#Centre lathes

[bookloversofbath]

A History of Machine Tools :: Ian Bradley

[top-quality-auto-news]

Top Quality Group of Automotive Accelerates Qatar's Roadmap to Innovation

Introduction:

In the ambitious pursuit of automotive innovation, Qatar has set its sights on a groundbreaking transformation, and at the forefront of this movement is the Top Quality Group of Automotive. With a commitment to excellence, this automotive group is not only playing a pivotal role in shaping the nation's roadmap to innovation but has strategically positioned itself across all cities with 16 branches. This extensive reach across Qatar solidifies the group's influence in steering the country towards a future that redefines the automotive landscape.

Branches Across Cities: Top Quality Group of Automotive has strategically established 16 branches across all major cities in Qatar. From the bustling urban centers of Doha and Al Wakrah to the picturesque landscapes of Al Khor and Umm Salal, each branch serves as a hub for innovation and automotive excellence. This widespread presence ensures that the benefits of cutting-edge technology and sustainable mobility solutions are accessible to residents throughout the country.

Localized Innovation: The presence of Top Quality Group's branches in every corner of Qatar reflects a commitment to localized innovation. By understanding the unique needs and preferences of each community, the group can tailor its automotive offerings to suit diverse lifestyles. This approach not only boosts the local economy but also fosters a sense of community engagement, making the automotive future more relatable and impactful for residents.

Innovation Hubs: Each of the 16 branches serves as an innovation hub, contributing to the larger narrative of Qatar's automotive transformation. These hubs are not merely showrooms but dynamic spaces where customers can experience firsthand the cutting-edge technologies, sustainable solutions, and connected features that define the future of automotive technology. The branches act as beacons of progress, showcasing the Top Quality Group's commitment to pushing the boundaries of innovation.

Regional Sustainability Initiatives: With a branch network extending across diverse landscapes, Top Quality Group of Automotive is uniquely positioned to implement regional sustainability initiatives. Whether it's promoting electric vehicles in urban centers or developing off-road hybrid models for the more rugged terrains, the group's regional approach to sustainability underscores its dedication to environmental responsibility tailored to the specific needs of each community.

Local Employment Opportunities: The establishment of 16 branches also contributes significantly to local employment opportunities. By hiring skilled professionals and technicians from various regions, the Top Quality Group is not only investing in technology but also in the people of Qatar. This approach fosters a sense of community pride and ownership, making the automotive future a shared vision for all residents.

Conclusion:

As Qatar's automotive landscape evolves towards innovation, the Top Quality Group of Automotive, with its 16 branches spanning all cities, emerges as a driving force shaping the nation's future. This extensive network ensures that the benefits of cutting-edge technology, sustainable solutions, and connected features are not confined to one locality but are accessible to all. The Top Quality Group's commitment to innovation, sustainability, and community engagement makes it a trailblazer in the automotive industry, contributing to Qatar's journey towards a technologically advanced and sustainable automotive future.

[fayes-fics]

Audacious

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Impertinent. After your engagement party, Anthony asks you to rendezvous in his office to continue where you left off.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, mutual masturbation, orgasms.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Sequel request fill for @cleopatraathene to continue the story from Impertinent (ask HERE). Sorry, it's taken so long, my dear. Err, this could well turn into a series at this rate. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

The bejewelled band feels weighty around your left ring finger as you rap your knuckles quietly upon his study door. It's late, and the last thing you want is for anyone to know what you are doing.

After a pause, the hinges creak, and a hand snakes out and grabs your arm.

Before you know it, you are dragged through the door, and it closes with you pressed against the other side, the room heady with the scent of recently smoked cigars and expensive brandy. Anthony is casual in just a white shirt, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, braces slung around his hips.

“Fiancée,” he rumbles, his nose trailing up your neck as he leans in, the wood of the door panels digging into your bottom through the thin layer of your silk robe. “Did you enjoy our engagement party?” he queries, teasing your throat with soft kisses.

“Yes,” you answer breathily. “A-And I did as you asked.”

He pauses in his ministrations; you can feel the curve of a smile over your skin. “What did I ask you to do?” he knows the answer; he just wants to hear you say it.

“To return this evening exactly as I was last night.” 

He tuts softly, his nose trailing up the cord of your neck. “But you are wearing something, so you are not as you were.”

“I could hardly walk through the halls of your home naked, my lord!” you gasp.

He chuckles richly, his breath hot in your ear. “On the contrary. This is soon to be all yours. As Viscountess, you can do exactly as you wish. Or as I wish. And sometimes, I may wish you to be naked at my bidding,” he straightens up and looks down at you, dark eyes glittering. “Would you do that for me? Would you walk naked where I told you?“

Again, as last night, you feel under a spell. “Yes, my lord,” you whisper truthfully.

“Audacious,” he rasps approvingly, “just how I like it,” the last few words muttered over your lips before capturing them with his.

Your stomach quivers at his praise, then vaults at the first brush of his mouth, knowing that now you are betrothed, he has promised so much more. His lips are warm and soft as he slowly parts your lips, his tongue rolling, requesting entry. Instinctively, you open, a wave of luscious wet heat as his tongue lathes over yours, a dance that has you inside melting and a throb at the apex of your thighs that is entirely foreign but enthralling. As he breaks away, you chase his lips, eyes still closed, wanting more of his heady kisses. He grabs both of your hands and pulls you to the centre of the room, the fire warming the backs of your calves as he releases his hold.

“Take off your robe,” his order soft.

Your trembling hands scramble to obey, making quick work of the knot at your belly, pushing the material off your shoulders so it flutters onto the rug behind you so you are naked. There is a throaty noise and he takes a step back as if to better drink in the view of your body. His lush bottom lips curling under his upper teeth, his eyes covetous, roaming your skin.

“You should never wear clothes,” he opines, backing further away, grabbing a wingback chair and scraping it across the carpet until it is behind him. He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving your form.

“Spin for me.”

Heart beating fast, you rock onto the balls of your feet and rotate away so you face the blazing fire, your back towards him. Then you slowly complete the circle until you are facing him again, his expression ravenous.

“A perfect specimen. Now touch yourself,” the order is gruff.

You frown at him. “Where, my lord?”

“Are you to tell me you have never put your fingers between your legs?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“N-no, my lord? Should I?’ 

The dancing flames of the fire are almost too hot on your bottom, as he answers in a cool register. “Yes, you should. But perhaps I should be the one to instruct you as your future husband.”

With that, he stands from his seat, walking purposely towards you, his boots heavy on the rug as you take a deep breath. He grabs your right wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips and engulfing them in his hot mouth, his tongue questing against the pads of your fingers, the suckle of his lips sensual and damp.

With a salacious pop, he pulls off your fingers, his lips quirking into a knowing smile as he guides your wetted fingers to your chest.

“Touch your nipples,” he instructs quietly.

You gasp as his cooling saliva meets your flushed, puffy areola, puckering instantly under the pad of your fingers. 

“That feels good, does it not?” he dusks, wrapping his hand over yours to direct your caressing of yourself, his fingers never touching your nipple but directing your movement like a puppeteer, taking the fingers of your left hand and repeating the suckling action, guiding your fingers to your other nipple.

All you can do is nod and bite your lip, pushing up into your own hands, squirming slightly from foot to foot, feeling a dampness smear on your inner thighs as you do, your tummy replete with butterflies under his heavy gaze.

He guides your fingers over the swell of your lower breast and down over your stomach, chuckling as the teasing trail of your own fingers makes you giggle lightly, your belly rippling. His eyes flash as his hand guides yours lower, trailing into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs, something thronging between your legs at the molten look on his face.

Two of his fingers curl over the back of yours, turning your middle and pointer fingers into a hook before he pushes your hand lower. Again, you gasp as your fingers slide at his insistence into some folds of skin between your legs, damp and sticky. His face is dashingly mischievous as he places those hooked fingers over a certain swollen nub and swirls them slowly in an anticlockwise motion. You startle at the spike of pleasure that rushes through your body, the epicentre under your attentions.

“How does that feel, fiancée?” he murmurs, tone like velvet.

All you can do is stutter his name on a shaky exhale, your other hand shooting out to grab his muscular forearm where it presses your belly, the dark hairs there tickling your palm as you grip around him, needing the anchor, your knees feeling oddly weak.

“Oh, you like that…” he huffs, amused, as he crowds into you, his hand covering yours between your legs, dictating your movements, a shiver running down your spine at the fizzles of pleasure sparking around your body. “Do not stop,” his voice low, resonant, his lips hot on your temple, you moaning lightly and leaning into him.

A sweet-tart scent fills the air, your fingers coated in a slick, viscous substance that can only be from your own body, a soft, wet noise emanating from where you touch yourself.

“That is my favourite sound in the world,” Anthony sighs into your ear, “so ripe and ready for me…just wait until we are married.”

“What will happen?” you inhale, trying your best to concentrate even as you feel your body swelling under your own touch, engorged, hot, craving more friction.

“All in good time…” he answers enigmatically, his breath a touch uneven.

The slightly rough texture of his cotton shirt snags delightfully against your nipples as you writhe, riding your own fingers and his, wishing it were his skin touching yours. There is something hard in his britches that rubs your stomach with each move you make.

“Do not stop,” he gruffs.

You whine as he steps away, craving his heat, his toned body glorious to rub yourself against, akin to a cat.

“My lord…” you mewl, appealing for him to return, swaying unsteadily on your feet even as you continue to touch yourself as instructed.

“That is it, keep going up,” he encourages, retaking the seat and staring at you covetously, one of his hands falling to his lap, palming a swelling there.

“What are you doing, my lord?” 

You are intrigued by his soft panting as he roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers.

“I am doing as you are,” he groans, “I am touching myself, My cock.”

With that, he fishes something out from his white underwear that makes you inhale sharply. A red, almost angry looking rod of flesh that stands proud of his body from a dark thatch of hair. The slight is intriguing and makes you pulse heavily between your legs as if innately knowing it belongs there.

You feel yourself moving towards him, like a magnetic pull, your fingers still sliding over that hardened pearl between your legs as you get closer, hypnotised by the sight of his hand, now in a fist, moving up and down his swollen cock.

“Cock…” it falls from your lips reflexively as you stare.

He groans loudly at your utterance, a shiny pearl of wetness pooling at his tip as he does so.

You feel feverish, not just because of the roaring fire in the hearth, but a blaze inside, a flush running through you that makes your mind feel both fuzzy and sharp, singular in pursuit of pleasure, your fingers moving faster now between your legs, varying your speed and motion.

He hisses his approval as your knees buckle, sinking to a kneel on the rug, your knees splaying wide, your fingers freer to move, but your eyes never leave his hand, his motion a quick twisting tug now.

“Does that not hurt?” you blurt out breathily, not pausing, chasing a high you can feel hovering so tantalisingly close, a tingle over your lips and the back of your scalp.

“No, it feels just as good as your fingers do on you,” he assures, broken, huffing now. “I will teach you,” he adds, meeting your gaze heatedly when your eyes ping to his face briefly.

Something about this feels so decadent and luxurious, the same as his velvet jacket was on your skin last night, the garment that catalysed this whole tumultuous journey.

“Swap hands,” he commands, cutting into your wayward tangent, and you find yourself obeying on instinct. “Give me that other,” he rejoins. Before you know it, the fingers that were between your legs are in his mouth, his tongue curling and sucking wantonly, feeling the vibration of his groan over your fingertips as he cleans all your juices from your fingers, his hand a frenzy on his cock now.

Your other hand feels different; something about the catch of your blunt fingernails between your legs has you hurtling towards some crescendo, your skin feeling almost too tight over your bones, a pressure behind your ribs as your heart thunders, almost like you are trying so hard to chase and hold in something explosive.

“Oh, you are there, aren't you?” Anthony growls around your fingers still in his mouth, sounding wild, his motions untamed, gusting deep breaths out of his nose as he leans forward, eyes intense and glassy.

All you can do is nod, almost frantic, as if seeking permission to break, circling an abyss. Your fingers fall from his mouth as he groans loudly.

“Come for me, fiancée,” he grits out.

Unsure what that means, you just keep moving, feeling something snap inside that has you calling out and curling over, a scream escaping your lungs as your body seems to retract and explode outwards, your mind scattered to the wind as an ecstatic wave fans out from your core around your body, your muscles twitching.

You are brought back to the room by a noise he makes—hungry, gravelly, all male. As your breath returns, your eyes reopen to see him in the throes of ecstasy: an arresting sight. One curl of hair flopped over his dewy forehead, his lower lip caught under his upper teeth, eyes wild and unfocused, then screwing shut as he roars, his hand a frenzy on his cock which seems to pulse in his fist before spurting a substance in an arc part of which splashes warm across your chest, taking you by surprise.

That seems to signal he has reached a peak, too, his body wracked by a few aftershocks before he slumps back into the chair, panting, his hand slackening as he stares transfixed at the sticky streak of his cum over the upper swell of your breast.

“Are you well, husband?” you check, fascinated but concerned.

He doesn't correct the title you bestow upon him. “More than,” is his laconic, sated response, an easy smile claiming his face as he unfurls a sleeve to tenderly clean your breasts of his seed. “This is only the beginning,” he promises, cupping your cheek affectionately. “Run along and get some rest; we shall meet here again tomorrow.”

You cannot wait.

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[moonbeamsandmayhem]

a/n: Eddie x fem!Reader. It’s been a while. Thank you all so much for bearing with me. This is a purely self-indulgent blurb/fic. Not beta read. Inspired after author watched Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.

warnings: oral, penetration, dom/sub undertones if you squint, edging, reader with a vagina, Eddie being a little shit. I think that’s it! As always, please DM me if I missed anything.

October 31st, 1996 - 10:25pm

The candy had been eaten, scares given, and costumes put away for another year. You had gladly been on candy duty for a majority of the evening at the community centre, giving out treats, facilitating games for the little ones, and telling ghost stories to enraptured ten year olds who hung off your every word.

As for Eddie, he was running a DnD one-shot for the teens down the hallway. Occasionally you could hear raucous laughter and some profanities spew from the din. It brought a smile to your face knowing that he could still command a room like he had not-so-many years ago at Hawkins High.

But now, you’re home. In your shared apartment. Your legs are on his lap, while you balance a bowl of popcorn on yours. Your eyes are glued to the screen, watching as Dana Barrett and Louis Tully embrace, kissing passionately, the Keymaster and the Gatekeeper reunited at long last.

Your periphery catches movement as Eddie’s hand reaches for the popcorn before landing squarely (purposefully) on your thigh. You rip your attention from the TV to lift a curious brow at him, only to be met with a smirk. “Something on your mind, handsome?”

He croons, smirk growing to a full blown smile. “A few things, yeah,” Eddie admits, hand inching a little higher, “just thinkin’ about how killer you’d look in that dress.” He nods back to the screen, referring to the gown Dana’s wearing.

“You think I can pull that off?” You scoff.

“Sweetheart, you can pull off a god damn trash bag.”

“I’m not Sigourney Weaver, Eddie.”

“She’s got nothing on you.” He tugs the bowl from out of your grasp, placing it on the coffee table before giving you his full attention. Leaning over, he cages you in, forcing you full on your back against the couch. Eddie’s lips brush against yours, silently asking for permission, with a small peck against his, he surges against you like a man trying to quench his thirst. His hands are everywhere, as are yours, a whirlwind of disregarded clothes find themselves unceremoniously on the floor, but you’re both too distracted to care.

“You looked so hot in that witch’s outfit, babe. Was hard to keep it together tonight.” He latches on to the space where shoulder meets neck, sucking in a bruise.

“Y-you looked pretty hand - fuck - handsome yourself. The eyeliner, the fake-fangs, like something out of The Lost Boys, Christ, Ed’s.”

“Mhm. You like a bad boy, don’t ya, sweets?” Lathing the spot with the flat of his tongue. You shudder, eyes rolling back a little, losing yourself - did he say something? He nips at your skin and you gasp. “I asked you a question.”

“Could - could you repeat the - ah - shit - you’re distracting me, Munson.” You pout.

“Am I?” He looks at you with those big brown eyes, all faux-innocence and one-hundred percent mischief. “My bad.”

“Asshole.”

Eddie chuckles softly, “Guilty as charged. Now, are you gonna let me continue being a distraction or…?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Yes.”

You cum three times. First, on his tongue. And he makes you work for it, pay back for calling him an asshole. He lifts you higher and higher then pulls his affections away, leaving fluttery kisses around your clit before he starts again. He does this four times until you’re nearly sobbing. It’s a rather messy affair when he finally lets you cum, snapping like a taut wire, and gushing all over him.

Still dazed and trembling from the power of your orgasm, he pulls a second with practiced fingers. Playing you like he plays his guitar, making you sing into the howling night. You’re begging for his cock now, begging to cream all over it, but he shushes you as he works in a fourth digit. You arch your back clear off the couch like a woman possessed, you cum harder than you have in your life.

Or so you thought.

When Eddie eases into you, it’s the closest thing to heaven you can imagine. He stretches you and fills you just right, the piercing on the tip of his cock finding that spot only he knows how to he reach. He presses his forehead to yours, muttering to keep your eyes on him. And you do, because how could you possibly look away? Not only does he fuck you like tonight is the last night on Earth, he makes love to you as if you’re the only two people left on the planet. Slow, self-assured, comforting, everything else dissolves around you. You cum so hard you see stars. Your lungs burn, robbed of air, as you clench and cream and gush. He empties into you with such a guttural groan of relief at the exact same moment, sweat beading his beautiful brow. He pumps, once, twice, a third time, then lays on top of you, satiated, dipping his head a little to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“You absolute menace.” You tease, with an exhausted smile, leaning forward to capture his lips.

“What can I say? Bustin’ makes me feel good, baby.”

[baphometsss]

thinking about the different words for love in ancient greece and how the ancient elves seem to mirror that without having separate words in the language (that we know of). we know that the word 'lath' is love, that they named the centre of their empire after love. (according to legend, it was the romantic love of elgar'nan and mythal but honestly who the hell knows what their relationship was actually like.) but the regret where solas couldn't get mythal to leave the evanuris before she was killed is most revealing. this is the one the inquisitor gives to rook i.e. the first one if you haven't already found any, the one that they find at the ritual site after varric fails to convince solas to stop, as solas failed to win over mythal. it's the one where you can have the conversation where they debate what mythal meant by calling him 'love' and have that really cringey conversation

emmrich explains that they see the memories in their mother tongues, which means it translates differently to different people. (imo this is how you know they left it open to interpretation on purpose.) taash, as a qunari, immediately associates love with eros, because qunari aren't especially forthcoming with those kinds of emotions outside of romance. mythal's fragment even points this out if you're a qunari rook. she says (paraphrasing), your people don't bond like ours do, how could you know what it's like to love someone even as they stand against you?

but i personally think the love that mythal and solas shared was not eros but philia -- deep platonic love and devotion. it's the one type of love the ancient greeks valued above all others, above even family and romance. maybe there's also a bit of storge (parental/familial love, as mythal is referred to as his family in deleted dialogue w/lucanis and bellara, who have narrative parallels with mythal and solas), and a bit of agape (unconditional, self-sacrificing love) at least on solas's side.

so as for lavellan/solas... well, obviously, there's eros--sexual and romantic love. but i think, personally, that they share most of those different types of love rather than just that one. falling in love doesn't just bring out the best or the worst in you, but it brings out everything in you. solas has never been in love, according to the description of his romance, and that's why it catches him off-guard. it was a wildcard he couldn't predict. he himself says that it changed everything. everything we see in the romance suggests that the love they share is a mixture of all those different kinds of love:

eros--the romantic component, the sexual and passionate state of being in love with someone. their interactions are deeply romantic and passionate. they call each other 'vhenan'; this is an exclusively romantic term.

philia--deep friendship and devotion. they build a strong rapport on being seen as the people they are (solas, manifested wisdom/lavellan, dalish elf), not their mantles of fen'harel/dread wolf or herald of andraste/inquisitor. they are, before anything, friends.

ludus--noncommittal love/flirtation, casual sex--well, clearly it doesn't end up as being casual or noncommittal, but certainly they went through this as a stage. 'i have yet to see it [your will] dominated... i imagine such a sight would be... fascinating'

agape--unconditional, selfless love--lavellan clearly loves solas unconditionally. despite everything he's done and continues to do, they remain in love with him regardless of how badly those actions affect them and the wider world. it's the thing that gets them the most flack from fandom because it's seen as foolish. they even criticise themselves for it. and solas sacrifices his own desires, not just because he's so determined to follow through with his plan, but because he himself also can't bear to have lavellan see what he becomes. he 'can't do it to them'. he doesn't want them to suffer more than they already have at his hands. allowing them to follow him on the din'anshiral would've been far more selfish.

pragma--enduring love that grows stronger over time. well, lavellan is nothing if not enduring; their love will endure. that love has lasted a decade despite everything. solas, too, has not fallen out of love. even if you choose not to continue the romance in trespasser, he still wants to know if they feel the same about him after all that's passed. he haunts their dreams as a wolf, because he can't keep away entirely. he writes love letters and keeps mementos. their love has only become stronger, and now they live forever in the fade where it will grow and shape their world into something less 'terrible'.

philautia--self-love. they both do everything they can to make the other see their best qualities. it's hard to put this in the context of the relationship because it is self-love specifically, but i think lavellan's hope that solas will see himself as they see him, and that solas continually points out how they've changed him when they are romanced or high approval, is not a bad interpretation.

mania--i can definitely see how you could make their love obsessive. it is all consuming; neither can let go of it after a decade. this is the more unhealthy side of their relationship.

storge--familial love. i don't think they have this love towards each other per se, but i think they had this with the inquisition. in a way, the inner circle was the closest solas got to a real family that wasn't as fucked up as the evanuris. lavellan, especially if their clan was killed, also would've needed them like this. they were both a part of the larger picture here, and this is a part of their relationship too. it was the backdrop against which they fell in love; it enabled their love.

[vilebird]

BOTH TOO MUCH AND NOT ENOUGH

1) "I have been found wanting, Natalie thought; I have made myself unacceptable and am not worthy." - hangsaman, by shirley jackson

2) text: "meat must be beaten brutal into tenderness, that any body softens with violence, she grinds salt into the carcass, like a wound, a memory". image: a carcass of beef, cleaned, with the ribs on prominent display, painted in oils and rendered in thick strokes of red, orange, tan and white, on a plain dark red background. the text is cutouts on top, dark red text on light tan. - Family Portrait as Unfinished Meal, by Torrin A. Greathouse and Le Bœuf by Chaim Soutine. collage put together by @invisiblemonstrosity

3) a pale hand crushing ripe red strawberries, green leaves still attached, on a plain white background. - apparently by ouiloved on flickr, but they seem to have deleted.

4) bust photo of a tan person with a spotlight on them outside in the dark, head turned down, shoulder length messy wet black hair obscuring their face. their hand is raised to their chest and they are wearing a white tank top. fake blood is splattered and wiped around their chest and mouth. - i can't actually find this one all my attempts lead back to unsourced tumblr posts if you know where its from. help me

5: "You have no one who has any sort of consideration for you. You have had patience and endurance, and what have they done for you? Half-killed you." - carlyle’s house and other sketches, by virginia woolf

6: "try your whole life to be righteous and be good, wind up on your own floor, choking on blood" - sept 15th 1983, by the mountain goats

7: "such a waste of a girl, such rumination. i am obsessive. i contain nothing but the replay. i am blood and blood and replay. i am please don't go." - i put the coffin out to sea, by lisa marie basile

8: an image of a partially bald baby bird begging for food, drawn in the desaturated greens and black of a trailcam, on top, the text reads "i am asking you for something i need", on bottom, the text reads "why is it so hard to give it to me?" - trailcam baby, by @quezify

9: "was i raised without love? / or was i born unloveable?" - @psychwarded

10: "I, in my corner, with my monstrous needs." - As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh, susan sontag

11: "oh, i know that i'm not whole, and sometimes feel the flies swarming, like much of me is rotten." - roadkill ode, chad abushanab

12: a photo of a cut tree where much of the centre is rotted from fungus, accompanied by the text: "heart rot in pine. heart rot is the softening of a pine trees resinous heartwood, caused by an in-dwelling fungus. not all pines have it, but those that do make the excavation of a tree-hole next cavity easier for the red-cockaded woodpecker."

13: "rot made a home inside my body." - i know it's from "bloat" but cant find the authors name again. i think it starts with a c?

14: photo of an abandoned house in shades of brown and beige and orange, the walls are wet and scuffed and the drywall has been torn open in places, exposing the old lath. - abandoned, by @jaggedplains

15: photo of a mouldy strawberry, fading from bright red to grey-green fluff - Strawberry Gray Mold disease stock photo, by MediaProduction on gettyimages

16: "you ever feel like you were born with something rotten inside you and if people get close enough they're gonna find out" - tumblr post by @twoheadedfawnn

17: "we are meat, we are potential carcasses,' he once said. 'if i go into a butcher's shop i always think it is surprising that i wasn't there instead of the animal." - francis bacon

18: "you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth." - speeches for dr frankenstein, by margaret atwood

19: photo of a python hanging off a roof coiled around a black and white bird, poised to eat it - i heard some noise on the roof this morning, by candycane7 on reddit

20: "all that matters is that you want to hurt me. all that matters is that you want me." - when rome falls, by yves olade

21: "god told me i was forgiven and then he split me open" - god is made of hunger and i am made of dreams, by katie maria

22: "but this is not about love. once a pig is hung and cut straight, cut from rectum to neck, step inside her death like it is a room: that is how to touch her now. the lord said, you must not eat their meat or touch their carcasses. then came the end of the rib." - oh let's just be hogs, by gregory emilio

23: photo of a strawberry cut in half with its leaves attached. it is bright red, steel knife wet. the background is bright white and plain. - cut strawberry by liz west on flickr

24: photo of a handmade cloth sculpture of a dead autopsied pigeon, red zipper like an incision opening to its empty red interior, small cloth and thread organs arranged around it. - pandora: city pigeon, by jessica bartram

25: '"u need a therapist" actually i need to be euthanized' - tumblr post by deactivated user @122mg

[wiliowisp]

Heatwave ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.5k

Pairings ➻ Sebastian Sallow x fem!MC

Warnings ➻ NSFW 18+ ONLY

Tags ➻ third person POV, smut, face-sitting, giving head, penetration, sub!sebastian, aged up characters, married characters

A/N ➻ every day i fight for my place in heaven. this is the first smut ive ever written in my many adult years of life and also possibly the easiest thing ive written. funny that. hopefully u wonderful, sinful lot will enjoy <3

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

A heatwave has descended upon Sebastian and MC's happily married life. The warmth unties the strings of restraint and allows, often hidden, layers to be peeled away...

The heat of the August sun bore through the windows of their home like thick honey, making everything stick. She sat at the table, hands melting into the wood, a cup of water sweating in front of her. England had not known heat like this in years; the Daily Prophet had warned of winds carrying hot air from Africa but she didn’t think that it would swell the atmosphere the way it had.

Over the last few days, she had steadily reduced the layers of clothing that she normally donned. The corset went first; stuffy, abysmal thing. Then the petticoat, three layers under a skirt was simply too much. The chemise got traded out for the more contemporary brassiere, a thin lacy thing that was all but transparent under the sheen of sweat that she’d been drenched in these past few days. Her skirts got shorter and her patience thinner. She wanted to wring herself out like a towel.

Luckily, the only person who had seen her in such a state of impropriety was her husband and school sweetheart, Sebastian Sallow. They had been confined to their remote cottage in the highlands, sweating their souls away as the sun reaped across the country. Sebastian wasn’t bothered by her state of undress, they’d been married for almost five years and together for much longer—he had seen her in much more vulnerable states.

However, she had noticed his growing restlessness of late. They scarcely touched due to the heat; where they would usually be wrapped around each other in bed, they erected a boundary in the centre of it, loathe to touch each other’s skin and boil in the scorching nighttime fever. Now, she had developed a bronze tint to her skin, all the way down to her legs, her face flush with a sunny glow. Sebastian’s eyes had noticed this. He had noticed the layers slowly peel away, and the way the fabric stuck to her flesh, lathed along it like a tongue. 

The tension was thick in the air like rope. Sebastian did nothing to pursue her though, either by the heat sapping him of his virility or simply some form of chivalry. The rope tightened.

She had noticed him too of course—that was her husband after all. He was shirtless most days, a tan settling into his chest like varnish on a prized painting. His freckles darkened, set alight like sparks on his skin, the tone he had built from his career as a curse-breaker brought out in the daylight. A god cut in the stone.

When he entered the room, then, clad in a white cotton shirt, she was almost disappointed. He strode over to the sink, pouring himself his own water, and chugging it. His throat bobbed, adam’s apple prominent as the liquid ran down his chin and neck.

“I don’t think I can take another day of this,” he gasped.

“It’s not supposed to last much longer—we can go for another swim in the lake today?” she offered.

Sebastian took his wife in, his eyes dragging across her sweat-slick collarbones and jaw. “Maybe.”

The rope tightened. 

He put down his glass and the sound seemed to shake the foundations. His eyes did not leave her. After what seemed like a fraught but quick internal battle, he stepped over to her, hand sliding along her shoulders. His fingers slipped the shoulder off her loose blouse, revealing more of her glowing skin. His breath stuttered. Then, Sebastian leant over, ghosting his lips over her clavicle, tasting salt on the tongue, as he kissed a trail up to her throat.

“You don’t know…how difficult it has been,” he whispered, “to keep my hands off you.”

She tilted her head, offering her neck to him, as his kisses got sloppier, more desperate. He used his hand to force her eyes upon him and she knew that look instantly.

It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. Sex usually had him taking the lead, it was hot, heady and banal—as she liked it. Sometimes, though, Sebastian would get this glazed look in his eyes, when his desperation had mounted to a point he no longer knew what to do with himself. Most times, he was a half-full cup, the empty half allowed him some sense and reason, and he was able to control his desires. When left too long, his cup became full, there was no room for anything else except wild, desperate want. 

Right now, that need was etched into his expression. Sebastian’s eyebrows were pinched in a silent plea and his eyes were glassy; once he had started he no longer knew how to contain the water in his cup. The heedless want that pulsed through his senses until all they could perceive was her.

She maintained her composure. There was a delicacy to moments like these.

“Why is that?”

A frantic half-whine escaped his throat. “Because—because you’ve been practically naked in front of me all week and I—Merlin it’s so hot,” he was exasperated and whiny, and words failed him at times like these. Which made it all the more fun.

“What do you want, love?”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered between hers, he swallowed dryly. “So many things.”

His wife rose from her chair, levelling herself against him, bringing their faces closer. It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. But it’s so fun when he does.

She slipped her fingers under his shirt, running them up his flushed skin and around his waist. She pulled him closer, pressing his front to hers. He bit back a moan as the pressure met his hardening cock.

“Use your words, Seb,” she goaded, breath dancing across his cheeks.

He swallowed around nothing again. “I want your mouth on me.”

She surged forward, capturing his lips between hers. He responded immediately, an airy groan leaving his teeth as he gripped her hips and parted his mouth. She slid her tongue along the inseam of his lips, teasing him. Sebastian backed her into the table, arching her back slightly as he devoured her lips. Hunger stalked his every movement, his hips rutting into hers mindlessly as his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head so he could kiss her more deeply, lose himself more entirely.

She pushed him away. “You wanted my mouth there?” she asked innocently.

He tried to kiss her again, but she dodged. He tried again. She dodged. Sebastian’s head slumped into her shoulder.

“Please,” he whined.

“Please, what?”

“Please put your mouth on my cock,” he begged her, pressing more wet kisses into her collarbone.

His wife grinned, trying to bite back the smile and regain composure. “Maybe,” she mused, “come with me.”

Sebastian was led easily, trailing behind her like a puppy in a way that warmed her abdomen. The heat persisted, whilst the sweat had her baby hairs sticking to her hairline, as well as Sebastian’s chestnut curls going slick around his ears. But a new fever had started to pool low in her gut, one that begged for satiation.

Now in the bedroom, she wasted no time ridding Sebastian of his shirt, peeling it off him as it clung to the perspiration. He kept trying to kiss her as she did so, which she swatted away while he petulantly whined. To shut him up, she ducked and licked a stripe up one of his nipples.

“Aah—!”

Then she licked the moan right out of his mouth. They kissed sloppily once more, Sebastian’s hunger disarming him of any prowess as his hands roved desperately over her clothed figure. When he was like this, Sebastian became putty in her hands. Despite her smaller stature, she manoeuvred them to the bed, separating their lips with a wet sound and pushing him onto his back. 

He fixed his gaze on her. Leveraging his raptured attention, she reached under her skirt and slipped out of her underwear, watching as his eyes followed the lacy material when she dropped it to the floor. He was panting. 

She climbed atop him, kissing him once more, before levelling her gaze with his. “First, you’re going to use your mouth on me, then maybe we’ll see about you.”

Sebastian readily nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, yes please,” he panted.

His wife smiled, something softer, fonder, before her expression settled back into her role. She shuffled up his body, Sebastian’s hands already greedily grabbing the meat of her thighs from under her skirt, dragging her towards his eager mouth.

Before even settling, he began, dragging a long stroke of his tongue across her cunt, a throaty moan leaving him as he tastes the sweetness coming out of her core. Like sugar. Sebastian forcefully urged her to settle more of her weight on him, wanting to feel her pressing against his nose. The last vestiges of sense in him commented how dying like this would probably be the best way to go ever. His wife sat, with a strangled moan, as his mouth sucked around the bundle of nerves that set her alight.

Obscene, wet sounds filled the room as Sebastian ate her like a man starved, coupled with the mingled moans of himself and his wife, her hips rocking back and forth against his tongue. The pool in her abdomen had now grown into a tidal wave that surged, pulsed. It’s crest rearing.

“Oh, fuck Sebastian,” she purred.

Spurred by his wife’s pleasure, Sebastian reached a hand towards his throbbing cock, palming it through his trousers, unable to help himself.

“You’re doing so good,” she rasped, “love, keep going.”

Sebastian rubbed the tip of his tongue against that sweet spot in tandem with the movements of his hand, shameful whines leaving his throat. His wife keened, her lithe body arching, head thrown back, a guttural moan leaving her throat as she came. Sebastian moaned in tandem, running the flat of his tongue across the seam of her cunt, feeling her pulse around him.

She panted—breath leaving her lungs like sap—and rolled off of her husband.

“C’mere,” she breathed.

Sebastian obeyed. She took his mouth into hers, eagerly licking the remains of her pleasure from him, savouring the wet slide of their lips. He was all but inconsolable at this point, wet patch at the front of his trousers, dick still painfully hard in its confines.

“Please,” he mewled, devouring the air of his lover.

She obliged him, taking charge once more, crawling over his supine body to suck bruises into his neck. Sebastian clutched her, a whimpering mess at the victim of his wife’s whims. Slowly, her mouth carved a path down his body, leaving wet kisses over his chest and nipples, before following the trail of hair at his sternum.

She undid the buttons on his trousers, shucking them over his waist and taking his cock in hand. Sebastian breathed heavily, watching her with undivided focus. She opened her mouth, sliding her tongue up the length of him, to his wet tip. Sebastian’s head thumped back onto the bed, a wanton moan escaping his throat. She licked him a few times more, savouring the salty taste of his skin, before swallowing him.

Sebastian’s hands flew to her scalp, gripping her hair, urging her mouth deeper. She began slow, tantalisingly dragging her mouth up and down his length, before bobbing in earnest. Sebastian’s resolve fissured as his hips met her movements, thrusting into the heat of her mouth. Stuttered whimpers left him, punctuating the movement of his hips. His throat was dry from the heat and how his pleasure worked his voice raw but in the wet cavern of his wife’s mouth he found it difficult to care.

His climax reared, any stamina drained from him after the restraint he displayed the past days, now completely abandoned.

“Ah, love—so good—m’ gonna—”

Before he could even utter the words, his wife pulled off his cock with a wet pop. Sebastian’s brows furrowed.

Quickly, she began pulling her sweat-soaked blouse from her body. Sebastian got the idea. He sat up, helping her out of her clothes. They kissed desperately in-between, his wife’s inhibitions being held together by a thread, as she hastily undressed.

Now naked, Sebastian couldn’t help but admire her, his own lust shelved momentarily while he worshipped the divine figure he was somehow married to.

“You’ll have time for that later, love,” she teased, “now sit back against the pillows.”

He situated himself at the head of the bed, cock wet and red against his stomach. His wife climbed atop him, hovering over his length. She took him in hand, lining them up, before sinking down.

They moaned in tandem, his hands gripping her waist like a lifeline while he fought off his climax right there and then.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathed.

Sebastian replied with a broken moan, the tight heat of his lover distracting him from all sensations other than that rapture. Then she started moving.

Slow tentative rolls of her hips that undid Sebastian like a bow. He groaned, latching his mouth to her throat and leaving searing bruises. His wife clutched his head to her, her pace on his cock increasing with each roll. He wanted his hands everywhere. He wanted his mouth everywhere. Having to settle for the bud of her nipple, causing his lover to cry out in pleasure.

He started rutting his hips back into her, chasing the crest of pleasure he’d denied himself for so long. Losing all sense, losing all reason. 

“Please—ah—please, I’m so close,” he keened.

His wife only increased her pace, all but bouncing on his length, torturing him divinely. More staccato whimpers left his abused throat, not caring how undignified he sounded. He was so close.

Sebastian sealed their lips, stiffened, and came. His release pulsed out of him, come seeping into his wife’s core as he groaned into her mouth. His dick throbbed, climax milking all his frustration dry, letting it drain him. When their mouths separated, he pulled her onto his chest and panted.

They remained like that for some time, his softening member seated inside her while they regained their breath. She placed a kiss on his chest and carefully pulled him out, before rolling next to him.

Finally able to think, Sebastian took in the sight of his wife, haloed in post-coital bliss. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, making her shine under the daylight. He reached a hand out to stroke across her cheek, his fingers coming away sticky.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better.”

A thunderclap broke their reverie. They turned to the window, finding the scene beyond submerged in a grey cloak. His wife crawled off the bed and stalked to the window, he got up to follow. Sure enough, as they peered through the threshold, a thick cover of rain descended over the highlands, coating everything in a petrichor hush.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sebastian remarked, “I think we broke the heatwave.”

She giggled, a sound like birdsong, and overcome with affection he bent down and kissed her by the open window, the cool air caressing their hot skin. 

“I think we did.”

[kammomilla]

I wrote 5 pages worth of text so this is one long post. A whole wiki for my oc because why not

Reddie Martin – Reagent 0928 

Real name: Brunhilde Renata Martin 

Fake ID: Mandy Brown 

Mafia alias: Reddie Martin  Nicknames:  

Hilde (by mother and aunt Karolina) 

Rena (by childhood friends) 

Renata (by father and grandparents) 

Reddie (by the mob)  

Italian Family tree: 

Angelo & Marcella Martin (grandparents)  

Santo “Saint” Martin (great-uncle, deceased) 

Leonardo “Leo” Martin (cousin) 

Lando Martin (uncle, deceased) 

Lucio Martin (father) 

Frieda Martin (Leo’s mother, Lando’s wife) 

German Family tree: 

Ingrid & Hermann Jung (grandparents) 

Wilhelmina Martin (Mother) 

Karolina Treumann (aunt) 

Fritz Hoffmann (step-father) 

Background 

Reddie was born in Germany in 1935. When the Soviet Union took over, Reddie had been ten years old. The Martin family ended up living in DDR, East Berlin. Lucio Martin had been disfigured by the war and unable to provide for his family. Reddie smuggled illegal goods from West Germany when they turned 15. The same year Wilhelmina divorced Lucio and remarried to Fritz Hoffmann, Reddie’s former primary school teacher and former nazi supporter. Lucio was transported to a facility for chronically ill. Reddie never forgave this and blames their mother for tearing the family apart.  

Eventually they were caught by KGB and Reddie crossed the border to west in late 1956. Reddie sailed across the Atlantic and ended in Cuba where they met the Martino crime family members in 1957. Reddie became a wise guy and disguised themself as a man for months. Only capo Toni Pontini and soldier Bruno Caruso knew. They were nicknamed Reddie due to their reddish hair and ‘ready cash’ pun. Reddie did racketeering, sabotage and spying and partook in drug trade and battery. One Cuban officer was shot by them.  

After a while, Reddie chose to move to New York and unite with Santo Martin’s gang. They received new papers as Mandy Brown by Toni’s associate. Santo’s gang didn’t believe Reddie’s tale and kicked them out. Reddie did more racketeering and trade while taking low-paid jobs and trying to get hired by the local mafia for two years. The Police arrested them for stealing and having no permit for firearm. Reddie managed to contact Toni who then hired a corrupted lawyer and Reddie got out without bail.   

A week later, the Police double-checked Reddie’s papers and the pistol they were gifted by Toni. FBI got involved and Reddie escaped to the streets. Now homeless, broke and wanted, Reddie saw Murkoff’s ad and joined the Project Lathe Two in 1959 September. The plan was to get “rehabilitated” long enough for FBI to give up on the chase and go work for the gang again at the headquarters, Louisiana.  

Personality

Reddie acts like they were born in the mob. They are blunt, business oriented and indifferent to violence. Reddie says what’s on their mind whether it’s a tasteless pun or a weird memory no one else understands. They like to joke a lot and tell wild stories some which are exaggerated. Reddie often takes newbies under their wing and guides them through the trials, only to later blackmail them for favours.  

In a way, Reddie comes across self-centred: they think adding Franco Barbi as a prime asset was targeted at them. They don’t have proof of this, but it feels like it is. The same goes for other reagents: if one behaves suspiciously, Reddie is quick to think it has something to do with them. Paranoia plays a role in this. Years of illegal activity has taught Reddie to be observant and on their guard with everyone. The other reason is that Reddie views themself as a potential threat to Murkoff. Again, a wild assumption without proof but for Reddie it makes most sense.  

Reddie tries to be a team leader, but they are emotional and juvenile type in nature. If someone tells them they can’t do something, they’ll prove them wrong. If someone commands them to be still, they’ll complain and make an excuse to stand. If someone tells them to act like a lady, they’ll curse and raise their fist. Simply, Reddie does when asked, not ordered. They don’t like to be bossed and they negotiate on everything. 

Reddie’s weak point is navigation and patience on trials. The maze is their worst enemy. Once they learn how each task works, they tend to rush into the action, alerting ex-pops nearby and setting off sound traps. Reddie bashes through doors instead of unlocking them too. The teammates following behind are the ones paying the price for this.    

Relationships

Relatives 

Leo Martin – Reddie's younger cousin. Reddie taught him smuggling in the past and told him to come join them in New York once he’s old enough. Leo could be living in New York by now.  

Lucio Martin – Reddie loves him dearly and would like to bring him to America if possible.  

Santo Martin – Reddie never met the great-uncle but they heard stories and saw photos of him. Grandpa Angelo and grandma Marcella received letters from him that Reddie would read.  

Wilhelmina Martin – Reddie has a complicated relationship with her. She is their mother, but Wilhelmina has never fully accepted Reddie the way they are. Deep down, Reddie wants this acceptance despite everything that has happened between them.  

Fritz Hoffmann - Reddie despises the stepfather. He mistreated Reddie in school and continued doing so after marrying Wilhelmina. Reddie is ashamed of him since Fritz had been a vocal supporter of Hitler’s government.

The mob 

Toni Pontini – Toni took Reddie in and taught them the ways of the mafia. He saw potential in Reddie and was willing to act against rules to make them a member.  

Bruno Caruso – Bruno came up with the nickname Reddie the day they met. He taught them how to place car bombs.  

Salvatore Barbi – Reddie spoke with Don once on the phone. He mentioned the Martino family could make them a permanent member if Reddie’s up to it.

Sinyala Facility 

Mother Gooseberry – Reddie finds her somewhat scary. She reminds them of Wilhelmina whenever she’s aggravated. They try not to interact with her during trials. They know Dr Futterman is a puppet but they often forget this and think Futterman is a separate entity that says funny things and makes Reddie laugh. Dr Easterman recommends more trials with Gooseberry since her presence gets interesting results. 

Leland Coyle – Reddie thinks it’s ironic there is a cop calling them guilty because it’s true. Reddie is more bark than bite with him though. It’s fun to shout back at him and make him act like a fool as long as there are bricks and a stun rig available. Once the chase is on, Reddie is quick to vanish from sight. They are planning to build a bomb and bring it to the police station – a little payback for the justice system. Plus, to see that cop crying his eyes out.  

Franco Barbi – Reddie and Franco never met before but Reddie was told who he was. Toni and the rest gossiped about him in graphic detail. When Franco’s prime asset debut came, Reddie had been shocked to see Don’s son face-to-face. They think Murkoff’s planning something by adding him. Overall, Reddie views Franco as a fellow mobster and isn’t jolted by his level of violence. They want to form a possible allyship with him, if only Franco would stop aiming Lupara at them and hear Reddie’s offer.  

Trivia 

Reddie’s haircut is inspired by photos of younger Santo Martin before he moved to US. 

Reddie hates their first name Brunhilde, always has. It was their great-grandma's name. 

Their favourite colour has always been yellow, and their favourite flower is sunflower.  

Reddie is fluent in German and their Italian is decent, yet they intentionally speak like a mafioso. 

Reddie had one affair in Cuba. With an older, wealthy and married, woman named Melina.  

Reddie has a fedora in their room. They never wear it but it’s there as an inside joke. 

Reddie is often misgendered and people can’t decide on their pronouns so they can be she to one person and he to someone else. Reddie doesn’t care. 

Reddie has a habit on dropping hints of their criminal past and random names. They never explain if someone asks.  

[quasi-normalcy]

A while ago while I was in tumblr jail, you posted that you had a masters in science fiction literature (unless you didn't, I have been known to be mistaken), and I am wondering, what do you consider 'important' works of science fiction? Like the science fiction literary canon? I am so curious. Feel free to ignore, I will not harass you.

Yes! I do. I can tell you the ones that I was assigned (I'm afraid that the list skews extremely male and (especially) white).

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (1818)

Olaf Stapledon, Last and First Men (1930) and Star Maker (1937) [You can probably add Odd John (1935) to this list]

Jules Verne, Journey to the Centre of the Earth (1864) and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1870) [You can probably add From the Earth to the Moon (1865)]

H.G. Wells, The Time Machine (1895) and War of the Worlds (1897) [Though you can probably go ahead and add The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896), The Invisible Man (1897) and The First Men in the Moon (1901)]

Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Herland (1915)

Catherine Burdekin (writing as Murray Constantine), Swastika Night (1937)

Karel Čapek, R.U.R. (1920)

Isaac Asimov, I, Robot (1950) [You can probably add the first three Foundation novels here as well]

Yevgeny Zamyatin, We (1921)

George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949)

Arthur C. Clarke, 2001: A Space Odyssey (1967) and Rendezvous with Rama (1973) [Add: Childhood's End (1953) and The Fountains of Paradise (1979)

John Wyndham, Day of the Triffids (1951) [add: The Chrysalids (1955) and The Midwich Cuckoos (1957)]

H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu" (1926) [add The Shadow over Innsmouth (1931)]

Richard Matheson, I Am Legend (1954)

Alfred Bester, The Stars My Destination (1956)

Robert Heinlein, Starship Troopers (1959) [Probably Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (1966) too, depending on, you know, how much of Heinlein's bullshit you can take]

J.G. Ballard, The Drowned World (1962) [Also, The Burning World (1964) and The Crystal World (1966)]

Phillip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle (1962) [Also Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) and several of his short stories]

Frank Herbert, Dune (1965)

Michael Moorcock, Behold the Man (1969)

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-5 (1969)

Ursula Le Guin, The Dispossessed (1974) [Also The Lathe of Heaven (1971) and The Left Hand of Darkness (1969)]

Brian Aldiss, Supertoys series

William Gibson, Neuromancer (1984)

Kim Stanley Robinson, Red Mars (1992) [Also Green Mars and Blue Mars]

They also included Iain M. Banks's The Algebraist (2004), but I personally think you'd be better off reading some of his Culture novels

Other ones that I might add (not necessarily my favourite, just what I would consider the most influential):

Joe Haldeman, The Forever War (1974)

Matsamune Shiro, Ghost in the Shell (1989-91)

Katsuhiro Otomo, Akira (1982-1990)

Octavia Butler, Lilith's Brood (1987-89) and Parable of the Sower (1993)

Poul Anderson, Operation Chaos (1971)

Hector Garman Oesterheld & Francisco Solano Lopez, The Eternaut (1957-59)

Liu Cixin, The Three-Body Problem (2008)

Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, The Illuminatus! Trilogy (1975)

William Hope Hodgson, The House on the Borderland (1908)

Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash (1992)

Joanna Russ, The Female Man (1975)

Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game (1985) [Please take this one from a library]

Edgar Rice Burroughs, A Princess of Mars (1912)

Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale (1985) and Oryx and Crake (2003)

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (1932)

Osamu Tezuka, Astro Boy (1952-68)

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (1953)

Madeleine L'Engle, A Wrinkle in Time (1962)

Walter M. Miller, A Canticle for Leibowitz (1959)

Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1979)

[uncertainwallflower]

A MAN OF STAMINA For @jilymicrofics July 2023. Prompts: sharp, silky, sweet, bitter. Words: 507. Rating: explicit.

To potentially be included in a future chap of BTDATS...

Smut below the cut.

James Potter liked to consider himself a man of stamina. But when, after eight years of sleeping with witches as far removed from redheaded and sharp-tongued as possible, he found himself fully embedded in Lily Evans as she moaned and rocked and shuddered his name down upon his wide-eyed face, any suggestion of stamina flew out the window.

“Gods, Evans,” he hissed as she straightened up a little, sending a fresh surge of bitter pleasure through his veins. His grip on her hips strengthened, aiding her diabolical back-and-forth slant. He grit his teeth. Squeezed his eyes shut to escape the—fucking hell—spattering of freckles atop the soft swells of her chest begging to be lathed by his tongue as they bounced before him. Teasing him. Tempting him.

Eyes flew open again.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” she asked just before tipping her head back, closing her eyes to her own pleasure and humming throatily.

“You’re gonna fucking—” he bit down on a groan “—make me cum if you keep this up.”

“Isn’t that the plan?” she asked, all breath and parted lips. He couldn’t formulate a reply so on she needled, eyes piercing him, nearly bleeding him out there and then, all green and slathered in sweat and pheromones. “Don’t you want to cum?”

“Of course I…” He took a moment to drag her against him and she keeled forward, hot mouth ending up near his ear. “Of course, I do.” His voice was rough. Deep and pinched with the effort of not unravelling inside her. “Just not yet.” He dragged again and she let out a little cry as her teeth captured his earlobe.

She released him. Monolithed his neck with open-mouthed kisses, all the while riding and riding and riding. And then, sitting up a little so she could press her reddened lips to his, she said, in a way that might’ve been commanding if it weren’t for the whimper on the tail end: “You’re going to have to do something about that, then.”

‘Do something’ he did. In one fluid motion: sitting up, one hand finding the hair-stuck base of her neck, twisting, still connected at the waist, and laying her ever so softly into the pillow he had just been inhabiting.

She giggled. He kissed the humour off her lips and her hands found his backside, urging him deeper into her wet warmth, once, twice—fuck. Fingers intertwined with hers, he pulled his hips away from hers with a hiss, saying, “You feel too good, Love.”

“And I suppose that’s a bad thing.”

He shook his head, languorously kissing her mouth before shifting his weight onto his shins, releasing her hand so his fingers could find the spot that made her ‘oh’ and saying, “It’s fucking fantastic.” And then, as he lowered his face down towards her sweet silken centre and she settled into the pillows, lip firmly between her teeth in anticipation, he added, “But we don’t want you missing out on all the fun.”

Part 2 here.

[warpedlegacywrites]

Chapter 11: In Darkness Enveloped

Cullen can't outrun his past, no matter how hard he tries.

“You should go back to your keep.”  “You should go home to your wife.”  One hand rises to feel at the pendant hidden beneath his shirt. A compass. To guide his way home. He shakes his head. “I can’t face her yet.”  Varric heaves another disappointed sigh. Cullen thinks he hears the words “stubborn ass” under his breath, but it’s hard to tell beneath the din of the other patrons and his still-ringing ear. He feels the full weight of Varric’s regard again as he pours the last of the pitcher into his mug. The effects are starting to take hold at last, numbing some of the pain and quieting his thoughts to a more tolerable volume.  “I used to think faith would get me through life’s struggles,” he says, hardly aware he’s spoken aloud until he notices Varric’s quizzical frown. “I still pray, but it’s mostly out of habit. A reflex. My heart’s not in it anymore.”  “Why not?” No surprise, no judgement. A simple question, with no simple answer.  Cullen takes another sip, swirls it around in his mouth before swallowing, as the thoughts swirl around his mind. “Meredith always professed to be a woman of faith. But what she built was more like a cult with her at its centre, and all of us kneeling at her feet rather than Andraste’s. She used fear to corrupt faith. Now mine’s forever tainted with it.” He laughs bitterly. “Just one more thing to hate her for.” 

DAFF tag list: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe, @agentkatie, @delicatefade, @leggywillow, @about2dance

[world-of-wales]

THE PRINCE DIARIES ♚

26 JUNE 2023 || HOMEWARDS LAUNCH TOUR : FAITHWORKS CARPENTRY WORKSHOP, BOURNEMOUTH

The Prince of Wales unveiled the Faithworks Carpentry Workshop as the the second of the six Flagship Homewards locations for Bournemouth, Christchurch and Poole.

The charity At Faithworks' carpentry workshop, trainees learn practical woodworking skills and techniques. They are also able to benefit from 1:1 support with life issues and building relationships within a supportive community. William's visit was aimed at shining a spotlight on how empowering people with skills can help get them into employment and therefore prevent the cycle of repeat homelessness. During his visit, he spoke with trainees about how the support they have received in the workshop has been transformative: and about their hopes for the future.

He also tried his hand out at using a lathe in the carpentry workshop and was shown how the centre provides training and support to help people move into education and employment.

[orithyiaeleven]

UC Fanwork Celebration Day 1 (The early access version)

Day 1 was Favourite Arc / Roll for AU. My favourite Arc is Arc 3, and I rolled Class Swap, so I let the dice decide what each Arc 3 character's new class should be. I then re-imagined their first meeting with their new classes. This is shortly pre-Arc 3 Flashback.

However, I am not quite happy with the story yet, and will take the time to work on it before uploading it to AO3. Because today is the day, though, and technically the story is finished, I will post the current version of it under the cut here on Tumblr instead, and update you once I am happy and have uploaded it.

It doesn't even have a fixed name yet, but my working title would be "A different group of heroes". I hope you enjoy, and the finished piece will hopefully come soon.

The crackling sound of pyromagic mixes with the cheers of people, carried over to Lathe by a helpful little breeze gossiping in his ear. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to taste the caramel popcorn in the air. With a little smile, he quickens his step: Festivities are happening in the centre of Tyle, and he must know more.

Nimbly, he finds his way past the little shops and side alleys. A crowd of people is currently pushing towards the town centre, following the same siren’s call of laughter, fireworks, applause and cotton candy that he is tracking, but he knows the quickest ways around, and how to avoid getting stuck in the slowly moving mass of bodies. He sprints past the little bookstore with a “Good morning, Mx. Shinebearer”, through the backyard of a house that has been empty for ages, past a few spell component stores and the academy students gathered in front of them, until finally, he reaches the town centre. A man dressed in the borderline gaudy garb of a circus director stands on a small makeshift stage built up in front of the gigantic magician’s statue, addressing the gathered crowd with big movements.

“Come, come, one and all! Young and old, people of all shapes and sizes, come and gather to witness the magic and wonders of the Cinderbloom Circus!” More fireworks pop up, displaying flaming flowers in all colours of the rainbow.

“Now, people of Tyle and beyond, witness one of our audience favourites, our star, who has come all the way from frosty Glaceria to present her talents, our ice princess! And remember to come visit our full show and program in Maevir-Eirik-Park, from tomorrow until next week!”

With more cheers, the announcer clears the temporary stage they have set up for a young woman dressed in glittering pastel purple silks. She has a thin, but athletic build, and although she carries herself with the poise befitting her stage name, Lathe recognises the way her chin is slightly drawn forward, and the way her eyes seem to search the crows for someone daring to challenge her position.

Three circus assistants jog up to the statue and quickly arrange some silks to drape around the arms and the wand of the stone wizard, while the acrobat takes out a little flute from a pocket hidden in her garments. She bows to the crowd, looks to the assistants for a quick sign that they’re done, and grabs one of the aerial silks. Within moments, she is up on the statue’s shoulder, dangling her feet, and gives him a coquettish little kiss on the cheek before sliding down again to the tune of her own melody, seemingly falling. Just inches above the ground, she catches herself again, and climbs up the way she came. Her movements are fluid and seem entirely effortless, coming to her as easy as breathing, and all the while she still continues playing the flute as if to underline how little mind she has to pay her motion. Even the way her pastel purple hair falls seems to be choreographed and trained to perfection. She moves through the silks with ease, somehow finding grip on the smooth fabric. All of it seems so in sync, it’s captivating.

Her performance is only a few minutes, but the crowd explodes with cheers for her as she is finished. She gives a smile, together with a head movement that seems to say “see, I told you I could do it”. It fits her stage name, but again, Lathe recognises the signs of someone who had to prove herself all her life. While the announcer reminds the crowd again to visit the full show, the purple performer is already going backstage again, and Lathe follows. Instead of an actual backstage area, the circus has rented an empty store as their dressing room. Before the young woman enters, Lathe manages to get her attention.

“Excuse me, Miss! Can I talk to you for just a second?”

“A second, sure, how can I help you?”

“Lathe Nightrym, my pleasure, truly, what a wonderful performance-“

“Oh thank you, sir, I am always happy to inspire people.”

“You have definitely done that today, my dear. Could I ask you, would you be willing to join a little adventuring party?”

“Ah. Right. I, uhm, I am very honoured by your request, but I must say no. As the circus is travelling around quite a lot, it is simply not possible for me to take up any other obligations. But thank you, I always enjoy talking to fans.”

“Please, just think about it.” He hands her one of his flyers. “A small group of friends travelling through all of Hyranor, defeating monsters, saving the world – have you never dreamed of that? Of not having to prove your worth, but having the stories about your heroic deeds precede you?” She breaks eye contact and looks to the side. “Take the flyer, just consider it, for a moment. The adventures we could go on. The stories they would tell. Being invited to court by the Queen, mere hours after defeating a monster. I am currently trying to form such a group, and I just know that you would make the perfect addition. I have handed out and put up flyers all over town, and in two days, we will meet at the Brewster’s Potions for brunch to meet up. No strings attached yet, absolutely no requirements, just to get a feel for the people, do some brainstorming… And if you don’t like it, you can just leave and go back to this life here.”

She sighs and lets her fingers wander over the flyer. He really did his best to draw the dragon, but maybe in this case it’s not bad that it is reminiscent of children’s drawings. “Alright. I will consider it”, she finally says.

Lathe can’t help but grin. “Amazing. See you in two days, then!” He turns to leave.

“I said I will consider it!”

“Brewster’s Potions, right next to the Gilded Quill!”

Brewster’s Potion, right next to the Gilded Quill, is not empty, but also not bustling with patrons two days later. There is a pleasant drizzle of conversation from the surrounding nooks and tables as Lathe Nightrym sits at the back of the room, waiting for people to show up.

“Are you ordering, or still waiting?”, the server asks again.

“Still waiting, thanks, dear”, he answers with a smile.

“Alright love, you just call when you want anything.” For a moment, Lathe believes to see pity in her eyes. But people will show up, he was just early. He handed the flyers out to at least fifteen people, and put them up in places all around town, someone has to show up.

Mere moments later, they do. The big guy he met at the Academy enters the tavern, and Lathe waves excitedly to get his attention. Carefully, the Firbolg makes his way over to him, the greyish hair on his head scraping the ceiling, his Academy uniform neat, but not freshly ironed. Only when he is already standing in front of the table, Lathe sees that he has brought a friend, a young Halfling woman who seems even smaller, near comically tiny next to him, but dressed in full armour. Eagerly, Lathe puts out a hand, and the big guy shakes it.

“Hello, hello, so glad you decided to come! You’re the first here, and I see you brought a friend as well?”

“Annie Wintersummer”, the young woman answers, putting out a hand as well to greet Lathe.

“Delighted to meet you, Annie Wintersummer. Sorry, friend, your name was?”, he asks, turning towards the Firbolg again.

“Aldrum.”

“Right, right! I’ve met you during the Open Day at the Arcane Academy, truly, what a glorious performance of arcane work you did. And you, Annie – I hope it’s alright if I just call you Annie? – are you a student at the Academy as well?”

“No”, she answers, and Lathe can see Aldrum make the “delicate topic” face. “No, the Arcane Academy did not think my magical talent was… worth cultivating at their esteemed institution. So instead I decided to hone my skills with weapons. I spend my time with technique instead of theory. And my magical gifts can influence my blade as well.”

“That sounds incredibly interesting, would you care to show me?”

“Not inside here, but later outside I can absolutely show you what I can do.”

Lathe smiles with excitement to see what the young woman would show him. Having someone of her size who would be able to run through enemy lines and legs and stab them from behind could be very beneficial, and she seems determined enough.

His smile widens even more as he sees the woman with the pastel purple hair enter the tavern, her eyes searching around. He stands up and waves to get her attention, and she floats towards them.

“You really came! How wonderful, please, take a seat. This is Aldrum, a wizard from the Arcane Academy, who has recently presented a very interesting project on some new protective spells he is working on, and his friend Annie Wintersummer, who apparently is a very skilled fighter.”

“Fighter and warlock. I can do some magic. Even if the academy cannot appreciate it.”

The purple woman smiles and shakes their hands each. “Happy to meet you, my name is Fey Moss.”

It is only then that Lathe realises he never actually heard her say her real name before. “And Fey Moss here is an acrobat with an incredible skill set, truly, I have never seen anyone move that nimbly before, what a performance!”

She nods her head down, as if to indicate a bow. “You might have heard of me as the ice princess.”

“I haven’t, actually”, Annie says.

Fey looks a bit taken aback, although she catches herself with ease. “Well, I am also quite skilled at martial arts, if it is necessary. I would love to see you fight as well, Annie, I think it would be very interesting to see your skillset.”

“Surely, yes. I would appreciate that. I always like to broaden my horizon and learn new styles and techniques.”

“How wonderful!”, Lathe exclaims and claps his hands. “Truly, I am so glad you are getting along already. Let’s get some brunch, and we will get this party going! Excuse me, Miss- we would like to order, please!”

Right as the server brings them their milkshakes and sandwiches, the tavern door opens again. At first, it seems no one entered, until Lathe sits up straighter to be able to see down, where he can track the long ponytail of an elderly Halfling man move towards their table.

“Lathe Nightrym?”, the man asks, looking at him. “I believe you were looking for people with the mind and skillset for adventures?”

Lathe quickly scans the man. He doesn’t seem particularly strong or dextrous, but not frail, either. He wears sun-coloured robes, and there is a certain glint to his eyes that seems almost animalistic.

“Yes, absolutely, take a seat here with us. What’s your name, friend?”

The man gives a polite smile and takes the offered seat. “Diarmad. I saw your flyers around the city.”

“Oh perfect, so they did work, then! May I ask, what kind of skills do you bring to this group? Your robes seem religious, but I cannot see any symbol on them?”

“Right, no, I am a magician, but not the divine sort. The robes are just the kind of garments we wear at my commune. But I was, let’s say born with magic.”

“Why do you say ‘let’s say born’? Were you born with it or not?”, Annie asks, trying her best to cover a probably not too kind remark about sorcerers and nepotism from Aldrum.

Diarmad throws a quick glance over at the Firbolg in his shirt and cloak with the Academy logo, raising a brow, and then turns towards Annie with a much nicer expression on his face, nearly mischievous. “It’s not my first time around. My people have found a way to basically concentrate weak flows of magic in a person through a ritual of reincarnation, so… The weak magical potential of my previous life has been focused into a pretty mean set of magical skills.”

Aldrum doesn’t seem convinced. “And… how exactly is magical talent enhanced through reincarnation? That sounds like it contradicts most current theories on magic.”

“You tell me, you’re the scholar. It worked for me, and that’s all that matters. But you academy people prefer to keep the magic to yourselves anyways, right?”

Annie puts a hand on the hilt of her sword, glaring at the elderly Halfling. “Please don’t talk to my friend like that,” she says in a tone that isn’t a request.

Lathe decides to steer this conversation around as fast as possible. “Alright, friends, I think that’s enough of that, we’re supposed to become a party after all!”

“A party?” A tall person with brown skin and some suspiciously alive and worm-like looking accessories in her hair leans over the half-high room divider between the table they apparently sat at alone, and the table Lathe had ordered. “I love parties, can I come as well?”

“Oh, not that kind of party, we’re trying to go adventuring-“

“Adventures are fun, I love adventures, too!” She smiles, climbs over the wall instead of going around it, despite wearing breastplate armour, and squeezes in between Fey and Annie around the table. Fey looks at the, oh yes, definitely worms, with a mixture of morbid fascination and absolute horror.

“Alright, hi then,” Lathe begins, not too sorry about the distraction from the magic discourse, “and you are?”

“A friend! And a new party member for your group. Six is a much better number than five, anyways.” They smile at all of them.

“…And your name is?”

“Oh! Right! Bombyx Mori. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she says slowly, tasting out every word in her mouth.

Annie continues the questions. “And you do adventures?”

“Absolutely! All the time! The forest is filled with adventures.”

Now, Diarmad seems intrigued. “You’re a forest kind of person?”

“Yes, definitely, that. I met some very nice trees some time ago, and they asked me for help against disrespectful woodcutters. So I helped them, and then I swore to help all the trees, and protect all the forests, and apparently, when you make an oath, that is really meaningful in this world. So now I have to protect the forests, and I haven’t really figured out what exactly that means, yet, but I have already fought some monsters and that has gone really well for me so far, so I think I might just have become invincible.”

“For sure, for sure”, Lathe says, trying to not show his disbelief too much. A paladin is something their party could use. Whether Bombyx Mori is the perfect addition or the last missing piece for a perfect disaster, or possibly even both, he isn’t as sure of, yet. But it’s worth a shot. Especially if they actually have some experience already. “Alright then, let’s order some more milkshakes for the two of you, and then I can already tell you about a potential first adventure.”

[dream-moonlight]

🌹A rose covered in blood🌹

Warnings: Blood, English is not my first language, Tom Riddle by himself is already enough of a warning.

(This is my first ever story that concerns anything with the Harry Potter fandom, so i apologise if it's shit.)

Tom was never one to interact with others or go to social events. People with enough courage would usually approach him on their own, or he would make them come his way using one method or another. The times he would make the first move were low, but when they happened, it was just to gain something for his plans. So there he was. Dressed in a black suit with an equally dark mask covering his face from curious eyes. At the event, everyone was dressed in either bright or gloomy colours, but one thing was present the most. Masks.

Everyone danced or talked, while Tom just stood there, thinking and scanning the people he should approach first. After a few minutes, he stuck with going over to a group of men and joining into the conversation. It was a bit boring, but absolutely necessary to achieve his goal. While talking, he noticed how the attention of the men he was talking to had shifted towards the dance floor. He was annoyed by it. What could possibly have been so important to distract them from their conversation? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead looked at the dance floor that just minutes ago was filled with people.

Now, there was only one.

Only one woman stood in the center of the room.

She wore a long black and dark red dress, decorated with that looked like bloodied roses. A red mask with black edges covered her face while her hair fell free on her shoulders down to her back, several strands of hair framing her face with little curls. She didn't show much emotion, but it's not like it could be seen under that mask. The room was silent. The masked people left breathless. And Tom was one of them. He had never seen someone like her. For a moment, he could have forgotten his plan (as if). He didn't know if he should have felt anger or disgust with himself for getting distracted at a time like this, where he should have only thought about his achievements. But he couldn't help himself. He was attracted. The orchestra started playing a song just for her.

It was slow, macabre, and almost sensual in some way. Her feet started to move in a specific pattern, hitting the same spots of the dance floor over and over again, as if forming a drawing on the floor. As the music started to raise with intensity, her body swayed around on the dance floor, bloodied roses appearing under her feet wherever she passed. It was a true show.

The dance floor was hers; now covered in bloodied roses that stained the floor with a thick dark red. The ladies felt jealous, others enamoured by such a lady. The men lusted over her, just pigs in search of something to play with.

Tom didn't know what to do or say. Should he leave? Should he get back to his conversation? Should he kill her for taking all the attention? He could if he wanted to.. but strangely enough, he wanted to approach her, take her in his arms, and dance to show everyone who was important. Who had the power to rule them all. Because it was certainly not them. It was him.. and this beautiful lady. He was so caught up in seeing himself with her that he didn't notice at first that the music and her dance had stopped. She now stood at the centre, eyes closed and arms up by her sides, as if waiting for someone to try and approach her. Many tried but were stopped by a wall roses and thorns, blocking them from herz as if they were deemed as not worthy. Tom took a step forward. Then another and another. The roses and thorns didn't stop him, instead making a lath for him towards the lady. He got closer, and when he finally reached jer, she opened her eyes and scanned him up and down, judging him as if she had any right to.

A small smile appeared on her lips before she moved her right hand towards him, waiting for him to take it and dance with her. A very small smirk formed on Tom's lips as he reacher out, took her hand, and pulled her against himself. Their chests pressed together, and their fingers intertwined tightly. She moved her free hand on his shoulder, and his own moved to her waist, just above her hip. He gave a glance towards the orchestra as a signal for them to stay playing, and when they did, both Tom and the lady closed their eyes before slowly starting to move on the dance floor with elegance. Everyone's eyes were on the new couple that danced gracefully , their bodies synchronised perfectly and following the rhythm of the music. During the dance, they both opened their eyes and looked directly at each other.

"You got something to say perhaps?"

She spoke with a low and calm tone that sent shivers down his spine, although he didn't show it.

"Is there any need to speak?"

He asked with his usual cold tone, even if in that moment it held a glimpse of curiosity. A small chuckle left her lips before she spoke again.

"No, there isn't. But I would still like to know the name of my dance partner."

A small smirk played on his lips yet again.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

He wasn't really proud of his name, actually, he despised it with his while being but now wasn't the moment to think about that.

"And may u know yours kr are you gonna sgau in your own small bubble, hidden from me."

She smirked and rolled her eyes before replying with a smug tone.

"(Name). There is no need to be feisty, Riddle."

He didn't know why, but the way she said his last name sent a strange wave of pride and pleasure through his body. A moment of silence came upon them while Tom gently but firmly held her body in his hands, a great contrast to what they had done in the past and would continue to do in the future. Soon, he noticed how the floor was only getting stained by several new roses covered in blood. The couple was gaining the attention of everyone, and compliments directed to them.

"Everyone's eyes are on us.."

Tom spike rather sternly, not exactly pleased by being stared down as if he was some animal zoo.

"Does it bother you?"

She questioned without much interest if it actually bothered him or not.

"Kind of. I do not appreciate some pathetic weaklings staring at what is supposed to be for my eyes only."

Her expression turns into a grimace at such words.

"You don't own me, Riddle. If others wish to look at me, then so be it. If I truly belong to you, which I don't, you shouldn't worry about me being taken away."

Tom finds himself amused at such strong words and stern tone. Usually, he would make the people who dared to speak to him that way suffer. But with her? It actually aroused him.

"Defensive much?"

"Just saying what should be said, Riddle."

"Did someone ever tell you that your attitude is not exactly attractive to men these days?"

"Yes, a lot of people said it, thinking that I would give a fuck about what they say."

"Sharp tongue too, huh?"

"Very much, Riddle.."

Tom let's out a chuckle while shaking his head slightly.

"I don't know if I should enjoy it or despite it. Maybe I'll do both."

The two smirk at each other, clearly enjoying the chemistry and the back and forth between them. They keep dancing until the melody is over and the two dyand in the middle of the room with a path of blood and roses surrounding them. There's silence for a few seconds before the echoing of clapping hands starts to grow around them.

"Never have I ever had someone make me feel this way just by dancing.."

Shw whispers while looking deep into his eyes, ignoring whatever is happening around them.

"How do I make you feel, darling?"

Said Tom in a hushed tone, slowly leaning closer.

"Intrigued.. Attracted.. something no other man was able to make me feel."

A big satisfied grin appears on his face as he comes closer, their lips just a breath away from each other.

"Don't worry.. I'll make you feel much more than such simple things. Just wait."

[steveinscarlet]

what can you tell me about steve lol like what are some fun facts i should know? hehe ~rem

How long have you got?!

So, basics - Steve's birthday is 23rd April 1960. His middle name, Maynard, is from his Dad's favourite jazz musician. He grew up in the Hillsborough area of Sheffield, which is a suburb to the north west of the centre. He has two younger brothers. He left school at 16 and became an apprentice lathe operator at an engineering firm that made parts for trains.

He got his first guitar aged 11 and took classical guitar lessons for a few years (in the early days he was the only Leppard who could read music). His guitar inspirations were Jimmy Page, Brian Robertson, and Zal Cleminson. I don't have enough understanding of music to make my own assessment, but it's said he wrote things that were complex, emotional, and a bit unusual. He had zero interest in fast flashy playing. He wanted to write music for films and theatre.

He was interested in art (he liked to draw), history and archaeology, cars, and clothes (and he stole his girlfriend's clothes all the time). He liked dogs. His favourite colour was blue. He loved redheads.

Obviously, sadly, I never knew him, but what everyone says about him is that he was sweet, shy, kind, generous, funny, silly, intelligent, and thoughtful. But also insecure, stubborn, and moody (I won't start on his other issues because you said fun facts and they're definitely not fun!). Joe once described him as a total sweetheart, aww.

(No one is ever going to ask me a question again!)

[drades-lair]

Milking

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Pairing: Striker/Original male character

Rating: M

Note: This was inspired by the post by Twiggietime on twitter https://twitter.com/Twiggietime/status/1717403420758274216

"Why are we here?" Striker groused, halting Bombproof along side Calus and Aurora.

"I told you, we're here to do some chores," Calus chuckled, dismounting Aurora.

"I know that I meant why are we doin' farm chores?" Striker corrected, dismounting Bombproof as well.

"Because this is what we were hired to do, you know I do a little of everything," Calus explained, guiding Aurora to a pasture where they were told to put their hell steeds.

"Fine, what are we doin'?" Striker asked with a conceded eyeroll.

"Fence mending, feeding, hell steed brushing, finally we gotta clean up the barn," Calus revealed.

"Guess I'll take the steeds while Ya do the fences then we can feed the animals before cleanin' the barn together," Striker suggested.

Calus agreed allowing them to get started, everything going smoothly as both lost clothing along the way leaving the duo shirtless as they cleaned the barn. Cleaning the one corner Striker's rake hit a small metal bottle he recognized as a milking machine.

"They have hell cows at one point?" Striker inquired with a chuckle as he lightly kicked the bottle like machine.

"Yeah, they had a couple a little while ago," Calus confirmed, turning to look at what Striker was referring to.

Continuing their work, the barn started getting hot in more ways than one as the duo started checking one another out. Once they were mostly finished Calus checked the time on his phone revealing they were a couple hours ahead of schedule. Smirking the Dracony crept up behind Striker, playfully grabbing the imp from behind, securing his arms behind his back. Striker yelped in surprise at first then chuckled while playfully struggling against Calus' grip. Guiding Striker to a bale of hay Calus pressed Striker to his knees then bent him over it, stealing the rope on Striker's belt to secure the imp's hands behind his back. Striker chuckled into a moan as the Dracony's mouth nipped along his shoulder blades to his neck, tongue lathing at the mating mark in his nape. Calus reached a hand underneath Striker to undo the imp's jeans allowing him to pull them down to his mid thighs, massaging gingerly at his firm ass while continuing to mouth down the centre of Striker's back. Striker hummed in approval, back arching up against Calus like a cat while his tail wrapped around the Dracony's waist.

Calus rubbed his hand along Striker's cheeks, slipping between his legs to gingerly squeeze at the imp's hanging balls. Striker's breathing started to pick up, moans flowing freely as Calus worked him up little by little however just as he was feeling that tension in his lower abdomen grow Calus stopped having gotten an idea. Striker turned his head to see what Calus was doing only to become further confused by the Dracony grabbing the milking machine from earlier.

"What Ya think Ya doin'?" Striker inquired with a hint of nervousness in his tone.

"Relax, I've got an idea," Calus smirked placing the machine by Striker's hip. Striker shuddered a little as Calus grabbed the base of his cock then he watched as Calus grabbed the cup on the end of the hose leading to the milking machine.

"Calus? What the fuck...are Ya...yikes!" Striker yelped mid sentence as Calus slid the cup over Striker's cock, impressed it fit over the imp's spines.

"I said relax, I've seen this done before," Calus assured his mate right before turning on the milking machine. Striker gave a yelping groan as the machine started to suck at his cock in an alternating fashion, thighs quivering.

“That feel good, Babe?” Calus asked, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Striker’s entrance as he took a knee beside his trembling mate.

“Oh fuck! Y-Yes…Ugh!” Striker panted out, tail rattling intensely.

“Sshh…breath babe…breath, that’s it…” Calus calmly whispered, rimming Striker’s hole slowly as the imp’s hips started rocking.

Striker bit down on his bottom lip with a series of whimpering moans when his orgasm was wrenched from his body causing him to release a high-pitched whine. Calus switched off the milking machine but had to leave the cup on Striker till the imp’s spines relaxed, releasing his mate’s arms in the meanwhile to allow him to get more comfortable. Once the cup was removed Striker pulled his pants back up only to turn around to see Calus resting on another bale of hay, pants open with his hard cock out. Striker took the hint, crawling over to settle between Calus’ thighs, hands resting on them as he sized the Dracony’s cock up. A moment later Striker wrapped a hand around the base of Calus’ cock giving it a firm stroke upwards, twisting his wrist near the head before smoothing back down his shaft eliciting a throaty, humming moan from the Dracony who leaned back on his hands to allow Striker to just do what he wanted too. Striker licked a strip up the underside of Calus’ cock to the head where he slid his mouth over it, the imp had a sensitive gag reflex which prevented him from giving a full blow job, but he could still give partial ones. Striker massaged Calus’ shaft near the base till his knot popped free allowing him to knead the Dracony’s balls while sucking the head of his cock, drawing out soft moans from his mate who looked down at the imp through hooded eyes.

“Fu-ck…Striker…I’m…close…” Calus warned, breath hitching between words.

Striker pulled off the head of Calus’ cock to start rapidly stroking his shaft while wrapping his tail around the base just above Calus’ knot, rattling steadily causing Calus to groan loudly. Moments later Calus came, spurts of cum splashing up onto his stomach only to ooze down over Striker’s hand as well as his tail, continuing to knead the Dracony’s knot to encourage it to release the rest of Calus’ load over the next few minutes. Once the duo were finished cleaning up they finished their job in the barn, put their shirts, jackets and hats back on, got paid then took off for home where perhaps a milking machine might be on the purchase list in the foreseeable future.