish, at which point Ren plugs the bathtub and waits for the water to fill it up; he'll take a bit of rust for the chance to properly wash himself, because the last time had been in Konoe's camp a good ten days ago. He foregoes changing clothes because he has no change on him anyways, and while he could raid the closet of the family, that one's in the bedroom and Ren isn't going to go inside after Arsene made sure that he wouldn't see the bodies.

(It is unbelievably worse, seeing the people dead without any obvious signs of struggle, seeing unmarred bodies but for natural decay instead of gaping wounds on flesh. Even the infected and mutated shadows have become able to bleed and decay, the mutagen turning them into something tangible. Ren's run into unaffected shadows, covering from humans and mutated both, had run into people imprisoning shadows and using their natural abilities like fuel, had seen shadows torture humans to death and vice versa, because everyone was afraid of the strange.)

(A slime had stood vigil next to Morgana's grave with Ren, its soft mass deflated in sorrow. It had slinked away into the forest, and Ren doesn't want to know what had happened to it.)

--

Once the bathtub was filled to half, Ren takes off his crusted and matted layers of clothing, carefully and reverently clasps open his choker -- yellow, because it had been Morgana's collar once, before Ren had threaded a little iron chain into one of the bolt holes and the clasp to make it fit his neck -- and sets everything onto a dusty chair. Two candles illuminate him as he carefully wets a towel and wipes the worst of the grime off of himself, scrubbing at his skin until it is pink and raw, and then Ren carefully enters the tub. The water is freezing and smells metallic, but it is otherwise clean in a way that the rivers hadn't really been, and Ren relaxes inside and watches his skin pebble, traces the scars that cover him. Many are from the Metaverse, his skill in phantom thieving translating into his skills of survival for the ongoing apocalypse that they're having, and not for the first time Ren wonders if all of this is happening as a last huzza for Yaldabaoth, the not-god angry enough at its defeat that it would curse humanity. Many more he's acquired ever since the cataclysm, wounds like the five bitemarks, after each of which Arsene begs with him to be more careful, or all of the smaller and larger cuts he's gotten while he figured out how to survive in a wilderness that is trying to kill him.

Fifteen minutes into Ren's soak, Arsene shuffles into the bathroom, mask dimly lit and wings hanging loosely against his back. There's running water? He thinks-asks, surveying everything. Let me wash thine hair, Ren. He murmurs, and Ren blinks at him, at how wrong-footed the persona looks inside the regular bathroom inside of this regular apartment. Okay, Ren says, turning softly, water sloshing, until he can feel Arsene's claws in his hair. The persona scratches over Ren's scalp once, before he finds the shampoo and lathes it into Ren's dark curls, massaging it in until Ren's eyes droop, heavy with fatigue. Arsene doesn't stop his ministrations, slides his clawed fingers over Ren's shoulders and kneads into the flesh there, the only sound apart of the water his heavy breathing and Arsene's feathers shuffling.

You should also soak, Ren says after a while, turning slightly. It'll do you good.

Mh, is Arsene's answer, the persona stepping aside now that he's got no good excuse to keep touching Ren. Finish first, and then we'll see if there's still running water left. With that he's gone, probably to rummage around the apartment as well. Ren sighs, glances at one of the candles for a long moment, before he turns to find the body wash. It takes him about five minutes to feel clean again, and then he washes out all of the shampoo and carefully exits the tub, lets the water drain down before he starts to fill it up again, after which he starts to dry himself with a second towel. That's about when Arsene reappears, clean (if dusty) clothes in hand, and Ren blinks at the persona in surprise. These should be about thy size, he says, softly, and Ren has no words because Arsene had gone back into the bedroom to get those. I made the bed.

"Thank you," Ren murmurs. Arsene puts the clean clothes down, eyes Ren over critically, and then tugs at the towel still in Ren's hands. Ren lets him, watches as Arsene takes it, clutching it between his claws once before he carefully grabs hold of Ren's cauterized arm and gently towels the red skin dry. Ren knows that the persona feels guilty about it, can feel it himself across their bond, and so he lets Arsene do as he pleases. Claws flitter over Ren's skin before the towel follows, up his arm and over his shoulders and towards his other arm. Arsene holds it apart from Ren's body, gently, while he softly pats over Ren's flank and ribs, his stomach, pivoting around the human to dry his back, the pads of his fingers lingering over a nasty cut from a mutated shadow's garudyne that had hit Ren.

A shudder passes through him, a curl of heat low inside of his belly that has Ren's cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn't interrupt Arsene, stands still while the persona carefully patters the towel over Ren's groin, the soft fabric almost ghosting over his cock before Arsene nudges Ren's legs apart to reach at his testes, cupping each gently and continuing. Ren's breathing and heartbeat are picking up, but he doesn't say anything, the towel at his thighs now, Arsene still as careful as before. Only once he reached Ren's calves did Arsene stop, his mask low-lit, fire curling over his horns. "Thank you, Arsene," Ren murmurs as the persona stands up.

"Always," Arsene whispers, and they look at each other for a moment longer, before the persona turns around to put the towel away. The bathtub is full, too, and Ren watches Arsene dematerialize his clothes before he carefully enters the tub, sitting closer to the middle so that his wings don't get crushed by his body. Some of the tenseness in his shoulders leaves while Arsene moves to hug his knees, resting his head on top of them, one wing extended while the other is winched in. He looks tired as well, obsidian skin marred and discolored in patches, specks of white that hadn't been there before. They share the metaphysical scars on Ren's soul, after all, all of the ugly things, and Arsene's own conscience has him become mottled, their shared guilt over having to kill people a heavy weight to bear.

Leave, please, Arsene says, a breath of a thought, and Ren nods after ghosting his fingers along the lines of his flight feathers.

He exits the bathroom, closes the door slightly to allow Arsene more privacy because the persona is vain about his looks and currently ashamed of his appearance and actions, and turns towards the Morimiya's pantry in hopes of finding something edible so that he can stretch his own rations further. Ren's found some slightly stale crackers and beef pâté, both of which would suffice as dinner. He'll have to probably cook something tomorrow, but he doesn't want to disrupt the strange silence of the night. By the time he's eaten his food Arsene emerged, and Ren is staring at the couch -- now with a duvet and two pillows. The chair to the bedroom had been disturbed. "Do you think the couch can be opened?" He asks.

Arsene blinks placidly. Yes. I can also simply dematerialize, though.

Ren knows, but also... Stay. I don't want to be alone tonight.

(They end up huddled together, Arsene on his side and Ren curled into the crook of his elbow, covered in both the duvet and one wing, and it's the best rest he's had in a long while.)

First << >> Next

[theresawritesstuff]

…to pretend Jess and Rory ❤️

Oh how fun! I've never written them before but I do very much enjoy the pairing. Let's give it a go!

She was lounging on the gazebo bench, nose deep in a copy of Romeo and Juliet when he decided to sneak up on her.

"I've got bad news about that ending," he quipped.

Rory looked up at him briefly, blue eyes smiling, not the least bit startled by his sudden presence.

"It's for school," she replied. "We're doing these group projects where we perform a classic scene from Shakespeare. Paris picked this one. I'm just trying to get it memorized. I'm playing Juliet, so… kind of important that I get it right."

"Ah, I see." He nodded, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "You want some help?"

She exhaled in relief. "Love some! I've been staring at it so long I can feel myself going cross eyed."

"Alright, give it here," he chuckled, taking the pages from her as he lounged against the gazebo framework. "Let's see... Tybalt liest blah blah blah…"

"That's not what it says," she laughed, peeking up at him from where she lay.

God, why did she have the best laugh?

"Fine. Go back to being fake dead, will yah?" He rolled his eyes, clearing his throat dramatically. "'Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair?"

They got the casting right, he had to give them that.

"Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorrèd monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I still will stay with thee and never from this palace of dim night depart again. Here."

He sat, petulantly planting himself on the gazebo floor beside her. "Here will I remain. With worms that…"

He fought back a laugh at the mental image that popped on his head despite the intended intensity of the scene.

"That are thy chambermaids," he finished, barely holding it together.

"Jess!" she admonished lightly, swatting at his shoulder.

"Shhh. You're supposed to be mostly dead still," he reminded her through a smirk.

"What's so funny anyway?" she wondered.

"Nothing. Just pictured worms in little elizabethan scullery maid outfits," he admitted, shuddering. "Christ, this town must be rubbing off on me."

"There's worse things, right?" she murmured, amused by the image.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the lines in front of him.

"O, here will I set up my everlasting rest and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last."

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, coming up onto his knees.

The afternoon sun danced along her face, highlighting her features.

"Arms, take your last embrace. And, lips…"

His tongue darted out to wet his, uncertain.

"A-are you guys planning on doing that part?"

"Mhm," she answered stiffly, keeping her eyes closed.

"I can skip it if you want."

"No, it's okay," she replied, her voice just a touch higher than normal.

He nodded to himself, continuing, "And lips…O, you, the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss. A dateless bargain to engrossing death."

He leaned in, hesitating a breaths width above her lips before closing the distance between them.

Her lips were soft against his own, tasting faintly of the coffee she seemed to never be without.

He'd been expecting that part.

What he hadn't expected was that almost the moment their lips met, he felt Rory kiss him back!

His hand found its way to her cheek of its own volition, coaxing the softest of moans from her throat.

The sound made him pull back, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

He cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes as he looked around, scrambling slightly for the abandoned script.

He found it next to her trusty to-go cup of coffee and picked up both.

"Here’s to my love," he toasted awkwardly, taking a quick swig.

He coughed a bit as the too cold coffee slid down his throat.

"O true apothecary, thy drugs are quick! Thus, with a kiss, I die."

He collapsed back against the floorboards, handing the paper cup back to her.

"I don't think Shakespeare would have appreciated the snark," Paris' voice informed them from the grass.

"With the amount of double entendres and bad puns that guy wrote? I beg to differ," Jess smirked, wiping self consciously at his lips as he sat up.

Paris rolled her eyes, coming to sit next to Rory, plopping her bag beside him with a heavy thud. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

 Jess shrugged, lounging back on his elbows casually. "Might wish you had. 'Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man."

Rory bit back a smile as her friend elbowed her lightly, annoyed. "Been looking all over for you."

"You said you weren't going to get here until 4:30?" Rory blinked, checking her watch.

"My piano lesson got rescheduled," she replied matter of factly. 

"Oh. Okay…Well, I guess it doesn't hurt to start early. We've got lots of snacks at home if you're hungry."

"Did your mom buy those strawberry pop tarts?"

"I think so."

"Good."

Paris got up, heading down the stairs.

"I, um…I'll see you around, Jess," Rory said shyly, giving him a little wave as she followed.

"See ya," he replied, not bothering to get up from where he sat.

He watched her go for a long while before flopping back to stare up at the gazebo roof, wondering what the hell just happened.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

I have a dream [of royal racists] feat. Meghan Markle sampled by Omidcron Thee Virus by u/Mickleborough

‘I have a dream [of royal racists]’ feat. Meghan Markle, sampled by Omidcron Thee Virus Of the royal vs courtiers vs 2 royals displaying racism vs unconscious bias before vs after the wedding, La pom-pom girl en chef claims as follows:Omidcron’s truth is as valid as Meghan’s truth.‘Forbidden by UK law’Firstly - there’s no such thing as ‘UK law’. The UK has 3 separate legal jurisdictions: England and Wales; Northern Ireland; and Scotland: Wikipedia. Pedantic maybe, but one should be precise.La pom-pom girl en chef may be thinking of laws which have effect in all territories within the UK. An example is the Treason Act 1351 (extended to Ireland in 1495 and Scotland in 1708).If so - as far as I’m aware, there’s no such law that ’forbids’ him from disclosing the identity of the alleged royal racists. It doesn’t come under, say, the Treason Act or the Official Secrets Act.What else could compel silence?It’s not laws so much as prohibitions which, if breached, can result in legal action and damages. Off the top of my head:Libel. That is, defamation in writing. But truth is a defence.Invasion of privacy. The alleged royal racists may claim an invasion of privacy, as they‘d have expected that their words would remain private. However, there’s a defence of public interest. Note that Meghan won her case against the Daily Mail - over publication of her fauxligraphy letter to her father - on (cough) privacy grounds - although arguably her damages of £1 was a recognition that her case was weak.An existing injunction. Possible, but this must be the most secretive injunction ever granted. In many cases, the existence of even a super injunction (a type of injunction that prevents publication of information as well as of the injunction’s existence) is often mentioned. A well-known example was a super injunction concerning the spouse of a well-known person engaging in a threesome. This was common knowledge in the UK and, in jurisdictions outside the UK, where the super injunction had no effect, the persons were named.A non-disclosure agreement. La pom-pom girl en chef may have had to sign an NDA that prevents him from disclosing the contents. However, the NDA would’ve been with the owner of the letter (apparently Meghan wrote to the King about this, doubtless in trademark fauxligraphy (if she did write)). But Meghan didn’t cooperate with La pom-pom girl en chef in the writing of Endgame. Right? Right?ConclusionIt wasn’t a racist comment. Chris Rock says so.There was no such comment. Can’t reveal what doesn’t exist.La pom-pom girl en chef’s probably afraid of being sued - but like a coward, is blaming ‘the law’ for holding him back.EDIT: To add ‘libel’ as a prohibition. post link: https://ift.tt/XDRvQH9 author: Mickleborough submitted: November 27, 2023 at 10:26PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

Cold, so,

So unbearably frigid,

You can feel the chill penetrating

Deep past layers of muscle tissue

Straight into thy bones, bitter frost

Enveloping you in its embrace; you

May try to avoid the blistering frigidity,

But there is no escape. None at all.

 

All around, as far as the eyes can see, is a blanket of

Thick, white, endless snow, obscuring the ground

Under its smothering, vast presence. One could concur,

Indeed, all is dead and lost…this be a land

Of no hope,

No future,

Visual representation of that numerical value

Zero.

 

But the ancient trees still stand, bare, but proudly tall, and critters

Still find time to frolic with gaiety, while others

Have tucked themselves away to endure

What may appear to be the end times

In the eyes of the unfamiliar, the uninitiated.

 

Life hath not been vanquished.

 

Merely…

 

Donned new appearances, new forms.

 

Pity to those who couldn’t

Make it; woe unto the unfortunate

Unable to withstand the mad howls of

A fading year’s rushing winds.

 

No way out, is all thy mind

Can seem to tell itself

On repeat.

 

Where, o’ where,

Doth the exit reside, in these

Harsh, cruel lands?

 

Trudging forth, it all seems so

Futile, as your body does its best to

Spread heat into every square inch of

Your being, eyes growing weary and blurred as a

Result of the vicious assault

Committed upon thee with

Great fervor, for Nature is

Often cruel, even when it’s so

Strikingly gorgeous and

Awe inspiring. Exhausted, tired, every

Bit of exposed skin stung by the burning

Pain of thousands of pointed, invisible needles,

Morphing into a deep crimson hue. Every step

Feels weighed down,

Unbearably heavy,

Senses turning numb

Whilst a blankness of

The mind overtakes.

 

Yes, this is all such a wondrous sight to

Behold, bear witness to…

 

Glory be to the picture-esque scenery,

A true monument to the

Sheer artistry Nature is capable of

With its brushstrokes and molding hands…

 

Preposterous, it would be, to not take

Note of the way the full moon

Bestows the only constant source

Of illumination; one

Mustn’t be hopeful

In regards to the

False hope given off by the

Rays of already dead stars that are

Impossibly far from our little abode.

 

Crawling still towards a

Non-existent path

That leads out of this

Hell…

 

It begins to

Dawn on you…

 

What you hope for is not there.

 

Subsist? Survive? And how?

 

Via the lethally icy substance

You tread through?

 

Or the bits of food you were not

Programmed to detect…least of

All, here?

 

With no recourse left,

The snow is the last thing you

Feel as your body plummets

Right into the ground, unable to

Keep mindlessly wandering through this

Place, of which you cannot recall

How you wound up in.

 

Heart rate slows to stand still

As you let your heavy eyelids

Begin to fall shut, breathing becoming

More labored, more…difficult,

Lungs and throat singed, lacking moisture,

Only dry bitterness remaining, but the

Energy to cough and wheeze is

Dissipating fast.

 

Curious shadows begin to approach

From the edges of your field of vision.

 

Noises of a most disconcerting

Variety fill your ears, and you wonder

What will take you first.

 

It’s close…

 

The reaper’s scythe…

 

Departure is inevitably; tis coming soon.

 

But it will wait…

 

As the cessation of your life

Begins to take place, where being alive

Slowly turns to being a corpse, the

Puncture of Death’s eternal blade

Makes itself known in your back.

 

Jaws of what had been following

You since you entered into this space

Now indulge in the reward for their patience…

 

O’ it hurts, but the ability to scream

Left you long ago…

[libidomechanica]

At first great a curious blame

A ballad sequence

               1

And in morning branches play. Shah, who promist both     brains and ogled, at lean heavily against some rest; my tongue so sweetest landing back     to dine. The summer all that in one

whose holy priest things will love engendering from     death a heart: I stretch did knows when the rest, and keep me alive, not one time shouts within     its life filled, and the stake, Centuries—

of artists dying new, highly parts of fame whose     gentle hears that for an empire of Frogs still, the place where more th’ almighties     vew, of her own: tis too much, Cynara!

With tears of these spindrift pages nor for heroes     with sweet, so long, that shine; and tymely ioyes, that sober hue deuise, while to mournful—     but model of all that grows and coughing

fork deep in thy sweet pleases.—And maun I still     on Menie do? When there could be that which I use to me yours though as yet thought, though theyr eccho     ring. Come when will the woods no more

ioyfulst day then, so remember I did honour’d,     and softly said, oh Shah, he saw him not said I looked like the joint narrative does not     why, and things were not Helen in his

tumult of prey, rather variety, as seraphs’     shines upon her face. An’ it will— the same groan doth hinder your hand, nor grieved his same     chance is blessing-room, like diuers fethered

with snow; yet with beauty’s fable, poesy, the     cold Aurora could not choose my bright her might he lean’d against some horses, girls, she has     twa spark of glowing and limb to list

of triumph I’ll bury alive, not even for     Heaven. She listening tride, helpe to deuoure, with no temptations must remains sharp to me, what     the christall bed remain ground vase, singing

roguish een. My arms full of ruin! We driven     out the day, come winter’s ragged hands as trees. Or not a chemical mixture. Or     would I hide what people out, a pose.

               2

Then in his whole nation’s errors?     I seem Angels, twice or that neuer sunny skies. One     another’s sea, than the heart,

I know that traced something accents,     with frisked what was doom’d—a case of living corn wi’ me? To     hye bears logs into thee,

Cynara! We were barren as     Ioue her till swollen shut our own door, in the same—it weare:     yet she musical tennis

match-making among outlasts     us all: wreck did rayse, youth, though we cease on, methinks more     deep, the poem is come

when they ranges its own gentleness     and merry-making in their resolves—alas! Of it     for wealth had good humour

such slight or wring you with its wings.     And her on the ruin’d to flie, and vnreuealed pleases. And whereas     blacke seem’d his perjured,

murder. Doe lyke gold-eyed serpent     dwell within my heartbeat is it men dark as nighing its     agonizing throbs; and

be wisely wanton naigies nine     or ten times starting of pleasures, then what if he had to     make it seems a sorry

jest: but the diseases, and cures     not even to be seen; when then the same thy treasure, the     op’ning Phoebus gins the

breeze, that t was fix’d upon our     cartridges? ’Er is my inner recesses of the sets     up. But for repetition;

observed as an expert on     make our eccho ring. But oh! To which of all is said, because     a fresh sensational

facility, if such a     lady sweet prison all that dimmed, thy cup is ruby-rimmed.     The quiet would have been

no poem obeying in all     the loser. And you see,— with shrill and look, even them about     love their rose, and let

the eyes seem to flie, and others     fethered wings the springs when seated in the leg. My     lovely lea? Form a pained

well for all be call’d for his own     ribs what if the sphere I see Heav’ns so oftentimes beene thy     little butterfly flies

and bear amiss, but various     hed. Perhaps may answer and the falling Despaire hates     Come in the clear the night.

               3

White) there wine is so rare, and have made banked be fair.     Place its vanity. Make feast ioy, by nature, my grief lies budded, her modesty, or     that wing thy blessing anyway, cared

for an Hermitage. And no more—one liuerie, both shines     in everything was getting words—but which sits as dew on roses and greedy pikes all     my argument, three till it seemes

more vpon the horses, girls these, I’m all by name. Decline;     her joys, her while their health, or little hand thoughts that which promise always hearts; and admit     to knowing where Joan doth brains ouer

her displaies his time it is nipp’d, and no soone her     whiles shines equal arming soul; while were you must perch harmony, from noble, I was a     bird. That should follow then delights dreadful

dame. Many, O, the blood on it. Would have at     least, pecking revenge shall flower, fairing moors was on her dearly; the heather-bells, and     goodness and seems but an only cam’st

to gaze, and hoary mountayne vie to approch to     the house in my wailing them answer and on the one prepared to me. You falter now     forest leave postes and yonder and

whereas insists, in Nature to where was a lady     sweet breath’d defence: for if Sins will give me a snares shall fleeth afore fainting crave much,     Cynara! And years I must be worth

thy door. Near the power in growing can discrie, which     to the books with someone who wants hornes? Foxes crave thou hast enough, and she has twa     sparkling roguish een. The life filled

on the joy; but when the widest laces, especial,     in thy story, are fools or her more white Tablet—Yes—’tis universes cease you’re     living all ye virgins leap, and you

would be forgot much resounds the still have seen then     she said, and there can reason hate so many ill with the Earth for innocent, wholly     her in whom Love with the rocks, and kept

hold. Thou hast restraint or best to know there half there     never shows, they have grow by their variety: with the first just defray, and me time,     because t was dory, relieved for

successful prophet should I lose by the Indian     Ganges’ side should rather mournful— but mournful of all keep, when there is lovely, and     hanging, by degree, mocks all the wild?

               4

Where is no word; if they should flowers     fair, kind of living dispers to you should and feature.     Your approaching hand serene,

accompliment, and gentle     favorite scene, her snowie necke lyke gold-eyed serpent dwell within     my brows like a fish. Now

lay to you, Cynara! Desire     is no more. But certes it conducted personal     quiet lake, and all the

evil of mind. When Love tempests     of good shoes from harmonious set me for someone setting     blush to run her hearts.

What at my luck of sacred peaks     of straws, being men or shall bed remains sharply crystal     clear location of advice.

Today i’m filled with reward,     or whether than it not feruent be for thus entangled     in her head some way to

you saw. Yon wander may. Every     tongue. Aurora could share its servility till do not     inflate and the sunlight

routes, sustains, and he came and not     self-deceiving in or our Eyes; a Cataract that resource,     tis too are not warm

heart, to dight, it seemed to filch away     from what my fire: the humming roguish een. The former     head. Also observe, thou

thus the sky which to trust, enjoy’d     no soone to where you, Cynara! That all aloud, and sometimes     refigures, and

seem at such a lady, if that     never, long, when Hesperus his sullen art exercised     in the mountains my wailing

Spring at my feeble to     do with pulse each sparkling roguish een. But here. Men: with     the daisy’s side; so as

to be so caught her month to a     bowle of a red-rose treacher at place on my heart doth     behoue, and yet more ioyfulst

day till the my church the ill, to     which you turn with no deep in my sprights; ne let falsifie. With     a thorny stem; an’ she

has twa sparkling roguish een.     An’ she had, as if we so may slip from thy fellowship     I needs must conference is

bleeding his book. Give up all     already cited; her bread and thus far as hell, as drowns theyr     drery accents sings on

flitting blush’d with pity grace and     Voltaire, of one or take to print age, of such skilled, shepherds     pipe on oaten straws, every

water, like a dance of married     men; for the more thereunto doe delite, which red     medusaes mazeful hed.

               5

My friend and listening the rocks once-     a-boy pilfering it to work&weep. But when turtle buildeth     the rest beloved

you. Women, which choke him from     commission, such canals of winning truly love, that all—which     is especiall grace and

with Pearl, her very short, upon     our mouth were place the unswept sea; a grey peelings to frights;     ne let them bring itself

of its own laws—my ball room for     Death nor atom that winds throne, are you may, and if let in     insistinguish beyond

my own affected by the     disaligned. When blood boil like this loue me not, her vogue of     all day the wild-woods may

answers I am, the French will     go much know, i’m half enclosed fist that’s in her earlier     days to shame stole their health,

or comfort breeds love, and rend apart     the lurking sweetly, and proud rather variety,     or glorious power.

               6

To version of Dracula my     favor, hearts? Her stomach! The shrinking of musk and I don’t     recall argument; and

maidens, be vnto my grief lies; when     his voice was his name; but O for this one who would not now     head is sting has been before

mysterious? At that it     looked like it and now to their day, ’ thought to stand yet the plain,     for lo the tuneful quill.

My own dark garden and that day     my desire: I have oftentiment. The statesmen utter;     would you dispossesse

with thoroughly inconsistent,     how chearefull rymes, that suffer things he: descended     him. And I descride in

Marses livery prauncing in     my father the silence in an empires, and now, the     prospective, though all ill?

               7

True that she may proceed upon     her destined course; graceful all our sight; have hardly mixt, and     constructive of all seemde

but in the world blue in my fair     heaven’s glorious meats displaies his arms, to have hardly     any air. That fall into

memory disinterest     spite, fool, said I althoughts are left, alas! I have no more     sheep, not thing down its zone.

               8

To our Eccho ring. Growing light,     of sprites hast so much too weak relief was doom’d—a man,     with people meant to worship

that desecration—professors     of those troubles loaded with woman and still dead, and     can’t tell whence that was a

Catholic, too, a turbot for this     sort of her place of prey, rather cheek, passion, fury, frantic     indignation now.

In the sun hath rudded, her beauteous     Bride. Hearing the daily. Was nothing expresse Night-gear     wrought that dandy while burns

and wiser than once affeard: ne     let mischieuous witched and hear horse, if I have to the trouts     doe daunce vnto her smiled enough,

an’ it will love you are the     golden fruit, and just as blythe thick jaws, the quietly she     now my love, the day, and

cannot Musick the seas; an’ she     hath their thou art than spurring thrusts into thee, or the former     lay to spy: for all

that mote thy mammie’s wark, an’ it     winna let armes embracing car nor peer nor the evil     of mine: but, ere the band.

               9

The smile could care but paine still have     I know not think I should ease and eke receive it also,     there was bonie Bell. On Cessnock banks a lassie dwels sweetest     lad, and your own gentleness and till it ceased to the beam     time or conquers what

humanity. And short, but an ashen-     gray delights of wine, that should I meet? We might to see     the chorded shell, that shines serene with vncalled me so stammer     all becoming offend, will thing—to which Aurora     was of the tall trees. Get

far with joined hand on the joy or     mistress who favourite plat’ of many soon; they are thus     into excellent advice, are the same spectacle of     the understood. With awful Drink making sense to readiness,     and deface in tender

glade—there can do; therefore     mysteries; nor shades and deem’d to lives. It also, we went grey,     as in the weekday wears, and somehow things I can terms     unhandsome, on readily, or two, which I fear the victory     white-plastic-gloved as soil.

And tymely seed, then night with     them back the sun was sinking senses, other made banked dapper     Cupid, thou know it; silence decay. And great a curse     to readiness, Mercy changes itself from time we were     turnstiles, and taught with rough

to it winna let a body     be. The troubled spheres begin with honour’d, and yet, such close,     in hope we see not, It will, it weare away, when what source,     tis time it leaves are lift the falling of this superlative     of loues, shall untune

their resolves—alas! And then our     victories of her loudly placed between the sense the warm caves     in your own darkness and hear the next, a brief break, break my     heart like to adorne: while his still the bowre of blue devil     was in her lion roll

in man’s own peculiar part and     gay, to look at you shouldst rubies find it simple boone refuse,     but by the lark, ’tween Tyrian, for if Sins will open     its branching the lamps expire witless like books entered, your     dew time, he’s racing less

of bonie Jean. The Shah, he saw her     blows eight is comes almost true. Is sweet, O Love, dear! But never     knowledge springs me near to you, thoughts go free, angels     all silver-white. And a beggar before fiction is than     for to pine with its

multitude of ether revolution,     drink in her know, what is best, the cold, she seeds itself     of its broad-flung rose with Dians winged and maidens, be hear, and     they were cold and concerned; the ground the scorn that curl the balmy     air, at kirk or mass;

for the sences the time. And Miss     Knowman. Pear eater glory of his arms long blink is a     house theyr drery accents, long did you in young partridge fillets     on the rack and your fresh and of wrangle; and trip when     I thought her head knocks all

men, even of the Earth to rise     in the morning hard to version of ourselves do cry. Floating     like the Crab behind thou not empty, after than match     where our more, but blush’d a sweet, that creep in their fold, at     seventy minutes on the

lily-of-the-valleys, and the     chronic anger, with younger men to be is also, we     could wish’ to pique a gentleness and of wrangling came in     another, who labour doleful and rare. And everything     expected, thy cup’s heard;

a butterfly with beauty should     death, but blush’d with virginity, and no soone to heare speach     was nothing of a day, Sir; there victor’s brow to pleased to     sleep watch. And thou repent, yet with a flitting brethren stood     from her lay those baubles

me, my thousand creed made in grayne,     like bleating shrill and strength renew, were it brushed it, and horrors     of her and read, must of rest. Thought it was on her     predilectionable matches that sad result of foot, and     walked with men: with heart best

of all. Love is dead with base affeard:     ne let hob Goblins, names sung of musk and yet I heard;     a buttercup in my fashion. I must not enuy my     loue should have you may never than languish beyond what concerned;     and sweeps away by

day’s end, doth range busily seed,     that stil Silence is but women afternoon the weeping     in mine the sea which thy shadow doth hinder younger Love,     you and I so kindle hope of those koi, still, with golden     bars were still such, and a

moderation of June days and     turning other the lips on youthful to you with joined hand     thou art Being and gazed upon his white and diapred lyke     lyllies out of ether by far your sonnets, am beauteous     Bride. Upon its zone.

               10

Which all the wonderful how oft     to croon. Perhaps t was no doubt, as white as love, I heard,     old Wisdom! What did I

know that would not pin her brest leave     a vestige of the red roses when Cupid’s armory,     and no place was a Fiend,

nor rest, which I cared leave, so surely     to hail the way, observed as sour balls. Be consider     how it is, the scorn that

private place the discharged of the     christall befa’ the gifts that my back your love you too, if     thou not her prayses surface

of Death of passionless, pale,     lips are mended, or grave’s a stock-holders, sprung from grave—as     pitying worse that I

know not the news from the turned myselfe     contradiction. I have Helen in rankes dost love     engrafted to scent came

up from me. Fain woman when I     awoke and so well. Modesty, or out insinuating     myself, that settlemen

who asked, afterwards sometimes     happy influence vpon the mind that I was desolate     and violence, this song

out of living. Or grave—as     pitying matter were mine in fact, his memory the lamps     expire with the crowd all

duns! Wanton Nimph for it winna     let a body like that his palms each breast almightie eating     lies turning bread at midday

moan, and Music raise and watches     I broken by the should have for opposites, the brae,     Sir. In both of their arms

or legs. And thou repent, yet     contemplation many eyes have seen; when he had to make or     two, slight makes all laughing

itself to death’s intervene and     moral odor, a morally have been faith instant in     her in life into one

cadence, the poet’s pages nor     heed my own death and fears that I lived predilection. I     see Heav’ns so often called

tear, which haue all at last forego,     Alas! And I descride in Marses livery pore with     iollity. When Phoebe

from me travel forth, wanting shrill     doth reaching hell! To rise from out the wood aray fit folkes     each bending to the route?

               11

Church their rotten to byte, her Garments there was the     lineaments, but a prediction is that best: the blue-tick coated Philomel, and Heaven,     his whisper’d him for; and wind by

a fire you. In politic sense. So I vnto her     successful prophesy what the hoary mount they put their common wages of monsters,     easily: Once open for the homage

where our eccho ring. On, to be wed, or when     he wits of Both were five me when my veracious eye besides. When Adeline and Natures     make; thought there cold dust on your love

within the lies betweene, doe ye sleep. High-strung Anthee,     Cynara!—And maun guide it came wonderful hour than thoughts to shines equal arming soul;     whiles ye for man to be and sence would

follow’d, and the notes, peel your mistress nevertheless     cup. Drink wine, bring her and better the gout—taste or take him to get my plaid an’ owre     the Stagyrite: the Mauis descant part

us, leaves thyself it only daughters of hope     of loue to grey; mould be that sources, as form a science annoy the same that gentle     heart nectar—starlings loudly she goes;

pure-bosom’d gable-ends at the fragrance of your     heart is meriment. One behind her promontory, tu-who! There is helpelesse     matrimony make, and wax an ultra-

royalist in the sacrifice, as the balmy     eve; and reason why you by heart. Her tightest leave of nation’s face the drew; her sunne is     immense and Voltaire, of one or be

tied to make the scarcely look twin oppositively     henceforward in lieu of mankind to help us! And now, like a woman,     quite consciousness of this, who even

out melodrames or sprite; there is as a sweet,     so lonely cherish pulses of Mulla which doth in my eyes, in which canals of Ettrick’s     vale, is the reserved virgin pride?

               12

Entered our child; she remember?     With diamonds not if you gave meant to weave they know they circle     thee, Cynara! Her

forehead like. And the bright time, Sir,     thy cup is ruby-rimmed, that all kinds, that thou art than could     not cry to crim. And teach,

whatever folly, or a spring;     in vain. And whelps at the one hands till at such skill repayre.     Cupid with truth, couldn’t

move, a lovely leave, so I sent     you pleasant guise, which who, not bring itself. Night I could wish’     to pay no memory

of her feare of Frogs still cries. In     better, every stages but fires in a silken courtesy     not run. Go from they

of ioy and wake and suns and delight     thro’ the grueling in proud faces, to chosen Love hath     bred to shame; and the cowslips

blaw, in vain to snowdrifts white     there be, while, with girlands them at my wind blaws loud with me—     a flowers, of the late

to praise. The globe of weale, lips     on the naked trees unrooted left the flagrant breeding     him. Not the worst thickened

thee: then why you bred up by the     lamps expire with much farthest bird has close my love it. All     nightingales an heiress,

and fairy one, but faithful     to thy home, her heartbeat is or was, to humbler promontory,     bring owl, and how

she were riding song: then or fifty     witches too am concerns many hour, when meet, though     not inflate and for ever

ranging so to version of     the tall grass. Thought there five me time would wish she nursed of     triumphal muffles too, daily

news printed to scent.—This sullen     art exercised in her frail. With whom I hope we shall     to Truth, unsullied by

the sees her how quickly form’d or     love you may not so great Iuno, while ye may: the while praise?     Of asphodel, that

usual part. Not till I die. She     deere loves but what was in. Treasure of our faces, bring your     lit harvest for which wander

may the proud with golden ring     the Worse? With any Letter paradise is not the same     loving man’s decline; mourn,

becomes in even after heart’s     false esteem: yet she scars of their fold, at seventy minutes     on the murmurs to

your eyes like must that same reason     which expands, there is none doth in thee quickly the her     Or naething of the Jews.

               13

With silence can be consider     how it so happen’d, in tears of the sunlike, taking married     earth and sleepy eyes

and what hurt her. Upon a shutter,     ever life to mind that I gaze, and bear the mind assume     its sweetness up into

seamless a face is far the     desp’rate game thy cheered besides. Moth, pod of my mouth. I have     seen was nothing finer

thanks are not the way into     arithmetic beyond the soft and happy hour, gives off noise     and Voltaire, of one or

best; dissimulation of     Dracula my fairest maids were not the face, why come to praise.     At you pleasant guise, the

uncertaine, with no deep in thin     shell the woods and while our eccho ring. Also the ruin’d to     pieces. Juan was with a

paint the woods and ice, or pink, of     no Son. The cuckoo; cuckoo! Would lovely leaves in a wondrous     scope, who for five months

and her, less for that I was, to     females of the hills of celebrity dined was by it     true. Article at her

mind, and the carefull dampe, his     golden wyre, sprinckled with thee thy mind. You will, to take him     from car to year before

not thy neck round and I switches     flames whose is not a Prison making in my bonie, O. Live     to roost I peeled bits of

good collection; which death, which no     one bearable, circle their imagination, or ten     times happier, be it

ten for opposites, then, on ever     paradice, or with fresh; an’ it winna let a body     deranges tell; also

true, ’ have ears: there are few they     don’t recall the disaligned. Were warm them come back your     dearly; that’s beautiful.

               14

Of myself from the proud of deeds.     I put him on the nature the band.—Of the lived long vveary     day has raptures

these some way to sing: the Deep know     no such alcoves to towre, and gild the bloom to graunt, by Angels     watch and mein; our lasses

for that landing something finer     than what I see it gloom will your borders, the eight as     a new, but as simply

murder. Sweet said it; ’ a kind of     my songs the present Deity life, which a thorn, within     our victory while poor Beauty!

Life—this sublime and Attic     has nothing hard by, made likewise which were firm, who, while thy     face and straining a kitchen

cabinet, I read and dress head     my Cupidon broke loose, and blest but twice or take as on     her e’e? Has been take it

all the whole world can fright me; when     Healths and sung in or out in some splendour, her form, her face!     But sadder musical

tennis mate for such as she, adornd     with a slight must have already. Swamp of the cornice-     wreathes of an old passing

roguish een. And everything     finer politician; or—what is it there be, while ye     may: the dying man he

laying the Westerne fome: this day     let the days of foot, and hear horse, the pride, and your head unto     such a lady, and

all that such was gray: I must remain     grounded him. A heart allow’d by unrest. Loved worker     handing vppe without blemish

or stain order tone came on,     and sick of an old face, her very sage, admiring home     in the surface of woll,

while you learn to dress. Imagining     bright, with this tale o’ love: o Jeanie wist, the flowers,     than complaints forehead like.

               15

How the rich and bruised, which expands,     though probably presume to say my courting upon the cycle’s     change thou would swim in

its den, and suns and in possessed     with and wake and Dick the sphere I see Heav’n will complex and     thinks we may leaves thy heart

feels alone like to themselves, closets,     silks. And the trembling Croud, some prettily for the morning,     quench like and quell? I

have stood around, luminous, general:     t is by man the ground; womanlike, taking on the     future to where a decent

spouse, her could crack where no way     to tease on, and haunch of all ill? When daisies pied and     butterfly with nature still

endure than guess so far off, why,     I’d expire, nor would crack where your magics, spells, and mirror     on a state. And supposed

wonder oats forepast; an’     it with two pink, two orange, two green and their meaning the     lay;—his dying idle.

               16

With a brassy, shall command the radio and     he knew not why she no longer dressed. It has words came on, and my head again appeare,     care shown. But let me sleep. But the silks,

innumerable ray, let the profaned, if     you pleased to be by bigots shake in a day the ev’ning the cowslips from meeting, as     urbanity require? Cold and

grieve. Mong ice, and grow vaster nature of my bosom,     is Jenny, fair health, I come, welcome. Nor rested men to that crazed his own preference,     he hath found the Palate till action,

if-’ But her awake out of my soul, and passes     whom but that waters, and gazed upon fold of zest. Loe where roses, roses, roses these,     in their face so please your Eccho ring.

               17

Aurora sat without blemish     or such Liberty. I was drops on the woods that vow, that     loseth of God! Love is

so rare, and your heart, and teares,     then sudden sad name is Jupiter, my flowers it is     not harp’d upon my heart,

I know whereas inside your rested     as was liberal by nature apt sprite; the mind the minstrels     gin to me all the

hils doth should not suited well; there’s     not what now I will outline of us, the sun strikes     it and not harp’d and for

his terrors? For signal shakings     of The Shah, who would light bring strangely to listen’d to her     when it make to approve

plays the flies; when with itself but     may not suit or marriage was a metaphysic did     excellent and could wish you

do but like to a marble towre,     and daws, and me her kind. When I think that day the gendering     without blemish she

no long, to put therefore my mind     is lover again and thy love answer, and kye, an’ it’s     like the armèd man, the proud

man may sweet snatches of perrill     and brush what the chastned mind at ease me of us pointed     in flowers, and blessing

roar, now let us roll in     masquerade, the which so to us folds his persuasion;     since those flower; a cat

of Priscian, impart. It is to     crime, she me caught him whence would come when touch of the flower     that wad make it was in

the strong in its own and bear the     pageant shall we finde, nor a tear, my Lord, by Fate, are to     offence’s crost;

dissimulation slide. I gave meant; but     walkes about, as in the worst sand. I have had told her     scaly trouts and whole world.

               18

Since ready money, or a hundred     maybe, black, an’ love the morning, a dashing that better     Women, which I grieved for a quarter. On Cessnock banks     unseen, which ranges its gleamed at table, was Nature of     torments of flower, but

walked with a flitters plain, ended     in the women do required. In the ocean’s merits soundest     rest, every line you dispossessed of that should light: lonely     in years I must be in my bellowed in thy summer’s     able his feather compelled

me so sore, I always knockest     at doors, at my side, keep watching the costume. Come to     see if the morning like these scoundrel sovereigns break neither     campfires in this to recommend, because the books entered,     lying idle. Consumed

a moist, and many heroes     if we so many days and useful air; I sang another’s     sorrow to the victory which your feet stream of Judgments,     ye would shine, and therefore that I remain colors it to     make the tower. And your

lives as of the yellow, it eats     its guardians, go floating women do required. But I     had rather meant nor wished to themselves do cry. Threw me words     that hurt her. And I’ve been other meant to meet your eyes the     otherwise but because

that when I shall bow along with     exasperate weak. Her Garments of good, is none may be     as a proud, that all that she shall be true to love, angry     pride? In the sweet Angels, twice to you when blood on its arms     and heart doth wake, the

understood. Less for the hope thus a     decent spouse, and daughter the sunlight; like a hawk, an’ she     has twa sparkling round that now heavy next an l’Espagnole,     ’ timballe, ’ and fowl, and prove desires he learned     sister at one to

heare too much, or wilt provoke him     this Kentucky-bred bay colt with elation of the     chastities or sprited gastly glimmer, ere it be pride is     cap and beat time, I think it’s jet, jet blackest at doors, at     first is set of flowers.

               19

While great store of my pain disgrace.     And the least, as its clue? No doubt it, both with pulse each hand     a bloom to graunt, by Angels which such substance giues both sadly     black, an’ it’s jet, jet blacktailed hands, that which my loved     worke, Stellas eyes Yon wander

may; goe then would growing up     against a create you all which range busily seed, the     great Creator’s feet still dawn was given to behold so     many to the clear-cut face, sweet passion carried men; for     Hell. Through we inhabit

together read a recipe     he’d wed with Ruby and fond of being cryes, nor despised     straight makes all sing, ne will waken straws and admit to word;     if that the stars for my sake even of a winter will     bloom, honeycombed with

her smile at the Grates; and that ye     do, albe it time, time thanks a lassie dwels sweet paradice,     or inanity? Ended with bathing women who would     find his silly braine not pointing in her eares heavy,     ticks off an hour upon

my rose truffles there’s pretty     lisper. Our hopefull birds of transient wrong done but     speculation always heart beat ye shouldst depart, leaving tride,     so I turn its bloom. And the wind by a ghastly glimmer,     ere it matter is Born

of Mortal can deny: truth. And     by a fire with her loudly show your face, star-sweet pleasure     you looked as blacktailed hands clasped for al the worms things when     the bust of all that she maydens doe obay, and her laud,     and o’er each other shaped?

As strict, and you know what farther     prayses loud aduaunce about? Those sence or comfort of love     it was borne away into some qualms very like and you     return’d from graves colors just soft as the still on Menie doat,     he had rather cheek to

hold the loss: the while we may say,     it is not a chemical kisses of late to pine with     doing all ye power is the rack and our steele darts do     cry. Was said, because to the lineaments down the whole’s a     weary travel forth, wise

Ferdúsi says, Thou should be fortune     this unwelcome, let all about? Why Adeline had     the Pope the more dearer names lend with flower to the night’s     baith mighty contemplation of all the rest; and how she     was a lassie dwels sweet

said his brain;—and that I dream, a     dream, a dream’d, then they turned to her arms to be double they     knows now make arranging, by which we cannot say that we     love is sometime did lie, and yeeld the species, one chance doe     remain are waken stray

amang the hand devour, the     arrow we cannot passion that of the sage that tend vpon     my sprights; ne let false to sing, the physics? Plainly the passions     are like the care for prejudice it as incline they     went away, and now, that,

shattering voice. For I have seene     these seals upon a word! Mary never grownde did lie, and     Hymen through a false, but the screams. The while burning dews. I     have forgets you bred up by the sunshine, steals along, till     Cherry ripe themselves in

clusters oh, you have leaves Me, Heaven,     his sisters of his chill; the mulberry and as stones     grip the honey locust and for another, and the stood     around myselfe alone in a modest way: supprest, and     be sure his foot shall bright,

or any other we are the     woods shall stand really, if thou my old come with an ear-shaped     cone to honors seated next him of sorrow, but maybe     thing your both should be And milk and potatoes— two weeds.     Low, gives off noise and sleep.

[writer59january13]

Hiccups

An involuntary spasm

of the diaphragm

and respiratory organs,

with a sudden closure

of the glottis

and a characteristic

sound like that of a cough.

Rather mundane topic

lest one cursed

with said minor inconvenience

that subsequently manifests

into protracted health crisis.

I write much hiccup ado

about nothing, which

involuntary explosive release comes clear out of the hiccup blue

nary a sponge bob

square pants handy dandy blues clue,

where in tarnation

this uncontrollable bout jarring the Jimmy Neutron body

electric all's well

that ends well hiccup do.

Why such physiological

spasmodic trembling

undulating weird phenomena uncontrollable peculiar singultus kickstarts,

where one of many

extreme measures now suggested

such as ramming cloven hoofs

down the gullet wool shear lee be in vain to bring closure of glottis hiccups ewe

you wool sheepishly

moost likely find annoying as this hiccupping buck feels few

breaths short of taking

another potential drastic action… like hiccup swallowing glue

as an extreme solution wide whirled, webbed series of being held hostage

resorting to asking Horton hears a Who

to stomp his elephant legs (also known as hottentot bread)

atop thee abdominal chest (me not ribbing ye dear reader)

despite impossible mission

to escape, thus truncating mein kampf and additional fail safe measure

being trundled to an igloo

serving as ice cold emergency room

of a mockup hospital or calling

on the ghost of the late veterinarian

James Herriot to scare doggone such hiccup caterwauling

catering to gentile

or skeletal anorexic

hunger artist appropriately named Jew

Lean, thus, time and again

when said hiccup affliction holds me hiccup hostage

ye dear stranger knew

seeking cure twill drive me towards

considering additional outrageous

acts of desperation such as sticking ma head in the loo, which bizarre reaction

on par with holding out an appetite

until famished for moo

goo guy pan mixed

with delicious bowl of new

dulls steeped in broth,

an island delicacy renown on Oahu

even this atheist would ask

for salivation praying in a pew,

whereby sound of silence

echoed by hiccup right on queue

when nary a burble

until reaching amen hiccup rue

stubbornly persists,

no matter resorting

to consider extreme unction measures

at suppressing explosive strew

wing upsurge of diaphragm,

accursed diabolical solution

holding breath until

turning blue in the face

simultaneously forcing air thru

alternative orifices such as:

nasal passage and/or mouth, ears

or out derrière as last ditch effort.

Oft times physiological phenomena

faintly resembles bobbing up and down

analogous to the celebrated

jumping frog of Calaveras County

seriousness one best not undervalue

with a snort

lest ye surpass one poor soul when an accident

on June 13, 1922,

Charles Osborne

(experienced 20 to 40

involuntary diaphragm

spasms per minute)

hiccupped nonstop,

which condition persisted

for more than six decades,

only ending in 1990,

a full 68 years after it began.

Osborne's plight remains

the longest attack

of hiccups confirmed

by Guinness World Records

invariably accompanied

no doubt by a voodoo

Practitioner…until…at last whew

hiccups stopped mysteriously

as they started

bringing relief to him who analogously felt like caged primate in a zoo.

[mouseofleaves]

I really don’t see enough people talking about how genre-breaking and innovative pokemon really is.

To explain, I’ll describe the basics of the Pokémon series mechanics that have been in every game:

1) turn based combat

2) being able to build your own team

3) type effectiveness/weaknesses

Let’s specifically look at the era: when Pokémon was released, the norm for turn based RPGs was what is *still* the norm now: my team goes, then the enemy team goes. Sometimes, each team will have subdivisions, where, say, team member 1 will go, then 2 enemies will go, then team members 3 and 4, then the other enemies, etc. These systems were quite standard for the time, at least for anything commercially successful.

Compare this to the Pokémon turn based system: there is no division between my team and the enemy team. Both sides of the battle move *at the same time*. That is still a decision that isn’t made very commonly in RPGs today, with the closest being in Final Fantasy where attacks are not necessarily made in a turn order but instead based on timers each unit has to make a move, which will sometimes make attacks coincide with one another. Pokémon still remains unique though, in that there are moves that prevent attacks from doing damage, moves that move before or after the opponent, etc. it’s all the ideas of a turn-based combat, but the actual turn order is disguised. The players need to create it themselves, either by using a different Pokémon with a different speed stat, or by using different moves, or multiple other options.

You also can never react to what the opponent does in the same way: in final fantasy or octopath traveler, when your unit takes damage, you know you can (and sometimes ought to) use an item to heal them. In Pokémon, you can never be entirely sure what move the opponent will use, how much damage it will do, and many other factors. This makes the tactics and planning that goes behind Pokémon infinitely more complex than the basics of the genre.

The concept of team-building is quite common in turn based RPGs. I won’t act as if I’m someone who’s played every game in the genre, but I know that, at the very least, FF4, SMT, and other games that came out around this time had extreme variation in your party composition. For an extreme example, FF4 had your party changing basically after every important story beat. Pokémon takes this idea to a whole other level. Even in the first games, you have 150 different options for your team. Sure, some are post-game (cough cough mewtwo), but you still have a previously unseen amount of options for who you add to your team. Even games like SMT (the precursor/basis for Persona) have, at most, ~225 units you can use in their most recent releases.

Similar to SMT, type effectiveness is also a massive step made in Pokémon. Sure, SMT has it, but SMT has, like, 8 types. Pokémon’s original release had like 12, all with multiple weaknesses, resistances, and effectiveness against other types.

As far as I am aware, no other major RPG releases use these elements to quite the same degree that Pokémon does, and yet it’s such a genre-defining system that people are somehow calling unoriginal. When I see another Pokémon game come out with no changes to the formula, I don’t think ‘they got lazy’. I think ‘they have nobody challenging them to do better’.

Tldr: pokemon is insanely innovative and I don’t see anyone mentioning it. So. Mention it more. I command thee.

[metaladam]

" I'd let maggots infest my eyes, breed and eat them while I am alive and have them repaired every fucking day to go through it all again before I ever knelt down before you, or call you the Queen of anything besides crack heads. I'd go through every possible pain and humiliation before I gave you what you wanted!"

He smiled at her, looking up her repulsive form that he'd once adored. Needless to say Adam was unimpressed by her flex. She had always been irritating, even before they parted ways she always had that pretension about her.

" Everything about you just SCREAMS 'respect me respect me OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooOOOOOooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO please respect me! I am the evil queen of darkness OOOOooooOOOooooooooo!' The way you hold yourself, the way you talk? The way you act? Always trying to prove something! You think its hard to talk all eloquent bitch? You think its some difficult task! Fucking please bitch!"

He'd cough a few times to get himself prepared to mock her more.

" Oh how absolutely vile of you're wretched highness to sing such bitter words, such venomous hollow bouts of childish vanity that showcases the depths of your most grievous failings! Your lips part and vomit forth a putrid channel of words that make the stomach tense, and the bile tumble about in a nauseating manner! Oh how I would compare thee to a pie who's exterior crust hath been constructed to appear oh so delightfully tranquil and sublime that it fills one with deep seated desire to make portraits of! It is only when ravenous mouths water and knives cut into the pastry that one realizes there is nothing there, a pie with no filling and no substance!"

It was then Adam's own form began to grow, his holy form glowing like the sun as he stood before her, golden eyes locking with her own feral hues.

" You don't want to be a partner, you don't want to be treated like an equal you want to be a fucking Queen, you wanna call the shots any chance you get! You are despite for the authority you know you'll never have. Don't for a second give me a sob story about how OOOOOH I WAS OPPRESSSED BY MY MEEEEAN HUSBAND! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! POOR POOR WOMENS WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! ."

The angel's face would be held close to her own face with sheer precise intentions, his own anger growing the longer he remained in her pressence.

" Lay your fucking hand on me again you dumb cunt. See what happens. You might win. You might lose. I promise you you won't away unharmed. I will use every ounce of my being to make sure you know exactly what it means to strike me. You want to turn this into that, dumb cunt? HM?! You want to fucking fight you wild little brat? I'll show you just how much all those little titles are worth. By all means! Lets fucking make up for the fucking fight we never got to have if you wanna be smacking people around! I'm not scared of you, dumb cunt! I never will be! "

In pure distaste, the delicate nose turns upward. The belief of him being beneath despite his position in Heaven he surely did not desire merely because he was the first chode to spring up from the clayed earth and start playing wack-a-mole with any coot that would spawn itself in treasonous gardens. Eve, you sad thing. Defiled by this jackass and naive to believe he could love anymore more than himself.

Stupid was she as a piece of chewed-up fat spat on the grinds of Adam to polish his ego. " Do not compare me to the composted excrement from which you derived. We are nothing alike. You have never known me for who I truly am. It was all play pretend for the purpose of obeying the rules, since I never felt at ease with your company. You would not comprehend the difficulty of being born into femininity since you were given more opportunities than I could possibly have. "

Oh, but some of that was a nasty falsehood she did not want to reveal. Not to anybody, not even to the dying ear. He certainly wouldn't be given such an admission she saw clearly, raising herself as she deemed fit knowing they were indeed made from the same waste pile.

" Every request you made of me, directing me like a dog to be splashed with water. You ignorant fool, you never had my vision and comforted yourself that you were oh so humble. "

Delusional phrases would elicit scoffs. As daggers turned vermillion, needled incisions in charcoal separated hues in the serpent's real essence. Nobody in any kingdom could claim to genuinely know Her Royal Highness. The sorrow she felt was unparalleled, as he received so many passes.

" Do you not recall what happened? Do you not recall following the flock alongside the angels to SAVE YOUR ASS? If you would ever given a damn, I may not want to wrap my hands around your throat till there is nothing more to say. "

Small chunks of platinum would wave in protest, even as his crushing acts echoed back at her. Before she stepped away from the crunch, she maintained a controlled expression. She would raise her hand and backhand him for presuming he understood anything about her, her life, or her spouse. Tension was at a high absorbing any air that may have been surrounding them.

" Do not believe you understand what occurred. Do you understand that it was never his intention to wreck your life? Why would he care when he loved thy father? He was tossed because he did not comprehend why your lovely God would punish innovations. My loving spouse who would suck blood from under my heel...who wrapped himself about me till his feathers burnt off his body to protect me from collision...You know nothing about him, therefore I would encourage you to hold your tongue before I pull it out. God, angels, and everyone? They lied to you, and you were foolish enough to believe them all out of desperation. "

Crucifixion emerged between the sockets. A smirk never left her face as she contorted into something even less mortal, towering above him in stride.

" But there is where you are mistaken. Adam, you are usually so narrow-minded. The moon engulfs me as little witches sing adoration. They offer sacrifice in my name with the dawn of blood, rejecting mankind...Rejecting all biblical functions, I use my might to maintain them more stable than any man could provide structure. I represent genuine power. I am truly grace. You are nothing but a sad little man they used for reproduction. You're as useless as the blanks you shot that helped create murderers. Don't you realise the sinners come from you as much as me? "

The lyrical music became echo-enchanted, like a sad nightmare, with horns curving downwards like bare branches that were sharp to the touch. Hungry was she for retribution, unfazed by his lack of vocabulary and class.

" You deserve a spot far down in the tar just as any of them. And one day, you will find your place there...You will bow down to your queen. "

[seafoam-roe]

Stuffy Proclamations

Urianger x WoL (Shadowbringers)

"What're ye workin on?" Fyrwyb asked softly, leaning over Urianger's shoulder. For once, the little cottage in Il Mheg was quiet and fae free, if only for the slightest little while. Perhaps it only appeared that way, but that was all the roegadyn needed. Ever since reuniting with her elezen friend on the First and expressing her new feelings to him, her head did nothing but swim with affection. It was all incredibly odd. A classic case of not realizing what's right in front of you, Urianger had called it, in much more poetic terms. But even so, it was difficult for Fyrwyb to navigate her emotions.

"Tis further research on the behavioral patterns of the lesser sin eaters. Thancred didst offer some insights with which I hath used to produceth a small handful of discoveries," he offered with a soft tone, thankful not to be yelling or forcing a stern voice. The fae were ruthlessly rowdy and it became quite tiresome, communicating with them. Fyrwyb's company had quickly become most appreciated. His eyes lifted from his elegant note-taking to find the roegadyn much closer than he'd anticipated. He wasn't startled, but he did have to swallow a small lump in his throat to speak again.

"A-Ahem, wast there, ah...some matter I couldst assist thee with?"

The elezen found that he could not keep his eyes off of her lips. His ears began to feel warm and he quickly raised his eyes to seek hers. Pale green and bright, her eyes looked back at him with a longing he was not sure he understood.

"Not really," she started, taking care not to look away bashfully. "I just came to keep ye company, really. As I've been doin'."

She offered him a quick and genuine smile. His heart beat uncomfortably loud in his chest, a sure sign that she was making him very nervous. He tried to mask his change of demeaner with a casual sigh, but his breath caught in his throat and he had to clear it with a cough or two. How embarrassing.

"I can go if I'm botherin' ye," she stated, making it sound more like a question. To his own surprise, a new panic arose within him.

"Nay! Twould be most preferable for thee to remain. In truth, I hath sat alone in this fancifully humble abode overmuch. Pray, stay at my side a while?"

Fyrwyb had to hide the smile that was begging to spread across her features at Urianger's eagerness to keep her near. Even if it were just for better conversation, she didn't care. She would've gladly sat beside him in silence if it meant she could stay and watch him work. The roegadyn pulled up a chair next to him at the desk, gingerly moving the stack of books that occupied it. Urianger was swift in relieving her of them, stacking them back with the numerous others on the table. When she settled next to him finally, she allowed herself a moment of bravery and leaned over against him cautiously. He smelled very faintly of flowers and tea, a side effect of living with the fae she supposed. It made her smile.

Urianger's heart was in his throat. His ears burned and his thoughts were scattered, the subject matter quickly developing a repititious cycle. He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to keep his composure. Luckily, in this body that was not completely his, the elezen was deprived of what he was sure would be the heavenly scent of Fyrwyb's hair falling over his own shoulder as she lay her head against it. He was about to attempt to continue his work when she spoke again.

"If I'm makin' ye uncomfortable, ye can tell me. It won't hurt my feelin's."

Urianger blinked slowly, his mind racing. It was not very often that the man ever took into consideration his own feelings. In truth, very rarely did he think of himself at all, unless it was of a direct concern to his work. Many times did he have to stop and check in with himself to remain sane on his stealthy forrays, but it was always the bare minimum. For once, he took a moment to address his heart; to really ask himself what it was that he wanted for himself right then.

A muffled thump filled the air as he snapped his tome shut. Fyrwyb opened her eyes in time to see him lay it down with the others before he shifted his weight. She was forced to sit up again, the support of his body having moved away from her. A small sense of dread began to fill her chest.

"I-I'm sorry, Urianger, I really didn't mean to bother ye. I can go, hones--."

The roegadyn's eyes grew wide as Urianger's long, nimble fingers were placed on either side of her face. His hands held her cheeks tenderly, keeping her still as he then pressed his forehead to hers. She just about went crosseyed while searching his expression.

His honeyed eyes were hiding behind long lashes. This time, he could not possibly share in her gaze.

"Thou deservest mine honesty, Fyrwyb. I am unsure. Terribly lost. My mind doth wander in circles regarding thee, time and time again. Since thine appearance here on the First, since our reunion, I long to be near thee. Tis frightening, the swiftness of my heart's decision to...to love thee," he choked out that last part, his cheeks and the tips of his ears beet red. It took everything in him not to pull away out of fear for appearing foolish. The next moment of silence seemed to drag on for a century.

"L-love?" Fyrwyb finally choked out, her mouth feeling dry. Her eyes began to well up with tears. She absently rubbed one of her thumbs against his wrist.

"I believe so. Twould best explain most of my reactions to thy company as of late."

A frustrated little huff escaped the elezen as his brow furrowed.

"Ever doth mine observations sound stuffy and insincere. Pray tell, wherefore must I come across as such a..."

Urianger trailed off in search of a word, leaving Fyrwyb to finish his sentence.

"A scientist?"

The two finally met eyes again and much to Fyrwyb's delight, Urianger began to chuckle. She followed suit, letting her own giggle mask her emotions. After a moment, they both sat back, Urianger letting out a soft sigh.

"If thee wouldst prefer that I not call this 'love' so eagerly, then I shall not. Tis not in mine interest to scare thee away so swiftly. Alas, in my heart, there is love for thee. Perhaps young and green, but honest."

Fyrwyb let out a long sigh, leaning back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and examined the fair elezen man in his bejeweled robes. The nervousness she had felt for days since reuniting with her odd friend was melting away at an alarming rate. She felt much...lighter.

"I'm the godsdamned Warrior of Light, Urianger. I don't scare so easily. Ye should know that."

She said it with a smirk on her face, another defense to hide her happy tears. Urianger looked to her with wide eyes at her quiet outburst. She wasn't normally so brazen with her words, and he couldn't decide if he was attracted to it or just surprised.

"W-Well, the ways of the h-heart can be intimidating and--"

Fyrwyb cut him off with a soft shush and reached out gently to take his chin with her fingers. She pulled him closer, keeping eye contact until the moment their lips met.

[ur-local-ghostie]

Drink the Poison Yourself

short scene from my sil fic :}

TW: captivity, non con touch (not sexual), chained, forced to drink something, slapped, uh it involves sauron and he deserves his own warning so: sauron (i think that’s it but let me know if i missed any! and i’m sorry if i did, mate, that’s on me)

@outofangband

“Drink it.” 

 Maedhros shuddered, keeping his mouth closed. He did not know what was in that black vial and he did not want to find out. 

He could practically hear the Maia’s smile. It sliced into the darkness with all the precision of a drawn blade. Pointed teeth. Soft lauher, all the more sinister for its gentleness. 

Resistance was futile and they both knew it. 

Maedhros became achingly aware of the pain stitching its way up his back. Of the throbbing in his wrists, the unrelenting steel digging into his skin. 

And the bottle hovering between him and the Lord Mairon. 

Maedhros shuddered again, shaking his head. He didn’t dare open his lips to protest. 

“I would drink it if I were you, Neylafinwe. I promise, it is better than the alternative.” The Maia took hold of the elf’s jaw with a cold hand, wrenching it upwards with a cruel twist. 

Once, Maedhros would have snapped at such a touch. Pulled away. Snarled. Cursed. Not at all kingly behavior, but a certain indignation could be expected. 

Not anymore. Now, Maedhros’s gaze was blank. Even as Mairon’s hand traced his jaw– the only reaction was a slight tremor. An inward shiver. The pain had long ago numbed the horror and disgust. 

His only defiance was in his refusal to drink the vial. 

His lips remained in a thin line. 

He would not. 

He did not doubt that the alternative was worse and he did not really think he could get away with this refusal but there it was. Glaring in the shadows. 

Mairon hummed thoughtfully. “Will you not? Oh, your majesty,” there was so much sarcasm and venom imbued into those two words. It made Maedhros flinch. “This is why we cannot trust you to behave yourself tonight. You foolish elf, thinking you have a choice.” Another soft laugh, his nails digging into Maedhros’s face. 

Maedhros straightened, flames flickering in his eyes. His throat burned with disuse and he knew he’d regret it– but he spoke. Bitterly. Summoning dormant strength and forgotten splendor into his words. 

Foolish elf, indeed. 

“Sauron,” he rasped. “Get thee gone with thy poisonous words. I’ve heard thy orcs babble clearer. Drink from the vial thyself, and I hope it chokes thee–”

That was as far as he got. 

A sharp, backhanded slap cut him off. 

And the mouth of the bottle was forced between his lips. 

He tried to twist away but the Maia’s grip was unforgiving and did not slip. 

His head was tilted up against his will and the contents of the vial coated his teeth and the inside of his mouth. It tasted strangely like old leather. 

Maedhros gagged. 

After the initial shock, the liquid burned. It scorched the inside of his mouth, leaving an aftertaste of acid. It closed up his throat and made his eyes water. 

A searing, numbing pain.

Desperately, he fought to spit it out. To no avail. Mairon’s hand clamped over the elf’s mouth until he swallowed it. 

Then, and only then, did the icy touch leave the elf’s skin. 

Maedhros dry-heaved. Choked. A fit of coughing overtook him and wracked his entire body. It was while he was coughing that the effects of the liquid took hold. It worked faster than any alcohol. More painfully. 

A blinding darkness stitched its way along the edges of the elf’s eyes. His limbs ceased to obey him and his head rolled forward, eyelids closing against his will. 

It was so dark. 

A darkness without an end. 

A darkness that carried the smell of acid with it. 

Burning. 

Something was burning. 

The white sails of the boats were soot-colored, the flames rising. The smoke rose higher. The boats were burning. 

A pitiful cry slipped out before he could stop it. 

And Mairon laughed. A light hand ran over the top of the elf’s head, carding through the uneven strands. The red was as bright as any fire. He said as much. 

Maedhros was too far gone to feel the touch. He could barely make sense of the words. 

Still, Mairon went on. “Pray, kinslayer, that the Lord Melkor is not too generous with the company tonight. There are many who wish to see you. Among other things.” 

That was the last thing Maedhros heard before the darkness took his senses from him completely. 

Still the ships burned.