#Entertainment Liaison Offices

[tomsecker]

ClandesTime 270 - The CIA and Mission: Impossible

The original TV series of Mission: Impossible was inspired by the life and work of CIA contract agent Robert Maheu, so what about the film franchise? In this episode we examine the Agency’s relationship with the first movie, looking at draft scripts to see how the project evolved and identify deep-lying references to real life people and operations. We discuss the themes of killing covert…

[moonshine-nightlight]

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

/

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

/

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

 “I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or  visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

/

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind. 

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you. 

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name. 

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut. 

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock. 

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving. 

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.” 

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them. 

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed. 

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him. 

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding. 

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper. 

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty. 

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in. 

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve. 

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before. 

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name. 

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you. 

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back. 

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze.  Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush. 

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try. 

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner. 

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be. 

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 11: Pet Play

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5711

Warnings: Afab!reader, coercion, abuse of power, exploitative dynamic, pet play/puppy play, vaginal fingering, humiliation/degradation, dubcon, use of ‘good girl’ and other gendered language

A/N: Sorry this one is late, I physically could not keep my eyes open to do the editing 😭

⭐

“This is an abuse of power, I hope you know that.” 

Looking up at the low hiss, Al-Haitham casually moves his book aside to peer down at where you’re knelt on the floor. You can feel his eyes burning into you but refuse to actually bring your head up and look at him, far too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Just glimpsing the shift in your peripheral is almost enough to crumble your resolve and send you running from the room but you had an objective here. A goal you refused to back down from no matter to what frustrating lengths he went just to stonewall you so you fiercely maintain your position, even when your arms shudder and threaten to give out. 

You couldn’t believe him. The nerve he had, putting you into this kind of situation! Not only was it a major abuse of power but also a punishable offense in the Akademiya’s code of conduct that would have escalated into quite a buzzing scandal were it not for the fact you had no one to turn to about it. Even if you did try to file a complaint it would just end up on his desk by the next morning and you would be worse off than you’d started. 

You’d always thought the Grand Sage held far too much sway and authority over the Akademiya’s internal affairs with nothing to keep them in check, and Al-Haitham was just further solidifying that belief. 

A long moment of terse silence settles over the still office, and you really don’t expect him to even dignify that assertion with a response when the only reason he was entertaining this in the first place was to prove a point. But then, to your dull surprise, he eventually draws an apathetic breath. 

“No one is forcing you to do this, least of all myself. You’re welcome to gather up your belongings and leave at any time. It’s not like I’m holding you hostage or anything.” 

You bark out a humorless laugh, bitter and strained. That was certainly easy for him to say when he was the one with all the control here. If the roles had been reversed, you were sure he would have been squirming too. 

Well … maybe not. This was Al-Haitham you were talking about but that was hardly the point! 

“I’m not leaving,” You grit, trying very hard to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Not until you sign that paper!” 

Shrugging as if he really could care less, Al-Haitham returns to his book without a second thought to the matter. You curse him under your breath, rather creatively too, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. Completely unperturbed and eternally at ease, he just sits there in his high backed chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite leg while he reads — you steal a quick, harried glance at the title on the cover. The Compendious Book on Calculation by Completion and Balancing? Was that seriously what his mind was focused on right now? 

Stamping down the urge to seethe through your teeth, you stiffly readjust the placement of your hands on the floor and try to distribute your weight more evenly. You probably shouldn’t have been surprised to end up in this situation after bursting into his office against your better judgment and prostrating yourself at his feet, begging for his signature and promising to do anything he asked in return. You’d expected, perhaps, monetary favors, personal debt, indentured servitude or maybe even transactional sex but this went far beyond what you could have ever anticipated. 

He’d simply told you to stay like that. Nothing else and no further instructions. At first you’d thought this was just a bizarre precursor to an inappropriate sexual liaison with the Acting Grand Sage, that he was just far more perverted than you’d initially thought and he got off on having women kneel at his feet like some kind of brute. So you’d stayed like that, on hand and bended knee, but it was fast approaching an hour now and still he’d barely even looked at you, never mind made any kind of advance. 

You were furious with him as much as yourself. But pride could be a funny thing and you were a bit too stubborn to give up now when you’d already stooped this low. Even if he stayed here all night reading his stupid book in perpetual silence you weren’t leaving until you got him to sign off on that damned budget request! 

Unfortunately you were quickly losing strength in your arms and you gingerly rock back to settle more squarely on your knees, attempting to lessen some of the pressure. You grimace at the deep ache that throbs through your limbs as you try to discreetly roll some of the tension out with slow rotations of your wrists but it does little in the way of good, and you give a small hiss.  

“You’re getting tired.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you nearly jolt right up off the floor in your surprise. 

“I’m not!” Stubbornly, you return to your original position even when it makes the screaming tendons in your limbs cry out in protest. You couldn’t let him win. If you gave up now he’d just send you packing and that paper would never get signed. “Your book must be pretty dull if you’re still focused on me though. Maybe you should stop playing this silly game already and just give me what I came here for.” 

Al-Haitham lowers his book to look at you again. “I’m playing a silly game?” Quietly scoffing, he lowers his arm altogether to let it rest across his bent knee with the book dangling towards the floor now. “Look, I don’t say this to discourage you but I’m really not sure what you think this is going to accomplish. I didn’t agree to anything nor did I make a bargain with you. You’re the one who decided to camp out here under the assumption that your obstinance would net you the result you wanted. Honestly I’m a bit surprised at how stubborn you’re being about this.” 

“I need that budget sign off!” 

“You might need it but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get it.” 

You can’t quite stop yourself from snapping your attention up to gape at him. He couldn’t be serious! “How dare you talk to me like a child …” 

With a slow, deliberate blink of his eyes, Al-Haitham tips his head to one side, looking for all the world like an observant predatory bird regarding its prey. “How else am I supposed to treat you when you’re acting like one?” 

An affronted burst of sound comes out of you, but when you draw a sharp breath to snap at him nothing comes out. You’re just left with your mouth hanging open like a fool, so you slowly close it again and try to rein in your temper. You couldn’t let him get under your skin like this. The sooner he turned your own emotions against you the sooner you’d be sent from his office empty handed. Maintaining a level head even in the face of his infuriating attitude was likely the only thing that would see you through this standoff and, steeling your resolve, you narrow your eyes up at him. 

“I’m not leaving until you give me your signature.” 

“Do you really think you can outlast me?” 

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” 

A quiet beat passes over the room while he seems to consider that in his mind. Not that his typically unreadable expression told you much of anything, but he hadn’t returned to his book yet and his viridescent eyes had taken on a distant quality that would seem to suggest deep thought. You aren’t sure what he’s going to come back at you with — grudging acquiescence, just to get you out of his office, or a call for the guards to come and take you away by force — but it’s certainly not for him to sedately uncross his legs and lean forward, elbows bracing on his knees. 

You go ramrod stiff, so shocked you can’t even find the wherewithal to properly react when he slouches down to look you square in the face and you abruptly realize just how close you really are. You’d never seen him from only a scant few inches away like this, the strong cut of his jaw and handsome brow catching you completely off guard. How had you never noticed how striking he was?

“Fine.” He intones, surprising you so much you have to do a double take.

“What?” 

“I said fine. Since you want to play this game so badly, I suppose I’d be willing to meet you somewhere in the middle. Unless, of course, your precious budget isn’t worth the gamble?” 

You realize what he’s doing immediately. It would have been a little hard not to when he was staring at you with those deeply impertinent eyes, just daring you to take the bait and see who came out on top. This wasn’t a compromise, it was a flat out challenge! He was so damn confident he could best you that the notion of having to actually sign off on your paper clearly wasn’t even a concern in his mind. You hated him for it, handsome or not, and you don’t try to hide it as you harden your expression. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, you bastard.” 

“Alright.” Straightening up, Al-Haitham snaps the book in his hand shut to finally give you his full attention. “Take off your clothes.” 

Your heart sputters and nearly extinguishes. “Excuse me?” 

He actually has the audacity to quirk a brow at you, like you were the one with the problem, and you run even hotter than before. The nerve of him! But if that was how he wanted to be then fine, you would simply meet him head on and see who could really outlast who. 

Teeth gnashing, you jerk your body upright and viciously tear at your robe to get it pulled up over your head before he can say anything else about it. You were so mad, so incredibly pissed at him that you nearly knock yourself off balance and tip over from how hard you yank your own clothes off. He wasn’t going to win, though. You would sooner jump into the endless ocean without a life preserver before ever admitting defeat to the likes of him! 

Irritably tossing everything aside, you gradually work your way down to the bottommost layer but you don’t stop long enough to let it give you pause. Your silk chemise comes off with a snarl and then you’re tugging soft bloomers down so you can inelegantly kick your way out of them as well. Finally, you find yourself kneeling in the Grand Sage’s office, completely naked and chest heaving uncontrollably as you glare daggers at him still sat comfortably in his seat. But he just impassively looks at you as if he wasn’t in any way moved, neither impressed by your nudity or all that interested by the looks of it. Just another factor to humiliate you with. 

“You forgot your shoes.” He says at last, and your blood pressure spikes so hard and so fast that you momentarily forget how to breathe. 

Twisting around, you rip off one of your slippers so you can cock it back with every intention of sending it flying right at his smug face. But you barely have enough time to get your arm up before he suddenly grabs you by the wrist, halting the motion before you can follow through. Choking on your anger as much as your surprise, you watch him slowly rise from his seat so he can lean over you and put his face close to yours again. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He tells you in such a bland, unconcerned tone that for a split second you’re not even sure if he’s actually being sincere or not. But then he expectantly holds up his unoccupied hand and you whither under that inscrutable gaze. “Give me the shoe.” 

You desperately try to keep hold of your fiery rage but it sputters out quickly enough under his cool, mild temperament and you suddenly feel a bit silly — it was hard not to when Al-Haitham looked at you like that — and you obediently hand it over to him when he lets up his hold on your wrist. Feeling appropriately cowed, you ease back to sit on your haunches while he straightens up to his full, towering height to speculatively regard your shoe for a moment. Listless, you reach back and shove the other one off your foot without a care to where it may fall. 

Finally, he looks at you again. “Back into position.”

A short beat of confusion marches through your mind before you realize what he wants, and your face quickly starts to heat up again. He was certainly pushing his luck today. And although you may not have had your anger to cling to anymore you still had your resolve, and it doesn’t abandon you even now. Grudgingly, you comply. 

Shifting forward to brace on your hands and knees again, you settle into place before him even when it only seems to highlight your stark nudity. Your breasts sway softly with the motion, nipples puckered tight in the decidedly cool office, but you try your best to ignore it. Instead, you bring your head up, ready to snap at him — but his hand coming to rest on top of your head abruptly stops you in your tracks. 

“Good girl.” 

Your stomach lurches. What the hell did he think he was doing? 

“Y - you — I don’t —“ You choke and stammer, unable to get so much as a single coherent sentence out, but he just … pets you. Idly rubs his (frustratingly) large hand over your head for a brief moment before pulling away without even a hint of shame to show for it. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing and not incredibly, deeply belittling. 

But if he recognizes the look of affronted disbelief on your face he certainly doesn’t show it and merely shifts back to settle his weight to one side. With your slipper still clutched in his fingers, you bitterly note. 

“Now that we’ve established you can follow directions, here's how this is going to work. I’ll give you an hour of my time since you wasted one of yours hoping I’d change my mind about the budget paper. I don’t usually negotiate or give in to demands like this, but if you can show me you have the resolve to back up your beliefs with meaningful action then I’ll give you my sign off. Your field holds a great deal of potential but that was no small sum you asked for. I want to know if you can actually back it up or not.” 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” You growl, feeling your temper start to spike again. 

Without missing a beat the hand at his side shifts, gesturing towards the spot next to him with a quick snap of his fingers. “Come here.” 

Your body gives a subconscious, angry little jerk at the sound but you bite your tongue, knowing if you allowed yourself to speak now you’d just flush everything down the toilet. It’s exceptionally hard to do when you knew too well what he was actually asking you to do, but you try to remind yourself what was on the line. Why you were even doing this in the first place. Any humiliation suffered would be well worth it once you got your hands on that budget and you could always deal with him later, after the next Grand Sage had been officially chosen. 

Resigned, you silently rock forward and crawl the few paces across the floor, keeping your head down while making a valiant effort not to think about how ridiculous you must look in that moment. But he doesn’t react when you shuffle up to him, his expression as unreadable as ever when you chance a quick look. You almost ask what else he wants you to do and then a blood curdling thought occurs to you. He was rather blatantly treating you like a dog now, so did that mean he wanted you to come to heel? 

Your motions are stiff with annoyance as you carefully readjust your position and spin around until your upper body is perfectly lined up with his legs, your hand resting a scant few millimeters from his boot. To your simmering annoyance, he once again bends down to give your head a rather condescending, if not impartial, pat. 

“Good girl. Now sit.” 

You shoot him a quick, dangerous look but still ease back to sit on your calves. That doesn’t quite seem to be enough for him though and, jaw clenched tight, you slowly straighten out of your hunched position to sit up, blushing red hot when it effectively presents your tits to the room. 

Al-Haitham’s hand finds your head again and he murmurs another soft ‘good girl’ that makes you feel a million abstract emotions all at once. You can’t quite decide if you hate him it or not, and try to pull away with a half choked sound of annoyance. Luckily, (for you or him, you couldn't decide) he lets you twist from him without comment and you have to bite back the whimper that rises in your throat when he slowly straightens up to tower over you again. Alright, so this was perhaps even more deviant than making you kneel at his feet all day, and you feel the hot stab of embarrassment at that deep in your chest, but surely this was going a bit far, even for him? 

“You don’t have to keep doing that …” You grumble, pointedly looking anywhere else in the room. 

“Oh? And how else am I supposed to reinforce good behavior then?” 

Your cheeks grow even hotter. “I am not a dog, Acting Grand Sage. Nothing needs to be reinforced!” 

“I disagree. The way you burst in here was bad enough but then you took it upon yourself to try and force my hand when I wouldn’t give you what you wanted. That’s not how sensible adults behave. Clearly you lack training.” 

Is that what this was? Correctional action? It was so absurd you almost laugh. You might have been out of line in coming here to try and strongarm him, but then what did the current situation say about his behavior? He had you naked, following his commands like a pet, and he didn’t see anything wrong with that? You’d never before known someone more absurd or audacious.

“Even if that were true, do you really think it’s your place to do the training?” 

“For the next fifty-five minutes? Yes, it is.” Ignoring the incensed noise you make to that, Al-Haitham pivots his body to stand in front of you now, effectively swapping your starting positions. He’s so close you have to crane your neck back to look up at him but his expression remains as passive and disinterested as ever. “It’s a shame I didn’t have time to prepare anything for you beforehand.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you. “I think you’d look perfect wearing a nice collar and leash. Maybe something pink with a bow? I could probably even find a tail for you in a backroom of the bazaar somewhere.” 

His words have their intended effect of making you squirm in place, flushing hot with shame at the mental image he’s instilled in you. For someone who didn’t even look all that invested in the first place, he sure was letting his imagination run wild. “In your dreams, you creep.” 

He gives you another of those long, deliberately slow blinks. “Then let’s teach you a new trick. You’ll like that, I’m sure.” Lifting his hand just short of chest level, Al-Haitham gives his fingers another snap. “Beg, pretty girl.” 

So gradually it feels like your skin is crawling, every single hair on your body stands on end until you feel vaguely like a puffed up, incensed cat. Your mouth works but nothing comes out around the simmering rock now lodged in your throat. Of all the upsetting things he’s said and done to you, this was somehow the worst yet — and the addition of ‘pretty girl’ certainly wasn’t making it any better. 

“You - -!” 

“Ah, ah. Not like that. Dogs can’t ask for things or yell at their owners, can they? Do it without using your voice.”

Another snap of his fingers has you seeing red. You didn’t understand how you were supposed to do this in a way that would satisfy him … and more to be cute than anything else, you stiffly bring your hands up and curl them into loose fists. To your surprise he nods once but doesn’t lean down to pet you or call you a good girl so you take that to mean he wasn’t quite satisfied with it yet. You had no idea what else he expected of you though. Trying to sit up a little straighter, jutting your tits out in the process, likewise doesn’t earn you his acknowledgement though and you soon start to panic. If you weren’t able to meet his expectations — whatever they were — he was just going to send you away. You had to think of something, quick! 

“W - woof?” You try hopefully, genuine surprise washing over you when he allows himself the briefest smile. 

“You’re getting there, but not quite. You just need to fix your position.” 

Fix it? Fix it how! 

It takes a long moment for it to sink in, the full weight of what he’s asking you to do, and you outright grimace at the thought that finally comes to mind. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing but, seeing what little choice you actually had, you carefully get your legs under you and then push up to balance on your feet in a leapfrog position. Still, though, that’s not enough to please him, and you start to feel well and truly like you might cry out of frustration. This was impossible. Considering who you were dealing with you probably should have anticipated as much but …

Al-Haitham abruptly shifts forward then and it makes you give a subconscious little twitch. To your wary confusion, though, all he does is lower himself down to crouch in front of you on the balls of his feet. “Like this. You need to straighten your spine, and sit nice and tall for me. You want to get my attention don’t you?”

Your face feels like it’s going to catch fire at any given moment. He sounded far too reasonable for someone making you debase yourself like this but even for as obtuse and arrogant as he was, you still trusted his word. Geniuses were usually a bit eccentric in one way or another but Al-Haitham, at least, was a man who didn’t misspeak (whenever he bothered to speak at all) so if he said this would  get your paper signed you believed him. 

You have to pause to steady your nerves before you do it but, at length, you finally push up to center your balance on the balls of your feet as well and then straighten your back. For good measure, you lift your hands to your chest and curl them into loose fists again, pinning him with a flustered yet plaintive look even when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to cover yourself. You can feel the air in the room waft against your bare cunt, acutely aware of how this humiliating position spreads your pussy lips slightly and bares you to his steady gaze, but you try very hard not to think about that right now. 

“Good girl.” He finally relents, his usually bland tone softening almost imperceptibly, but it still stabs you in the gut as if he’d taken a knife to you. 

Wavering, you force your legs to steady under your weight when he reaches out, heart pounding a wild, erratic beat inside your chest as you track the motion of his hand. A soft whimper bubbles up in your throat at the casual way he slips those long fingers between your spread thighs and ever so softly brushes them over your cunt. The slight nudge against your clit forces you to draw a steadying breath, so hot and jittery with nerves you start to feel faint. Although you’d half expected him to ask for sexual favors when you first forced your way in here, this was not quite what you’d had in mind … 

It’s something far, far worse than what your imagination could have ever come up with, but you let him pet at you with unhurried strokes of his fingers, teasing over creases and folds as if to map out the feel of you through touch alone. His fingertips are blunt and surprisingly rough for a scribe, and it catches you off guard how your skin clings to him because of it. Your clit, especially, feels incredibly soft and pliant under his hand, and the periodic nudge against it makes your legs twitch with the urge to squeeze them shut. 

“See? I knew you could follow directions …” Trailing off, Al-Haitham studies your face for a long beat with that perpetually unreadable expression of his. Like he was deliberating over what to embarrass you with next. 

Shyly, you try to divert your gaze elsewhere so you won’t have to look directly at him but he’s knelt much too close. He takes up almost all of your field of vision no matter what you do, and your mouth drops open when he suddenly reaches further back to prod at your entrance. 

“Now speak.” 

Lightheaded and more than just a little dizzy now, you try to work out what he wants you to say — and then it hits you. Whining low in your throat, unable to hold it back, you shift to steady your faltering balance and subtly angle your cunt from him. “Wh - woof … woof, woof …” 

Unhesitatingly, his fingers follow you and press up, just dipping into your body. You go stock still and shudder so hard you almost tip over, struggling to make sense of what’s even happening anymore. But true to nature Al-Haitham has no time or patience to waste on explanations, and he breaches your cunt at a tortuously slow pace that leaves you gasping for breath. The stretch that comes with his two fingers brings tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over when he finds slick waiting for him inside. 

“Good girl. You’re being so well behaved for me now. Much better than your earlier foolishness,” Pausing at the first joint, he takes a moment to simply feel around and wriggle his fingertips, encouraging your pussy to open up for him and relax around the intrusion. The motion draws a soft, wet click from your body, and you all but whither right there in front of him. “You can ask for things without being such a brat about it. Good behavior will net you far better results anyway, and it will keep you out of trouble too. The next time you think about strong arming someone into giving you what you want, I hope you remember this … and if you ever need a refresher I’d be happy to give it to you.” 

You don’t quite get the chance to fully process what he’s saying. His fingers angle further up, using the natural lubrication of your cunt to slide in a little deeper, and you throw your head back to seethe at the ceiling. He’s gentle about it but insistent and demanding at the same time, and your cunt slowly relents under the stilted pressure. The second joint stretches you open and then — he’s inside you, straight down to the knuckles. Swaying, your legs start to shake from maintaining this position when you wanted nothing more than to scuttle away from him as much as from the onslaught of sensation that comes with it. You felt faint. Delirious. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize that the Acting Grand Sage was buried deep inside your pussy and your squeezing guts were actively trying to milk him dry? 

“Beg, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” 

Struggling just to breathe, you awkwardly shift on your feet and readjust the demeaning position of your hands where they’d started to droop. “Nnghn … w - woof woof … woof wo — oof!” 

The startled sound punches out of you when Al-Haitham curls his fingers at such a hard, unrelenting angle it nearly pulls you off balance. Up towards your belly button, he briefly massages along the inner sleeve of your shuddering body until he finds the spongy nerve cluster he’s looking for. The pressure he exerts on it sends you to the very tips of your toes, a futile effort to escape the demanding attention, but he remains ever one track minded. Now that he's found it, he attacks the spot with merciless focus and the constant barrage makes your whole body twitch and tingle like you were a lit firecracker just waiting to explode. You hated it, the way he was turning your body against you like this, but there was no denying the innate reaction you were experiencing. 

Your pussy practically floods around his fingers and the sticky suction rapidly increases under his ministrations until the attention grabbing click coming from between your legs seems to dominate the room. It even threatens to drown out your gasping, heaving moans as you helplessly rock on your feet, doing everything in your power just to stay upright. It’s a true test of willpower when your muscles were so taxed and aching, and the rapidly swelling pressure in your cunt certainly wasn’t helping either. But still, your stubborn pride won’t let you give up and, still, you were determined to beat him at his own game. 

So you keep barking even when your breath is robbed from you, what was once hushed and begrudging noises meant only to signal your compliance quickly devolving into tiny little yips and pleasured groans. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you’d wanted to, and you no longer had the wherewithal to even keep up the pretense of not enjoying this on some level. It felt good, much to your horror and shame. You hated it as much as you hated him, but your baser instincts had effectively taken over and it sweeps you up in its current with a raging vengeance. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, good girl.” He says, evidently recognizing the stricken look on your face for what it is. You think — in a far off, distant kind of way — that he must be out of his mind. That he was sorely mistaken if he thought you were going to climax for him, just like that. 

But then he reaches up with his unoccupied hand and pinches one of your nipples, giving it a possessive little tweak, and you feel the tension in you become that much more unbearable. Reeling and gasping, you sensitively rock forward on your toes and try to angle your cunt away but it’s no use. He’s completely unrelenting, and your eyes start to roll back in your head as the tremors tear through you faster than you can even comprehend. 

“Oh - oooh!”

“Archons, you’re soaking my fingers. If I’d known all you needed was some discipline, I would have done this much sooner.” 

A little piece of your ego seems to chip away and dissolve when your quaking hips give a stiff jerk at that, and your pussy clamps down around him so fiercely it almost hurts. And just like that the pressure tips. You fall over the edge into an uncontrollable fit of spasms, your orgasm rocking you straight down to your core. But even in the throes of your wild release you’re still acutely — horrifically aware of the moment your cunt gives under the pressure and squirts slick all over his hand and wrist. 

Suddenly your pleasure is ripped from you, instantly replaced with a suffocating, reeling sense of shock and disbelief even as you helplessly judder through the remainder of your orgasm. Tipping your head down to take a numb look at the space between your legs, hardly even daring to believe it, you feel a chill rush over you at the wet stains you see on the lush carpet. There was no way … 

Gradually, Al-Haitham eases up on his fingers when you start to go still, just eyeing your face with that inscrutable look for a long, quiet moment that’s interspersed only by your labored breathing. He doesn’t say anything at all as he slowly withdraws them from your body, ignoring the way you grimace and seethe at the resulting sticky slurp, but he does manage to take you by surprise when he reaches up to help steady you by the shoulders. You reluctantly accept his help, a little too shell shocked to maintain your attitude when it seemed like all you could do just to keep yourself together. And to your great relief he carefully helps you sink down to sit on the floor, which you do with nothing short of immense, overwhelming relief. 

It felt like your legs would never work properly again after crouching like that for so long, and that was to say absolutely nothing of your pride. What was even left of it. 

“You did well.” He suddenly says, prompting you to bring your head up to look at him. 

Despite your reservations, you allow yourself a slow, hopeful smile. “Does this mean you’ll sign off on my request now?” You venture to ask in a thin, trembling voice. 

“No. Not yet. You’ve still got another thirty minutes, I’m afraid.” 

Groaning, you drop your head and try not to scream. How you hated this man!

⭐

Crossposted: here

[accio-victuuri]

from this article: 10 short stories about "Formed Police unit" 📝 ( i included general facts and the ones related to Bobo )

The action blockbuster "Formed Police Unit", which brings together actors such as Huang Jingyu, Wang Yibo, Zhong Chuxi, Ou Hao and other actors, was released on May 1st this year and topped the box office in the first two days.

Before the screening, the producer Liu Weiqiang and director Li Dachao of "Formed Police Unit" shared the behind-the-scenes story of the film with the Entertainment Management Studio . During the exchange, they talked many times about the need to "shoot with care" and "correctly" when making movies today. Movies need to be awe-inspiring.”

Liu Weiqiang revealed that the film took 75 days to shoot and was 10 days overdue. The investors also fully supported it because they wanted to provide the best results for the audience. The following ten short stories let us know more about "Formed Police Unit".

ONE

The story theme of "Formed Police Unit" was proposed by director Li Dachao. In 2010 , Li Dachao saw a piece of news about a peacekeeping police officer returning to China after his death. The urn was covered with the national flag and the police standing on both sides saluted solemnly. Li Dachao was thinking about it at that time. I was moved, " At that time, I was thinking about what peacekeeping was, and later I learned that they are such a noble and selfless profession, all dedicated to contributing to the local people. "

I thought of this subject in 2010 , but the film didn't start filming until a few years ago. Li Dachao believes that timing is very important, " You see how much the world needs peace now, I think it is very important to express the spirit of peacekeeping. "

FOUR

"Formed Police Unit" is the first film starring Wang Yibo. Liu Weiqiang revealed that Wang Yibo was very cautious when accepting projects. When discussing the script, he was moved by the role of Yang Zhen.

At that time, Wang Yibo had a small worry, that is, there was a scene with teenage Yang Zhen in the movie. "He was worried that if it were played by another young actor, whether the two would be able to synchronize the performance. The little Yang Zhen we found and He looks quite similar, so he feels relieved when he sees it.”

FIVE

At the end of the film, Yang Zhen had a scene where he was beaten by an enemy. In order to guide Wang Yibo to perform the real pain, director Li Dachao said: "I pinched him before starting the movie. After pinching him, he screamed. I said this feeling was... By the way, you have to keep it real, and you have to magnify the pain of being pinched 100 times. "

SIX

The crew learned from former peacekeeping police officers who had actually participated in peacekeeping operations that when they went on missions, they would spread Chinese culture locally, teach Chinese and martial arts, and usually grow vegetables in the base where they were stationed.

The crew also built a vegetable garden on the set, and the props team was responsible for growing vegetables and watering them. There was a scene where the peacekeepers went to pick vegetables. "An interesting fact is that almost all the vegetables were dug up by Wang Yibo. He dug them too fast. I said wait, I haven't turned on the camera yet," director Li Dachao said with a smile.

SEVEN

Wang Yibo was still a newcomer to the film industry when filming "Formed Police Unit", but Liu Weiqiang's impression of him was that he was very smart, "You see, he usually doesn't make a sound, but when he does, he is very powerful. He is an observation-type actor, and a good actor is like this , observe first, and after observing, he will know which points he ne

EIGHT

The peacekeeping team in the movie is designed according to the real peacekeeping configuration, two armored vehicles + snipers + liaison officers, etc. Each character has his or her own plot mission. For example, Ou Hao plays the team leader, and he is a role model. As a police officer, he uses his lines to express the spirit of the peacekeeping police; Gu Jiacheng's character and Yang Zhen grew up together in the police station, and he played a catalyst role in Yang Zhen's growth.

The director revealed that in order to prepare the soldiers' strong bodies and performance conditions, the actors of the Peacekeeping Team spontaneously trained, ran, gained muscle, tanned, and encouraged each other before filming began. Huang Jingyu said that the first half of the movie was shot in the daytime, and in the end it was all night scenes. The action scenes were shot all night long, and it was raining. If you didn't reserve your physical strength, you wouldn't be able to persevere.

NINE

Based on the longitude and latitude, landforms, vegetation, weather and climate characteristics of the mission area in the movie, the crew found a filming location that could simulate the African environment and built an entire city, including slums, streets, squares, seaside stilt houses, etc.

The last major scene of rescuing witnesses during a stormy night had to wait for the tide to change during the actual shooting. The tide rose every four hours at that time. In order to show the harsh environment in the storm, we had to wait until the tide rose to shoot. It took 15 days to complete

article source

[pricegouge]

have you ever wondered if the cod fandom being so heavily women was influenced by the military? like unironically the games are propaganda as you said, like the devs or executives or some shit met with the military. and there’s been a push to recruit women, and other groups who traditionally may not enlist

maybe i’m hitting the metaphorical blunt too hard and conspiracy theorying too much. i just think about this shit a lot lol

hi hi! I think perhaps it's possible your perspective of the fan demographic has been skewed. While we here on the blorbo hellsite probably largely identify as women or other, paying customers (and therefore the people Activision caters to because at the end of the day they are still a company that needs to make money) are still largely men

[anecdotal reddit survey] <- I would say this is skewed due to reddit having a largely male user base

[demographic breakdown as compared to other shooters]

But in regards to your overall point, it's worth noting the us military did quite notoriously used to pay Activision - cancelled in 2021(?) after the harassment scandal

You should also look into the entertainment liaison office, or just the general military-entertainment complex

Like, the overreach of the military into what we engage with every day is very real and very above board and very well documented. You are not just hitting the conspiracy blunt my friend

[twistedsimmer]

Without further ado...

One fine day, Mayor GilsCarbo was busy at work in his office when his receptionist called. A prominent businessman was here with a proposal, she said, one that he claimed the Mayor wouldn't be able to resist. Finding this more intriguing than the city planner's reports that he was reviewing, he replied, "Send him in, Sheila."

It turned out to be none other than Richard Morris, the founder of EveryTech Technologies, and one of the city's top business tycoons. Instead of building seaports or buying trucks, he had a better idea: to send a team into the unexplored fringes of SimNation, establishing a new settlement and scouting the area for valuable resources.

"Sounds good so far. What kind of people are you going to send?" the Mayor asked. Richard grinned, handing over a thick folder. "I'm glad you asked.."

"We've assembled a group of volunteers, each selected for genetic compatibility and expertise in their respective fields. We hope that they'll not only be able to serve the short term goal of taming the land, but also growing a brand new population of tax-paying individuals."

"Very interesting! So, who are these people?"

"First we have my son, Jake Morris, leading the expedition. He'll be the liaison between the new settlement and SimCity. If provided a job in your office, of course."

"That I can arrange. Who else?"

"Mona Lott will be in charge of entertainment and morale, due to her work as an actress."

"Her name sounds very familiar, what was she in?"

"Minor independent productions of a mature nature, as she claimed on her application. Probably some avant-garde, artsy films, but many of my men on the selection committee vouched for her skill."

"Ah yes, I hear she's been praised for her..flexibility."

"Next we have Solomon Utes, a freelance writer of some renown. He regularly contributes to the SimCity Times, and will be authoring all of the status reports."

"I still remember that scathing article he wrote on Landgraab's nightclub, Malcolm sold the business a month later after that went public. Then he sued Utes, and lost."

"Brigette LeRoux here is an experienced midwife, and purportedly good with animals. Her skills as a Douser should also come in handy."

"From these satellite photos, it looks like there's a decently large lake in the area. Surely you don't need a psychic to find that."

"Next we have Amayata Nairi, the civil engineer of the team. She's quite young, she's proven to be quite competent as well. We're confident she'll be able to set up the infrastructure in the settlement, and help connect it to SimCity."

"I'll do what I can to help on my end, if the area proves to be worth the effort."

"Marf Foobar is a volunteer from my own company. He's quite the convincing salesman, which is why he'll be in charge of public relations and tourism."

"Hmm, I'm sure he'll sell it better than a used Smord."

"And finally we have Emi Uzuki. She immigrated from Takemizu to attend Sim State University, where she became the youngest Sim to hold a biology degree."

"A prodigy, I see! I'm sure she'll make a fine doctor."

"So, what do you think?"

"You have a pretty solid team, albeit an odd combination of people. The region you chose looks quite promising, and your requests are very reasonable for a project of this scale. I approve."

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that day..

"Citizens of SimCity, it is my pleasure to introduce the Littlesprings Project.."

-> Next Chapter..

[msclaritea]

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2020

Blind Items Revealed #13 - Anniversary Month

March 24, 2020

It has been several years ago now when this A list mostly movie actress used to spend a great deal of her time in the city with the House On St. Charles. What is interesting though, is her history with the house goes back much further than that specific time period. In fact, when she was visiting so often with her significant other, she never visited the house. Her work had been completed long before that. A decade prior to her spending so much tie in the city, our actress was contacted by, at that point in time a high ranking member of the government who controlled the house. He later became its head of government. The two became very close and shared a bed on a number of occasions. He financed all her pet projects and put her in touch with people who could help her with her thirst projects. In the city, because of its location and geography are a number of consulates. The foreign consuls of the city often become Ambassadors for their specific countries. Over the course of a year, our actress entertained four such men and one woman at the House. All of the activities were recorded for posterity. Three of the five became Ambassadors for their respective countries, all of which are very large or influential and all feed secrets directly to the man who arranged the liaisons with the actress. The leader and the actress had a falling out but she stays quiet because of the things they did together other than her activities in the House. Those activities outside the House would bring down her career.

Angelina Jolie/New Orleans/Brad Pitt

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2021

Blind Items Revealed #22 - Reader Blind Item - Anniversary Month

June 7, 2018

I was meeting a friend at my apartment complex on a cloudy Sunday in August of 2016 in the capital city of a very boring state that is neither southern nor western, when a rather impeccably-dressed chauffer had pulled up in a tall, 8-person minivan with tinted windows. He greeted me, and eager to help I went over. It turns out that he was driving a major celebrity around, but didn’t divulge who it was at first. He had asked me where the office staff was, and I told him that usually there was one person around on Sundays. He told me that there was supposed to be someone to meet them and give them a key, and let them into the complex. I looked at the time and saw that it was just a little past 5:00 PM, and I knew that the staff liked to lock the doors and run as soon as the clock struck 5. I pulled out my cell phone and proceeded to dig through my contacts to find the number for the maintenance line to let them know of the situation and perhaps they knew what to do. As I proceeded to give him the number, the large sliding door opened and a man who was trying to keep a couple of jumpy young girls (assuming they were his own twin daughters, dressed the same) inside, identified himself as her "manager" and asked what was going on, and the chauffeur said that there was no one here and he was trying to ask me who to call. Another, smaller figure was in the back, looking very subdued. The manager had looked a little irate and seemed that he had wanted to get settled down to some place to stay as soon as possible. After he went back in the car and shut the door, the Chauffeur said that he would call the number I gave him or else take them to a nearby hotel that his other past clients had preferred. He then divulged who the celebrity was, while going through his phone and proudly showing off who else he had driven. I looked again at the window and could not believe how skinny this celebrity (A+ list mostly movie actress) was in real life, but had even more questions about why she was here alone with her "manager" and his kids, and at the very least not with a few of her own. There was definitely an air of sadness with her body language. The chauffeur assured me things would be fine and said I could go off with my friend, and so we left. Later, I tried to find out who this manager was, and it in fact was not her manager, but I matched the face of this manager to be that of her lawyer. What was made even more interesting was that I know that her husband at the time had family that once had roots in the area but were no longer here. I could not for the life of me figure out what she was doing in this city, with her lawyer, and his kids (who I’m 99% sure were also not accompanied by their mother on this trip). The next week I spoke to the complex manager and while I was told that even though they knew a guest was coming, it was handled through a third party agency who failed to show up to hand off the keys and the gate codes. When I told them who it was, they were shocked! They usually hear of some of the high-profile clients that stay there after they are gone but had they known that someone this big was coming, they would have arranged to have had someone there for a little longer that Sunday. It was exactly a month later that a not-so-Nice trip pulled the trigger to cause the celebrity guest to file for divorce from her A+ list mostly movie actor husband at the time. I have no doubt in my mind that perhaps this visit might have had something to do with the planning of it, in the very least.

Angelina Jolie/Springfield, MO/Brad Pitt

You know what? It's 2024 and what we are NOT going to do is keep up the bullshit pretense about who and what Angelina Jolie really is: a very deranged, shady person who has engaged in illegal activities in other countries.

[ncisfranchise-source]

After 43 total seasons and a nearly 1,000 (!) combined episodes, does the NCIS franchise have anything new to offer…?

Created by an Australian (actor-turned-writer/producer Morgan O’Neill)… (originally just) for Australians… and starring/guest-starring maaany Australians, NCIS: Sydney (premiering Tuesday, Nov. 14 on CBS) suggests that a trip to the land Down Under shakes things up enough to warrant another offshoot.

The premise for NCIS: Sydney, as established in the first episode (I’ve seen the first four of eight): “As international tensions rise in the Indo-Pacific,” U.S. NCIS Agents and the Australian Federal Police (AFP) are grafted into a “multi-national task force, to keep naval crimes in check in the most contested patch of ocean on the planet.”

Olivia Swann (Legends of Tomorrow) and Todd Lasance (Spartacus: War of the Damned) lead the cast as, respectively, NCIS Special Agent Michelle Mackey and her 2IC AFP counterpart, Sergeant Jim “JD” Dempsey. Rounding out the merged team are Sean Sagar (Fate: The Winx Saga) as NCIS Special Agent DeShawn Jackson, Tuuli Narkle (Bad Behaviour) as AFP liaison officer Constable Evie Cooper, Mavournee Hazel (Neighbours) as AFP forensic scientist Bluebird “Blue” Gleeson, and William McInnes (Blue Heelers) as AFP forensic pathologist Dr. Roy Penrose.

Of the above actors, all are Australian save for Swann (who is English) and Sagar (American).

Now, you don’t need me to tell you that the Sydney backdrop in and of itself makes TV’s fifth NCIS series look special, if not oftentimes downright picturesque, shooting on location as it does at Sydney Harbor (including at the HMAS Kuttabul naval base), Bondi Beach, the Malabar Ocean Pool, Kings Cross and the like. Most everywhere the camera faces, this gives the procedural a vibe like no NCIS before it. (But if pressed to draw a comparison, I’d say it most evokes NCIS: New Orleans, between the team’s makeshift HQ and the setting’s highly specific local flavor.)

The cases similarly make the most of the NCIS franchise’s first international setting, with “murder by exotic snake” and an apparent shark attack figuring into two of the kills.

NCIS: Sydney also, of course, sounds different. And while I luhrve me the Aussie accent, you will probably want to watch with closed-captioning on, since at least one of the series regulars and the occasional guest star can be a bit indecipherable at times.

But as different as NCIS: Sydney may look and sound, the character types will be (a bit too?) familiar to franchise aficionados.

You have, in Swann’s Mackey, the veddy serious team leader with a limited tolerance for hijinks. There is also, of course, the quirky! forensic scientist, the M.E. who’s a font of wisdom, and the early hints of Will They/Won’t They between two team members.

On the flip side, the “forcibly merged team” aspect is new for the long-running franchise, and tees up entertaining instances of culture clash. (Australia has very different rules about LEOs and open carry firearms, for example. They play, “Scissors, Paper, Rock.” Oh, and car steering wheels are on the other side! Wild.) There’s also a recurring adversary that offers an interesting wrinkle, given who he works for….

Of the cast, Swann makes for a solid (and tall) team leader, though it takes at least one episode too many to shine any light on the past trauma that defines Mackey/has her “shields” up, while Lasance has great fun with Dempsey’s comparatively laid-back persona. Narkle, I want to say, is the big standout as Evie — winningly sassy and arguably the “most Australian” of the bunch — while Sagar was a runner-up until his character started acting a little too free-spirited in later episodes. Hazel is hampered early on by Blue’s characterization (though that starts to improve), and I look forward to learning more about McInnes’ M.E.

All told, I was digging the very first episodes (and getting a crash course on Aussie lingo), and I might have gone “B+” if Episode 4 didn’t land very flat for me. So, a “B” it is, for now.

NCIS: Sydney premieres Stateside on CBS on Tuesday, Nov. 14 at 8/7c, and will also be available live and on demand that night for Paramount+ with Showtime subscribers. (Paramount+ Essential subscribers can stream each episode the day after it airs.) The series globally premieres on Paramount+ Australia on Friday, Nov. 10, with additional Paramount+ international markets to be announced at a later date.

THE TVLINE BOTTOM LINE: If you’ve never pulled the trigger on an actual (long) trip to Australia, it’s a g‘day to be an NCIS fan, with the arrival of NCIS: Sydney

[lgbtqiamuslimpedia]

Adam Yosef

Birth : 1981

Occupation : Journalist,LGBTQ+ Activist

Gender : Male

Ethnicity : South Asian, Arab

Sexuality : Pansexual

Religion : Islam

Adam Yosef is a British journalist, photojournalist,LGBTQI+ activist and political activist.He is co-founder of the Stand Up To Racism Birmingham Chapter, Birmingham Against LGBTQI+ Hate, & organiser for Stop the War Coalition.

Yosef has regularly written for the BBC, creating content highlighting issues of socio-politics,diversity,culture,racism and religion.He has also written for the Birmingham Mail,The Forward,IlmFeed, etc. His work also has been featured in The Washington Post, The Mirror and Al-Jazeera.

Yosef is a former member of the Respect Party, campaigning for the party in Birmingham,UK.He supported the Green Party of England and Wales in October 2009.

Early life

Yosef was born in September 1981 in Marston Green,England to a religious muslim family.He is of South Asian and Middle Eastern heritage, with family from India, Kashmir and Iraq.

Career

Public media career

Between 2003 and 2004, Adam Yosef was employed by the Birmingham Central Mosque as a Press & Public Relations representative.He regularly appeared as spokesperson for the trust alongside its chairman, Dr Mohammad Naseem.From 2005, he was Press Officer for politician Salma Yaqoob, the former leader of the Respect Party.He was also Press & Social Media Officer for Salma Yaqoob during the 2010 general election.

Between 2005 and 2006, Yosef was senior journalist with The Asian Today & Desi Xpress.In 2007, Yosef was appointed deputy editor of national entertainment magazine Ikonz.In 2008, he became a columnist for Fusian magazine. In July 2009, Yosef launched I Am Birmingham, an independent news website serving the West Midlands region, of which he was an editor-in-chief.

In October 2019, public letters written by LGBT+ Labour & LGBT+ Labour West Midlands accusing West Mayoral candidate Salma Yaqoob for homophobia, included claims Adam Yosef was previously employed by Yaqoob and had "called for violence against LGBT+ activists".The letters were shared and endorsed by Labour MPs Wes Streeting & Ben Bradshaw.Then Salma Yaqoob defended her relationship with Yosef, stating: "Adam is a member of the LGBTQI+ community and is an active campaigner for LGBTQ+ rights, who was pivotal in promoting Muslim groups' involvement in Birmingham Pride."Yaqoob's responses to the points made in the letters were backed by LGBT+ activists Owen Jones,Saima Razzaq, Pav Akhtar, who described Yaqoob as an ally.LGBT+ Labour West Midlands has since removed the original letter from their Twitter account.

Activism

In 2003, Yosef co-founded the interfaith Saltley Gate Peace Group, a community peace initiative which was formed in response to the threat of war in Iraq as a part of the growing peace movement in Britain following 9/11, and he was Community & Interfaith Liaison Officer for the Birmingham Stop the War Coalition during this period.He has been actively involved in community work which is related to the Lozells riots, the Alum Rock terror raids & campaigning against radical groups in the Midlands.

In his early twenties, Yosef slept rough on the streets of London before being assisted by The Salvation Army. As a result, founded the Birmingham Food Drive in 2012, which regularly provides food, clothes and essential items to homeless people in the city, and is an active supporter of youth homelessness charity St. Basils.He has also written for Pavement, the magazine for the rough sleepers in the UK.

Between 2011 and 2017, Yosef co-organised the Birmingham Zombie Walk, an annual event which raised thousands of pounds for Birmingham Children's Hospital, as part of an ongoing commitment to the charity.In 2015, Yosef co-founded the Birmingham chapter of the national anti-racism organisation Stand Up To Racism.

In 2021, Yosef co-founded Birmingham Against LGBTQI+ Hate, alongside queer muslim activists Saima Razzaq & Salman Mirza.The group organises rallies against homophobic attacks in the city and has called on city leaders to facilitate better relationships between communities.

Honours

In November 2017, Yosef was nominated & shortlisted for the Inspirational Man accolade at the Birmingham Inspiration Awards.In September 2018, Yosef was nominated & shortlisted for the Excellence in Media accolade at The Birmingham Awards. In 2019 and 2021, he was nominated in the Positive Role Model (LGBT) category for the National Diversity Awards. In 2020, Yosef was presented with an honorary award for 'Outstanding Contribution to LGBTQ+ Equality' award by Midlands Zone magazine.

[tomsecker]

That's Militainment - Spy Culture and Theaters of War on Responsible Statecraft

As word spreads about the power, influence and cost (both human and financial) of the entertainment liaison offices we’ve got a smart, punchy article by Hekmat Aboutkhater – That’s militainment! Big Hollywood succumbs to the Pentagon Borg – via Responsible Statecraft.  Hekmat reviews Theaters of War, the documentary I co-produced with Matt Alford and Roger Stahl, focusing in on the…

[qnewsau]

Safety alert after 'high number' of gay app assaults in NSW

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/safety-alert-after-high-number-of-gay-app-assaults-in-nsw/

Safety alert after 'high number' of gay app assaults in NSW

ACON and NSW Police have urged people to use caution and stay safe after a “high number” of violent assaults across NSW, particularly in Western Sydney and South West Sydney, linked to gay dating and hookup apps.

In an update on Friday afternoon, the NSW LGBTQIA+ organisation said that recently, a number of the assaults have allegedly been perpetrated by groups of males.

It’s alleged that the groups of young men and teenagers, are connecting with people on hookup apps using fake profiles. The perpetrators then quickly move to other less traceable apps, and then organise to meet up in isolated areas like parks.

“Because of the nature of these assaults, you may wish to consider verifying the age of the person you are organising to meet, and communicating only through the platform you connected on or via traceable means like texting,” ACON advises.

“Violence against LGBTQ+ people is never acceptable and never the fault of the person who has experienced violence.

“Violence is always and only ever the fault of the person or people using that violence. However, there are strategies you can use for safety.

“To keep yourself safe when meeting in person for the first time, consider taking a few precautions like; sharing your location with a friend, doing a video chat first or meeting in a public place.

“Trust your instincts and leave if you are feeling unsafe or aren’t into it.”

Each app has their own safety features and resources, including Grindr, and ACON also offers their own safety resources.

Report violent incidents to police

Anyone who’s in immediate danger should call 000. If you’ve experienced violence, and you feel safe to do so, consider contacting your local police or LGBTIQ Liaison Officer for help.

NSW Police encourage people to report any incidents to them. People can report anonymously via Crime Stoppers.

“Anonymous reports are difficult for the police to investigate, but any information will help them to gather intelligence about these assaults,” ACON said on Friday.

“The NSW Police Force Hate Crime Unit are highly concerned about these assaults and are in regular contact with ACON.”

Read more:

Victoria Police arrest 13 people over alleged attacks via gay apps

Four teens arrested in Perth over ‘sickening’ Grindr assaults

ACT Police search homes, seize devices after ACT app assaults

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[shredsandpatches]

been working on learning this aria (in my own range) for funsies and was looking over this bit reviewing the elision/syllabification* in the Italian (it's a lot for my clumsy anglophone tongue/brain) but am now baffled further by the English translation. In this case it's less the wording (it at least means what it should) and more the distribution of words. Like, I don't endorse singing it in English to begin with but if for some reason you were going to do that, wouldn't "e-v'ry ho-ur they de-vo-ur"** both be more natural and also fit the melody better?

*Apparently the Italian term for this is sinafele, which I just learned because I know I have multiple mutuals who are native speakers and I didn't want to just default to the French term liaison and embarrass myself. Anyway I apologize in advance for all errors if I end up recording this piece to entertain and/or horrify tumblr. But I learned something cool today!

**I wouldn't hyphenate that way if I were writing it out on sheet music but I'm not that committed to slacking off at work even with the office to myself. You know what I mean, though, two notes for 'hour' and three for 'devour'

[architectuul]

The Memory of Venice

This year's visit of Venice Architecture Biennial was super fast. Train from Trieste to Venice with the most beautiful gaze to the Adriatic coast. From Santa Lucia to Giardini with the targetto with a lot of open question on our VAB - Cold Cases campaign in my head. What will Lesley Lokko question herself under the title The Laboratory Of The Future.

She states that "an architecture exhibition is both a moment and a process. It borrows its structure and format from art exhibitions, but it differs from art in critical ways which often go unnoticed. Aside from the desire to tell a story, questions of production, resources and representation are central to the way an architecture exhibition comes into the world, yet are rarely acknowledged or discussed."

For the first time ever, this year the spotlight has fallen on Africa and the African Diaspora, that fluid and enmeshed culture of people of African descent that now straddles the globe.

According to Lokko it is often said that culture is the sum total of the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves. Whilst it is true, what is missing in the statement is any acknowledgement of who the ‘we’ in question is. The ‘story’ of architecture is therefore incomplete. It is in this context particularly that exhibitions matter. They are a unique moment in which to augment, change, or re-tell a story, whose audience and impact is felt far beyond the physical walls and spaces that hold it.

"The Laboratory of the Future is an exhibition of six parts and includes 89 participants, over half of whom are from Africa or the African Diaspora. The gender balance is 50/50, and for the first time ever, nearly half of participants are from sole or individual practices of five people or less. Across all the parts of The Laboratory of the Future, over 70% of exhibits are by practices run by an individual or a very small team. These statistics reflect a seismic change in the culture of architectural production at large, and an even greater shift in participation in international exhibitions. The balance has shifted. Things fall apart. The centre can no longer hold," wrote in her statement Lesley Lokko.

New South exhibit in the part of the Guests from the Future under the theme of the Mediterranean Queendoms which is a continuous interior space stretching across three cities and two continents and spanning the Mediterranean.

I started my exhibition walk exactly at 10 am at the Central Pavilion in the Giardini. There are 16 practices who represent a distilled force majeure of African and Diasporic architectural production have been gathered. It moves to the Arsenale complex, where participants in the Dangerous Liaisons section – represented also in Forte Marghera in Mestre, Venice mainland, with a large-scale installation by Emmanuel Pratt - rub shoulders with the Curator’s Special Projects, for the first time a category that is as large as the others.

In the extremely well structured Giardini central pavilion there is also our LINA fellow Meriem Chabani (Algiers, Algeria, 1989). With John Edom (Portsmouth, UK, 1983) and in collaboration with Mélissa Dyminat and Marine Gilouppe presents their office New South based in Paris. The Mediterranean Queendoms is a continuous interior space stretching across three cities and two continents and spanning the Mediterranean. It is Meriem's family’s territory: an intricate, intimate infrastructure of care that is reigned over by its women – her mother, her two grandmothers, and her seven aunts. The Queendom’s houses, (in Vitry, Paris; in Algiers, and in Batna) – are its logistical hubs, collecting the family’s members in one place for celebration, mourning, and holidays. The queens come and go in permanent flux. The schedule is conveyed through rumours which may later transpire to be false. Each present is cared for, nourished, transported, entertained, clothed, and sent away with dates, envelopes of money, pots of honey, leftover food wrapped in tinfoil, ancestral jewellery, adjusted wedding outfits, medicine, plane tickets, gossip, and family secrets according to and in excess of each one’s immediate need and for distribution to those dispersed throughout the Queendom who could not be present.

Israeli Pavillion

Empty Russian Pavillon.

We can definitely say that this year's exhibition is not about clima change but about how we will change. As Kyong Park, a curator of Korean pavilion, states "we can not control our future if we can’t control our past."

"We are not citizens anymore we are consumers participating in creating inequality," states Kyong Park.

Central to the presentation, A participatory video game allows viewers to choose actions in present and future ecocultural settings. The Pavilion encourages visitors to comprehend how global environmental challenges are founded in humanity’s prior decisions.

In this edition of the 2023 Venice Biennale, the Korean Pavilion, curated by artistic Directors Soik Jung and Kyong Park, presents “2086: Together How?” bringing together architects, community leaders, and artists to explore how people can cooperate in withstanding the current and future environmental crisis until 2086 when the global population is said to the peak.

The exhibition invites visitors to imagine an eco-cultural revolution by critically reassessing the world's capitalist, globalist, and colonial history. The viewers will be encouraged to reconsider current conditions through a participatory video game and a series of multidisciplinary installations that include photographs, drawings, models, videos, and architectural installations.

The curators of the Korean pavilion Soik Jung and Kyong Park explores a new ecocultural paradigm for the future. | Photo © Nam Yun Jung

2086: Together How? presents three small communities in South Korea actively involved in regeneration projects, each with a different population and characteristics. The targeted subjects include a significant colonial center in Gunsan, the rural areas of the Gyeonggi Province, and the historic colonial center in the global city of Incheon, symbols of South Korea’s urbanization and westernization. The project’s theme addresses reconciling individualism and communalism in future humanities.

In fact, a group of architects and community leaders has conducted joint research projects with the local neighborhoods, guided by a set of dialects that have shaped our eco-cultural growth. Moreover, the project stresses how the current understanding of development has come through limitless material pleasure, permitting industrialization, colonization, and globalization to spread. According to the pavilion, the dooming environmental catastrophe will be an opportunity for humanity to create a new eco-cultural paradigm for the future.

The highlight of the biennial: a Child eating sunlight by Wolsik Kim

And for the end what will architecture in the future look like? A question asking many curators of the Venice biennial. End of era of star architecture, investment meeting and mingling. We have to change our way of perception, to bcom honest and transparent. As Dunja Krvavac states, today is important to "focus on communities, programs, systems that we can change is the most important thing at the moment. We seriously need to take stronger stands on may questions that they are happening."

[spacenutspod]

2 min read Join NASA to Celebrate Worm Design, Influence with Original Designer Dr. Christine Mann Darden holding a model of Mach II in the Unitary Tunnel at NASA’s Langley Research Center on Aug. 18, 1990. Darden is pictured in a lab coat with a NASA ‘worm’ logotype patch across her back. NASA / Carol Petrachenko Chapman Media are invited to hear a discussion on the design and cultural significance of the worm logotype with NASA and its creator Richard Danne at 11:30 a.m. EST on Monday, Nov. 6, at the agency’s headquarters in Washington. The logotype, a simple, red unique type style of the word NASA, replaced the agency’s official logo (meatball) for several decades beginning in the 1970s before it was retired. The worm has since been revived for limited use. The event will air live on NASA Television, the NASA app, YouTube, and on the agency’s website. Learn how to stream NASA TV through a variety of platforms. Following opening remarks by Marc Etkind, associate administrator for NASA’s Office of Communications at NASA Headquarters, Danne and David Rager, creative art director at NASA, will provide remarks followed by a panel discussion with Danne and others including: Bert Ulrich, entertainment and branding liaison, NASA Headquarters Michael Beirut, designer, Pentagram Shelly Tan, design reporter, The Washington Post (moderator) Julia Heiser, head of live event merchandise, Amazon Music NASA experts and Danne are available for on-site interviews, as well as remote interviews after the event. Media interested in participating in person must RSVP to the NASA Headquarters newsroom by 3 p.m. on Friday, Nov. 3, at hq-media@mail.nasa.gov. NASA’s media accreditation policy is online. The televised event will take place in the agency’s Webb Auditorium in the West Lobby inside NASA Headquarters located at 300 E St. SW in Washington. Learn more about NASA’s missions at: https://www.nasa.gov -end- News Media Contacts: Claire O’Shea / Melissa HowellHeadquarters, Washington202-358-1600claire.a.oshea@nasa.gov / melissa.e.howell@nasa.gov Read More Share Details Last Updated Oct 27, 2023 Location NASA Headquarters Related Terms NASA History Explore More 5 min read 25 Years Ago: Launch of Deep Space 1 Technology Demonstration Spacecraft Article 3 days ago 7 min read 30 Years Ago: The STS-58 Spacelab Life Sciences-2 Mission Article 1 week ago 11 min read 55 Years Ago: Nine Months Before the Moon Landing Article 1 week ago Keep Exploring Discover Related Topics Missions Humans in Space Climate Change Solar System

[rabchunter]

The Somerset Branch of the Masonic Fishing Charity recently held another of its awesome fishing events at Jacklands Fishing Lakes in Tickenham NR Nailsea.

The day should of been for two classes from Ravenswood School, but alas right at the last moment the school had to pull out due to some unforeseen problems at the school, we will arrange another event with them for Spring of 2024.

Not to be out done our wonderful chairman Rob Collins pulled the rabbit from the hat, like phoenix rising from the ashes he rallied our troops took a step to the front and put on a wonderful social fishing day for all of us.

Jacklands Farm Shop Cafe did us all a wonderful BBQ lunch with tea, coffee and soft drinks flowing like the river flowing through the Yeo Valley where Jacklands Fishing Lakes rests.

A wager was struck as Rob kept the entertainment of the days spirits high, biggest, smallest, ugliest most fish and a wooden spoon trophy was the prizes on offer.

Some headed out to fish whilst others stayed on the patio enjoying more tea, coffee and cakes.

Well the trout were really not in the mood to dance with us today, only one trout was caught, Rob Collins hooked it and passed the Rod to young Tommy (Tommy Gun) who landed the only fish of the day winning every prize, Tommy is Bro Jason's son who is home schooled and a sen child, so really we fulfilled our mantra there.

Tommy the true young gentleman he is promptly presented the fish to committee member Mags for her tea and this was gratefully received.

The day over we all said goodbye with full hearts as full as our bellies smiling like Cheshire Cats, were already planning 2024 and a host of events.

If you would like to volunteer, donate or find out more about The Masonic Fishing Charity or joining Freemasonry drop us a line via the website links below 👇

www.mtsfc.org.uk

www.somersetfreemasons.org

Regards

Rob Collins

Branch Manager/Chairman &

Schools Liaison Officer MTSFC Somerset Branch

tel: 07901251119

www.mtsfc.org.uk

Registered Charity No; 1141630