#Expire Erect

[dietcokegirly12]

“How Much Did You Eat?”

featuring ranpo edogawa "૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა

⋅ ʚ𖦹ɞ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ʚ𖦹ɞ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ʚ𖦹ɞ ⋅

art credit: @hanotanoha

⋅ ʚ𖦹ɞ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ʚ𖦹ɞ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ʚ𖦹ɞ ⋅

tags: aphrodisiacs, horny!ranpo, unprotected sex, slight handjob, teasing, masturbation

word count: 1.6k

KINKTOBER OCT. 17 (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

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Ranpo loved snacks, chocolates especially. Everybody in the Detective Agency knew this, you especially, since you'd always had kind of a crush on him.

So nobody questioned anything when he walked in from his lunch break with arms full of various candies, boxes and bags alike.

You also knew better than to ask for any, since he never shared so everyone just left him alone, to nurse his sweet tooth by himself.

It was only when you were passing by his desk to deliver some paperwork to Fukuzawa that you noticed something off.

He was currently indulging in a heart-shaped box of chocolates which was weird, because it was September, not even remotely close to Valentine's Day.

You paused, tilting your head. "Ranpo, what are you eating?"

He turns to you, eyes closed and still chewing, his cheeks full like a squirrel. "Mm.. chofclate."

At first sight, you think maybe it's very expired chocolate from last year, so you quickly take the box from him, eliciting a soft protest.

Turning it over, you squint at the label and it's just then that you notice in small, printed letters the words, Gourmet Sex Chocolate with Herbal Aphrodisiacs.

Ranpo peers over your shoulder. "Huh?"

You whirl around, eyes wide as he stares back at you, unfazed as he continues chewing.

"Ranpo!" You hiss. "Did you read the label before you bought these?"

He looks at you quizzically. "No, why?"

You steer him away from the office, lowering your voice as you say, "Ranpo these are sex chocolates."

You wait for his reaction, expecting him to dramatically spit it out, or gasp, or something, but he simply shrugs, reaching for another. You quickly snatch it out of his hand, throwing the box in the trash.

"Hey!" he complains.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

He laughs. "It's funny how worked up you are over this. You realize those are myths, and a placebo effect at best. They don't actually..."

"How many did you eat?" You interrupt, beginning to get worried.

Distractedly, he reaches for a different box of chocolates. "Huh?"

Snatching it out of his hands, you look down at this one to see a similar packaging. "Ranpo! What kind of candy store did you go to?!"

He lifts one shoulder, unconcerned. "I wanted to try something new, and they had a section in the back I've never seen before with all these expensive chocolates. I thought they were exotic or something."

In a panic, you try to come up with solutions to solve the problem at hand, shaking your head in concern. “Oh no. No. It’s too late. You've already eaten who knows how many."

You turn, wracking your head as you try to figure out what to do. “God! I hope you can’t overdose on those, or you’re going to be in trouble. Ranpo, you have to go home right now, and wait for it to leave your system. I’ll tell Fukuzawa you left early because you felt sick, and have Kunikida clock you out of the system..”

Breaking off when you get no response, sensing something off since Ranpo is never silent, you turn back. “Ranpo?”

He’s looking back at you, cheeks flushed and lips parted. His emerald green eyes are half-lidded and he’s breathing heavily. Looking down, you see he’s sporting an impressive erection, the thick outline of his cock straining against his brown pants.

You lift your gaze, cheeks flushed pink. “Fuck! They work fast! Sorry! I'll leave!"

Quickly, you slam the door behind you, leaning against it heavily as you catch your breath, trying to ignore the arousal pooling between your thighs. This was wrong. He was in a compromising situation, you couldn't take advantage of him when he was like this.

You take a deep breath. You needed to go back to work. You had things to do. And Ranpo... well he could deal with it himself.

After a few moments' hesitation, you get up and walk calmly back to your desk, smoothing your skirt down.

The next half an hour or so passes by, uneventful as you focus. Or, at least, try to. You keep finding your mind wandering to what you think Ranpo might be doing in his office right now. Jerking off, probably.

The thought makes you squirm, but you try to pull yourself together and start working on the graphs for the latest mission at the Agency before Kunikida comes and yells at you.

Suddenly, the door to Ranpo’s office creaks open, and you hear his voice, breathy and slightly ragged. “Can you c’mere?”

You look around, unsure if he’s talking to you but notice you’re the only one in the office at the moment. Everyone’s probably out, running errands.

“Ranpo? Are you..”

“Just come here.” His voice is impatient, but there’s no doubting the unmistakable needy, desperate whine in his tone.

Hesitantly, you walk over, and push the cracked door open.

Nothing can prepare you for the sight you see inside, however.

Ranpo, head lolling back and hair mussed up, his normally closed eyes half-open, and his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously.

You stay completely still, taking in the sight laid out before you. His cock was pretty and long, but most impressive was its girth. He was thick, his shaft pointed like a Cupid’s arrow at the top and sticking up into the air, flushed a pale pink with veins decorating it all the way down.

You don’t move, or make a sound, and impatiently he groans. “Are you just going to stand there?”

You swallow. “You want me to help you?”

“Fuck! Yes, I-I can’t.. it’s n-not working like this, just.. come here.”

You do, shyly, your hands twisting behind your back.

His head tilts back further, his eyebrows furrowing. “Touch me.”

Hesitantly, you come closer, reaching one hand out to take his heavy cock into your hand. It feels like velvet, and pearly precum beads out of the slit.

He shudders as you do, hips desperately thrusting up further.

Instinctively, you slowly pump him, your hand sliding up and down, and his needy whimpers and whines leaving his throat only serve to make your arousal grow.

You break off in a gasp as he suddenly sits up, smashing his lips to yours.

“Ranpo… are you..?” you gasp, as his face nuzzles into your neck, pressing himself to you as he rubs his erection on you, humping into you sloppily.

He breaks away only for a second to ask, “s’ this okay?” and as you give a shocked, affirmative nod, practically shoves you backward into his desk, pinning you down and grinding himself against you as he places messy, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach.

You instantly squirm, bucking upward to pant and let out soft cries of his name, as your hands find their way to his soft, brown hair, tugging him forward closer.

He’s trying to mold himself to your body as he pushes your legs apart with his knee and quickly nestles himself in between, his hard cock pressing right against your entrance, covered only by the thin layer of panties you're wearing beneath your skirt.

In one harsh tugging motion, Ranpo rips them off, and is back on you in a second. "M' so fucking horny. Could cum just from this." He desperately grinds against your drenched cunt, his cock leaking precum and making a mess all over you, as you squirm, arching under him.

At this point, he's so desperately impatient for you, he can't hold out any longer. With messy, uncalculated movements, he lines himself up against your entrance and sloppily thrusts all the way in, wedging himself deep inside you.

You gasp, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion as your legs automatically close around him, trapping him.

“Fuck baby.. open your legs. I need..” he pants softly over you, his dick twitching faintly.

You can’t help but want to tease him in this state, keeping them locked firmly around him. “Or… what?”

“Fuck!” He cries out, trying to move. “Please I.. oh fuck don’t clench like that.”

You can’t help it as your pussy convulses and flutters around him at his whiny words, trying to suck him in further.

“Pleaseeee!” His dick throbs inside you, and finally you relent, parting your legs slightly, and he wastes no time, nudging them fully open and holding down your thighs with his hands to expose your dripping cunt stuffed full of his cock, and keep you still.

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting into you so hard the desk is rattling, his dick plunging in and out, filling the room with lewd, squelching sounds.

“R-ranpo..” you gasp, clutching onto him tightly as his eyes shut, adjusting himself to a new angle to hit your sweet spot every time, forcing himself deeper into your tight, warm walls. “S-slow down..”

He grunts. “C-can’t.. fucking aphrodisiacs. Never thought.. ah..”

You can feel your stomach tightening, so close you can practically taste it, and your hands come to grip in his mussed-up hair with a moan, cunt clenching desperately around his veiny girth.

“Fuck.. baby you’re.. mm close?”

Before you can even say anything, you feel your clit twitching as the coil in your tummy snaps, warmth drenching his cock as you tighten and spasm around him, your hips twitching up.

He groans, feeling the warmth of your arousal washing over him as he follows suit close behind, spurting thick, warm ropes of cum into you.

For a moment, you just lay there, still trying to process all the events that had just transpired, and the stickiness between your thighs.

Just as you’re about to get up from his desk, you feel the warmth of his hand pushing you back down.

“Ah ah. The aphrodisiacs haven’t worn off yet.”

tagslist: (ask to be tagged!) @kissesmellow21 @rosebluuod @sakui1 @sayyestoheaven00

[c0smicst4rdust]

Francis Mosses (Milkman) X Fem reader

🔞

TW!: Oral sex, cheating (slightly mentioned), minimal aggression/hardcore, use of y/n, dom partner, cum play, wall sex.

Word count: 1,221k

this took over a week enjoy😭

LEAVE ANY FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS AND MY ASKS ARE OPEN

“Can this job get anymore boring”. I think to myself as someone walks in. I sit up straight and look to find out who's there, it's Mia and something seems off about her appearance, but I can't pinpoint exactly what it is.

“I need your entry request and id, you're not on today's list”. She seemed to be zoned out on something behind me. “Excuse me, Ma’am” I say in a deep nasty tone, she looks at me blankly and I say “Sorry, that was so unprofessional of me. I'm tired, May i have your id and entry request”

. She keeps the same expression and hands me the stuff out of her purse without opening her mouth. And there it was, a typo and past expiration date right on her id. I lock the door without hesitating and call the D.D.D… “Protocol Completed”.

I sit back in my chair and feel a little vibration on my butt. It was my phone ringing from a text notification from my boyfriend. “Y/n where are you?”. The text seemed bolder than the rest and I feel as if I can almost hear him right next to me.

Another person walks in, i didn't even need to think twice that sexy walk and hot body told you all you needed to know. It was Francis of course, the sexy milkman everyone was simping over. I can't blame them, the man is perfect.

He walks up to me with 8 jugs of milk in his right hand, his left already handing me an id “Hello, Francis.” I admire his face right in front of me. “Hello Darling '' he says, shooting me a wink. I feel my heart drop and try to keep my jaw from hitting the desk. He could tell I was surprised, he then said “ Sorry, I didn't mean to make you shy, princess”. He said unbuttoning the first button on his shirt staring deeply at me with those hot tired brown eyes.

I literally couldn't speak. I didn't know what to reply to that. “Let me in, you wont regret it.” Without blinking I opened the door. “Good girl” he says as he walks out of my view. Why did I let him go like that? I feel so stup- my thoughts are interrupted by the office door swinging open. And there Francis was again leaning on the door frame.

He walks over to me and lifts my chin so my eyes meet his “be careful who you let it in '' he says before lifting me and pinning me to the wall. I then feel my heart racing, feeling as if it'll pop straight out of my chest. I then say “what are you doing to me”

I wasn't trying to get out of his grasp. I just struggled to find out why the hell this hot man has me pinned. “I'm going to make you cum” he says, kissing my neck up to my cheek and back down to my neck again. I couldnt believe what he just said, he wants to fuck me? No, I must have fallen asleep.

I feel my shirt get ripped off of me then I see it fly to the floor. Staring at my titties he starts unbuttoning his pants and pulling down his boxers, a large king size erect dick dripping with precum is there waiting for something good to happen. “Get on your knees fruit cup” Francis then says and without a second thought i was on my knees jerking him slow but tight.

Small groans are mumbled out of his mouth as he slowly spits out “Good… girl-” I then put the tip of his 11 inch cock in my mouth licking his slit as I play with his balls. He throws his head back and moans as I put it deeper in my mouth.

A thick line of cum then squirts out his throbbing tip “FUCK” he moans out of breath. I then get up, unbutton his shirt and take it off of him and pull him to the office chair. I sat down as he kneeled down in front of me lifting my legs above his shoulders. He chuckles at the sight of my wet panties and starts rubbing my clit with his thumb.

He lifts my ass off the chair to take my panties off. He puts two fingers in my hole slowly but hard, I then try and pull back biting my lip as he starts licking away at my pussy. “You’re not going anywhere my love. Sit back and enjoy yourself” he starts back at my clit as i start moaning. I'm losing my virginity to what seems to be a monster right now. What will my boyfriend think about this if he found out? What if he gets me pregnant? It's ok though, at least he's hot.

He starts speeding up and it forces me to roll my eyes to the back of my head and moan louder. “Baby. P-please stop.'' I beg softly. He chuckles and mumbles “why” as he continues to flick his tongue on my clit. “Daddy. Really stop, I'm about to cum… FUCK” i scream “babe i really cant take it any longer”

He ignores me and goes faster. I then start squirting all over his face. “BABY STOP I CAN'T-” “Ok, just because I'm ready to put it in”. He licked it one more time then kissed it and I stood up fast. I saw his face covered in my juices, he licked his lips while staring deeply at me “you taste very good babe”. “Mm yea i try to keep it that way”

I jump in his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. “Are you really Francis or am I just fucking a fraud?”. “Come on baby does it matter, we've come so far, and so much” he said with a big grin. Then slams me into the wall and positions his dick into my pussy. He then fucks me so hard it felt like my pussy was going to explode. He groaned deep but loud, as i was trying not to scream and push. “Fuck daddy harder”. “Oh you like that? Let's get this done with, I need sleep to work again in the morning.”.

He then speeds up a couple seconds later at inhuman speeds and it forces me to scream “FRANCIS BABY PLEASE DON'T STOP I NEED YOU TO CUM I DONT EVEN CARE IF YOU GET ME PREGNANT”. “Oh baby trust me I'm not stopping ‘till you're filled to the brim in my cum”.

A few seconds later another load comes out fast in me and on my stomach and titties as I wipe my tears away. he put me down and we start getting dressed. "you never answered my question, are you Francis Mosses or a doppelgangger?". he hands me a note with his personal cell number and says "I hope this answers all your questions. come to my place after work tommorow and we'll go again" he give me a kiss and walks out the door winking.

What the actual fuck just happened? I check my phone and to 10 missed calls and 17 unread messages from me boyfriend. i might end this relationship for my new sexy milkman.

[iww-gnv]

Today Teamsters are erecting practice picket lines as the July 31 expiration of their contract with UPS rapidly approaches. After negotiations broke down yesterday, the largest strike at a single employer in US history is a real possibility.

[strawbeerossi]

Insecurities

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: You realize Spencer has been avoiding sex the past year of your relationship. You need to get to the bottom of the reason.

Content/Warnings: Body insecurity, comfort, handjob, blowjob, cock worship (I think that’s it)

Word Count: 1.2K

Kinktober Day Twenty One: Cock Worship

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Dating Spencer was a dream. He was a very sweet man, spoiling you with books or coffee whenever you were at work. At home, he was the same way. He would read to you, hold you, and spoil you with nothing but warm love. 

You had been together for nearly a year, the both of you finally deciding to move in with one another as soon as your lease expired for your apartment. You enjoyed living with Spencer, even if you were both completely different people. He wasn’t a slob but you were definitely a clean freak, always cleaning and straightening up the apartment even when it wasn’t too bad. 

You’d gotten to know each other in every aspect, besides sexually. Spencer always mentioned how he wasn’t ready, which you understood. Some people wanted to wait a while before touching one another and you would wait as long as you needed to.

Tonight, you actually thought you two were going to seal the deal. You’d just gotten back from dinner with the team, the both of you getting hot and heavy on your living room couch. 

Your hips had rocked against his lap, however whenever he was hardening in his pants, Spencer was nearly panicking as he pulled away and gently nudged you off of him. “I need to pee.” He excused his actions in a poorly crafted lie before he was going to the bathroom. You were quickly standing and following behind. “Wait, Spence!” You called, sighing as the door was locking you out from seeing him. 

“Is it something that I’m doing wrong? I thought you were into it, I can stop being so forward, I’m sorry.” Spencer’s squeak could be heard from behind the door as he was working to unlock it and open it. “I was into it!” He assured while putting his hands on your upper arms. “Please don’t apologize. This is my fault. I’m just.. Embarrassed.” He finally admitted, cheeks as red as a tomato as he was rubbing the back of his neck.

“Why are you embarrassed? Spencer, you should’ve told me this before..” You sighed while offering an assuring smile. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You know that I love you.” Your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders in an effort to hug him close.

“I just don’t like being naked, you know?” He spoke softly while slowly letting out  a breath of relief. Thank god, you weren’t upset with him. “I think it’s a self conscious issue. I just don’t want you to be.. Unsatisfied.” He admitted, your eyebrows raising. “Spencer.. I could never be unsatisfied with you. I love you and that means I love every inch of you.” Hearing his fears now made things much clearer for you. 

“You’re just saying that..”

“No, I’m not. Let me prove it, Spencer.”

The words had a rush of blood going straight to his half hard cock, making him fully erect as he cleared his throat. “I, uh, okay. Yeah, let’s do that. I don’t wanna make you think I’m ashamed to be with you sexually cause that’s not it at all!” He’d rambled while you offered a smile, leading him to your shared bedroom before nudging him to sit on the mattress. 

“I know you’re nervous but I promise that I’ll take care of you.” After pressing a chaste kiss from his lips, the both of you were fumbling to get his pants and boxers tugged down to his knees.

“You’re sure you are ready to go through with this?” You asked, not daring to drag your eyes down his body until he gave you the okay. “I’m sure.” He assured, watching as your eyes finally trailed down to the part of his body he’d desperately been hiding from you. 

You let your head dip down before you were pressing a kiss to the tip of his leaking cock. “You didn’t have to be shy, Spencer.” You assured as your body sank to your knees while getting settled in front of him. “I think you’re perfect. There was nothing to even worry about.”

Insecurity was hard but you didn’t mind letting him see just how much you were attracted to every inch of his body. As your tongue swiped over the thick tip of his cock, you were collecting the bead of precum that had already bubbled over. You let your lips press a few kisses on the underside of his shaft, knowing that you wanted to take your time and savor the experience Spencer decided to share with you. He definitely wasn’t complaining, his head tilting back as he took in a soft breath. 

As your tongue was licking alongside each vein, he was letting out a soft whine. “Fuck. Feels really good.” He spoke softly, slowly bringing a hand down to rest your hand over the back of your head. The way your mouth worked his cock without trying was enough to make him kick himself for not talking about this with you sooner. He snapped out his thoughts as your thumb swiped over the sensitive slit of his cock to smear some of the slick on his cock. “You’re so pretty, Spence. Everything about you is just so..” You paused while offering a smile. “Perfect.”

The words had his face flushing, shyly looking away as he let out a soft whine at your hand squeezing the base of his cock. “What do you say?” You asked, an eyebrow raised as you expected an answer. “T-thank you.” 

He was swiftly awarded as your tongue was trailing over the tip of his dick, collecting the salty taste of precum on your tongue while now suckling on the head. Each moan, whine or whimper was motivation for you to take him further and further in your mouth, head bobbing at a quick pace.

“Ah- I might last much longer.” He whispered, nose crinkling. It was too early, he was sure of it. When you didn’t complain and instead brought your hand to play with his heavy balls, he was letting out a groan of appreciation. “C-Can you swallow it? I just-” He blushed as you were moaning around his cock at the suggestion, the vibrations jolting through his body and causing the shaft to twitch in your mouth.

As your mouth and tongue worked wonders, it wasn’t long until he was painting the back of your throat with ribbons of cum, your eyes fluttering shut as you welcomed the substance and milked Spencer for all he was worth.

Pulling off with a pop, you brought your thumb up to wipe a bit from the corner of your mouth. “I should’ve talked to you sooner. I’m sorry, Spence. I wasn’t paying enough attention to know why.” 

His hand came up as he was letting another hand gently grab your hand to help you stand. “No, I’m sorry. I should’ve talked with you instead of running away.” He offered a gentle smile while tugging you close, arms around your body.

“Is it too soon to ask you to return the favor?” You asked teasingly, laughing as your boyfriend was tossing you back against the mattress.

“I owe you. It’s only fair.”

[lucifergifs]

LUCIFER | 4.05 “Expire Erect”

[holylulusworld]

Papillon (3) - Caged bird

Title: Papillon (3) - Caged bird

Square 6 filled for @theslumberparty-blog presents bingo (expired): Overstimulation

Written for @anyfandomdarkbingo: Square filled: Criminal AU

Summary: Your secret is out and there is no way out…

Pairing: Mobster!Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Triggers: possessive Clark, threats, dubcon bordering on non-con, forced proximity, mafia au, dark!Clark Kent, power imbalance, fingering, somnophilia, oral (fem rec), overstimulation, degrading/praise kink, smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, corruption kink, use of plugs/ bondage horse chair, a lil aftercare

A/N: This one kinda got out of hand...👀👀

Words: 2,5k+

Papillon (2) - In his hands

Papillon Masterlist

Please heed the warnings for this chapter before reading it!

“Papillon, I can be kind and only clip your wings, or I’ll crush them…”

He hoists you up, strong hands forcing your legs around his waistline. You hate that you feel like a crushed butterfly in his hold. Clark is not wrong. He can simply end your life with one flick of his wrist.

He crushes you against the wall with his thick and hard body. You’re helpless. Not only because you’re naked while he’s still fully clothed. This bastard does it on purpose to show you who’s in charge.

“I hate repeating myself, Papillon,” he growls against your kiss-swollen lips. Again, he kisses you, harder and more demanding this time. You can feel his erection press against your bare pussy. He rubs himself against you, groaning like a beast. “I’ll ask again, this one time. Whose whore are you from now on?”

You whimper. His cock rubs against your clit, and he’s teasing you with his lips against your neck. Clark bites your neck, adding pain to the pleasure he forces on you while rubbing your clit with his cock.

You’re already breathless, and your mind is a mess. You hate this man; hate everything he stands for. At the same time, he fulfills all of your dark desires.

He lifts his head from your neck, teeth gritted like some animal. Clark looks you straight in the eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. He already knows the answer. With only a few words, he has you tethering on the edge. “Answer me!”

You wrinkle your nose. If you don’t give in, he’ll take what he wants and kill you afterward. But if you take what you want and fulfill your kinks tonight, and pretend to give in you can play the game by your rules.

He’s just another man believing he can take advantage of you. When in reality, you will bring him down. Clark Kent, his organization, and the people breaking your trust.

He curls his upper lip. His eyes fill with anger and he’s about to drop you when you wrap your arms around his neck. You wiggle your hips and rub yourself against his length.

“I’m your whore, Sir,” you breathe the words against his lips. “I always dreamed of a strong man like you taking me like the whore I am. Can you do this for me…Sir.”

His lips crash against yours, and you need to hold back a chuckle. Men are so predictable. Give them a wet cunt to stuff and they’ll purr like a cat for you. “Please fuck me,” you purr between kisses. “I know only you can pound this cunt like a man.”

It’s Clark’s turn to smirk. He holds you against the wall with one strong arm wrapped around your body while his free hand slips between your body. He smacks his cock against your pussy lips, sending a spark through your lower half.

“Do you honestly believe I’ll fall for your lies?” He laughs in your face while slipping the tip in. Clark fills you with one hard and cruel thrust. For only a second he stills his hips to savor the moment of his win over you. “You’ll be good for me either way, Papillon. I don’t care if you want to kill me or not. You and your body are mine from now on.”

You whimper when he starts moving inside of you. Every time he slides back in he looks you in the eyes. You were right. This is a fight for dominance and control. Sadly, Clark won this round. You gave in too easily, believing he’ll make a mistake. Now you are the butt of the joke and get pounded by the worst man you can imagine.

“Sir…” You babble and whine. All you can do is hold tight onto the man you wanted to bring down not hours ago as he fucks you into the wall. He uses all his strength, ramming into you while your back hits the wall.

“Aw, Papillon,” he claims your lips again, tugging at your lower lip, drawing blood. “I’m not a gentle lover. You’ll only get to cum if I decide to let you.”

You shake your head. An orgasm is the last thing on your mind. You want to get this over with and form a new plan. If only his cock wouldn’t hit the right spot.

You hate him… fuck… you hate him … Right?

His forehead presses against yours as he speeds up. Clark rocks your whole body anytime he rolls his hips.

“Fuck, this cunt feels good, Papillon—” He hisses and moves his hands to your thighs, spreading you wider to watch his cock disappear inside your cunt. “Look at you taking my cock like a good girl. A federal agent getting tainted by me.” He smirks when you drop your eyes to watch him slowly fuck into you. “What if I put a bastard in you? I could do it right now.”

“Ngghh…” You whine. How can he know about all of your secret kinks? “I’m on…” You don’t get the words out. Your orgasm hits you as if Clark slapped you again. You’re gushing all over his cock, wetting his length.

“You can deny it as much as you want to…”

You’re suddenly empty, and on your feet again. Disoriented you let him twirl you around to bend you over his desk. He slides right back inside your slicked cunt. Clark’s hands hold you down by your shoulders, his grip bruising.

“You want this, Papillon. A man, taking you how you need it. Someone, protecting you from this cruel world.”

You are babbling incoherent words. Dizzy, and weak you cum again, groaning and wheezing because he doesn’t stop. One of his hands moves between your thighs to slap your clit and pussy lips.

“God…” He does it again, and again until you whimper his name.

“Fuck say my name again!” He growls in your ear. You do it. This is the point of no return. You came on your enemy’s cock and at one point you even begged him to cum inside of you.

Clark roars your real name through his high. He’s still lazily thrusting in and out of you long after you rested your head on the cool surface of the desk. You just lie there, letting him slip out of your cunt to shove his cum back inside.

“Stuffed with my spunk,” he kisses your shoulder before biting it again. He leaves an angry mark, but you’re too out of it to care. “I’ll get you something nice to keep it inside…”

You let him move your body onto the leather couch in the room. He bends you over the furniture and spreads your thighs. Clark opens a drawer. You don’t know what he’s up to, but you know, there is nothing you can do about it. You’re at his mercy.

“You’ll love it, Papillon.” You hear him rummage in the drawer for a moment before he kicks the couch with his foot. “Don’t fall asleep yet.” He grunts, and then something presses against your cunt. “Open up for me one last time.”

Clark laughs when you try to wiggle away. “No more…”

“Aw, poor Papillon. There will be lots, lots more.” He slaps your ass meaningly. “No fighting me. I want to make you even prettier.” This time he slips a vaginal plug inside your cunt. “A pretty rose-shaped vaginal plug for my Papillon. This will keep my cum inside of you, and make it bloom.“

Clark laughs at his bad wordplay. He admires your cunt stuffed with the plug, humming to himself.

“Next time, we will stuff both holes. What do you say?”

“Do you want me to get rid of her?” Jimmy looks at your naked form still lying on the couch. Clark didn’t cover your body. He enjoyed watching you sleep peacefully with your pussy still stuffed with the vaginal plug. “Boss?”

Clark furrows his brows. He’s staring at your cunt again, hand cupping his jaw to rub his scruffy chin. “Did you get the cat and the shit I told you to?”

“Uh-the cat is in the guestroom, her shit too,” Jimmy glances at your ass. “Do you want to keep her? She’s a federal agent.”

“She’s mine,” Clark flicks his wrist dismissively. He looks Jimmy straight in the eyes, making sure he knows that you belong to him now. “Tell them all, her holes are mine. No one touches or even looks at her. I decide when it’s time to kill her.”

“Got it, boss,” Jimmy hastily makes his way out of the room. He stared at your naked ass for a little too long and fears, Clark will kill him for it.

“Hmm…that’s a good pussy.”

You feel something wet lapping at your cunt. Oddly, you can’t move, or wiggle away. Your eyelids are heavy as you try to fight the heaviness in your body and the sleep holding you in a tight grip.

You groan and finally snap your eyes open only to find Clark between your legs. His mouth on your overstimulated flesh. He suckles at your clit while shoving three long fingers inside of you.

“Ah, finally awake?” Clark only stops eating you out to smirk at you.

“What are you doing?” You’re already breathless when you look at him between your legs. “What?” You look at your ankles and then at your wrists. Clark spread your legs wide and restrained your ankles and wrists to the bedposts.

“I told you.” He smirks darkly before biting your clit, making you jolt up the bed, “there will be lots more. I got bored waiting for you to wake up and decided to prepare you for round two.”

“You’re insatiable,” you try to close your legs because your overstimulated flesh is thrumming. “I need a break.”

“You need a cock and someone teaching you respect!” He grunts and pushes his fingers deeper into you. “Maybe I should just use you and gag you. I’m done listening to your lies.”

His eyes drop to his fingers inside your cunt. He curls them, earning a whine from you.

“Please…”

Clark slips his fingers out of you. You already came twice while being out cold and he knows, you’re ready for more.

“I got a better idea.” He suddenly moves away and slips out of the bed to remove the restraints. You dare not to move until he grabs your waist to drag you out of the bed. “You don’t deserve to get fucked on my bed yet. A whore like you needs to feel me in her bones.”

You get pushed through a door; ending up on a plush carpet. Your eyes round, and you whimper. This is not a wardrobe, it’s a sex dungeon.

“Welcome to my playroom,” he laughs when you look at the breeding bench, and the bondage horse chair standing in the middle of the room.

He follows your eyeline, laughing as you wiggle lightly. “Aw, we get to that one.” He points at the wooden padded St Andrews Cross. “We will get you there, Papillon. I’ll break you down to nothing and turn you into my perfect slut.”

He grasps for you, helping you stand only to push you onto the bondage horse chair. Your legs quiver, but slick runs down your thighs.

He’s the epitome of a ruthless mobster, but at the same time, he’s the fulfillment of your wet dreams.

You don’t fight Clark when he restraints your ankles and wrists. It’s a lost cause, and you hate to admit it, you’ve never been more turned on.

“Perfect,” he hums, satisfied with your submissive behavior. For a moment, he toys with your clit and pussy lips. “I love to fuck your holes. How about I give this underused cunt another load?”

It’s not a question. Clark already shoves himself inside your hungry cunt, groaning as you clench tightly around him. “I should eat that cunt while you’re out cold more often. It makes you so compliant.

You grit your teeth when he cups the back of your neck to force you to lift your head to look in one of the large mirrors on the wall.

“You will watch me fuck you. That’s all you’re good for, Papillon. I have your life in the palm of my hand.” He starts thrusting in and out of you. His hands grip your waistline hard enough to bruise. Clark smirks at you, holding your gaze in the mirror while ruining your abused hole all over again.

His hips move at a maddening pace, punching every strength left in you out of your body. You whimper and moan, but glare at him in the mirror. He cannot know that you’re about to come all over him again.

“Yeah, I know you try to fight the tidal wave, Papillon,” he growls your name and speeds up. His hips crash into your ass, leaving bruises there without a doubt. All you can do is watch him having a blast fucking you like a whore over one of his toys. “If you wonder, I got this nice bondage horse chair after seeing you for the first time. I knew I’d ride you like a needy mare one day."

You grit your teeth in disgust. That vile asshole planned on fucking you all along. “Fuck you.”

“I’m on it, my little federal agent. And there will be lots of fucking, Papillon. You’ll soon find out that I got a lot of stamina and hunger,” he leans over your body, now jerking his hips into your ass with quick but deep thrusts. “This cunt is mine, baby. You will never need another cock because this is where I belong. Inside your needy holes.”

Times flew by, or so you believe. Clark forced you to cum on his cock thrice before he finally slipped out of you. After he was done, he once again, shoved the vaginal plug inside your sore cunt.

Clark cooed gentle words when he carried your limp and weak body out of the playroom. This time, he showed mercy and prepared a warm bath.

He joined you in the tub, of course, he did. Not only to toy with your breasts and mark your neck with his teeth some more but to make sure you’re not doing anything stupid.

“Hmm…so soft and nice when you’re fucked dumb.” If not for his crude words, you could’ve enjoyed the warm water and that he ran the sponge over your body. “I knew you’re the perfect choice. Tomorrow, you will tell me everything you know about your boss, your colleagues, and your role in all of this.”

Your head lolls back, and you rest it against his shoulder. Clark is right. For the first time, you’re too exhausted to even argue. You can think about a plan to bring him down tomorrow, while you’re not still fighting the afterglow of your orgasms.

He runs his hand over your chest, groping you lightly while whispering praises in your ear. You know what he’s doing. Clark tries to coax you into submission after he fucked you raw.

Talking about carrot and stick… and he's got a fucking big carrot dangling in your face.

“Hmm…you’re so good for me, Papillon,” he makes you sigh, and you hate yourself for it. “You will be even better for me with time…”

Tags in reblog.

[kotias]

South Downs cottage - Our Eden

Okay, I've decided to create the cottage that I envision for Aziraphale and Crowley's final retirement at the end of the story.

I have used the Sims 4 game, meaning that I have been a bit limited on a few things, but here it comes, the vision I have for it.

Anyone looking for references, for inspiration, whether it is for drawing or writing, is very welcome to use those pictures.

In a story being worked on together with @daneecastle, called Our Eden, here is the full description:

Our Eden

(2836 words)

It felt like it had been two hundred years in preparation. And in a way, it was; the universe had so kindly presented him to the suicidal girl who had made it all possible, after all. It had so kindly given him a way to help her that would change her so dramatically that the effects of it still rippled through current days. His hands started shaking, and he pretended it was the strain of the walk. He had received the rights to that land in 1884, as Elspeth expired in her farm near Fulking, leaving a will addressed to him. He had spent years and years preparing it, honing it to perfection. He had build a proper garden out of the enormous fields, made it something his. Something theirs. Back then, he thought he may have lost Aziraphale, and yet receiving the land had sparked something new in him. He had spent an ungodly amount of time, only planting his trees, giving them time and space to grow into the luscious beauties they were today. He guided him through what felt almost like a forest, infused with his attentions. The apples had started showing- he grabbed one on the way, gave it to the angel. Anxiety spiked as they approached and were about to come into the final view. He pushed him against a tree, blocking his path, and kissed him, passionately, desperately, with all his love pouring out. He was shuddering. He wanted him to- He kissed him, again and again. The tree above them glowed a golden sheen.

"Cro-" more kissing. "Crowley-" Even more kissing. "Mm!" Aziraphale couldn't break away. So he pushed hard. "CROWLEY! What is going on?"

Crowley pursed his lips. Fuck it. He took his shades off, pushed them down into the pocket of his vest. He had never been good at hiding his emotions, his eyes betrayed them all. His anxiety, mixed with unfathomable excitement, was shining through them, he knew that very well. But Aziraphale knew what taking them off meant; he trusted him, he trusted him entirely, and he wanted him to know. "Just... just a little bit longer." He grabbed his hand again, and they were back on the path. Very quickly afterwards, he opened a little garden door, they passed another set of weeping willows, and there they were. The old farm had been rebuilt entirely into a cottage. A ground floor and a first floor, hidden under a dark tile roof. Maroon bricks, intertwined with regular touches of beige on the rims. Big, white windows all around it, giving more than sufficient lighting to the entire place. Large, teal shutters were attached to the walls. The entire garden around it had been fournished as to compliment its outdoor colours, and deeper into it, an enormous greenhouse had been installed, and was already almost exploding with greeneries. "... well. That's-" He forced himself to breathe. "That would be ours, if... if you would like to."

[...]

"Wanna visit the property properly, angel?" While he was swimming in his relief that his companion loved what he had created, and could stay there for days, he saw the looks he gave to the place, and of course he would be more than happy to show him what he had built for them.

Crowley took the hand and heaved himself up, cradled Aziraphale's hands into his own and kissed them. "Come on." He guided him back through the weeping willows, through the little garden gate, and they lost themselves into the near-forest he had taken the time of erecting for a century and a half. The trees who were welcoming them into the orchard were none other than apple trees of various types, blessing them with reds, greens and yellows. They were sheltered under gigantic mirabelle plum trees whose branches were hugging their little siblings, mixing their tame golden with the reds of their counterparts. The wind -or so Crowley pretended- was passing through the leaves, shaking them slightly as they passed below them. Like a finely-tuned music, nectarine trees, mixing their blonde and crimson colours into perfectly round and juicy fruits. Extending lower on the ground, several mulberry trees were offering a dark shelter from the sun and from any external view.

With a few steps, Crowley leaned down to pass under them, and leaned against the trunk of one of them, pulling Aziraphale against him. He gave him a kiss and brought him out of the leafy shelter, opening his view to a little vineyard he had managed to put together in the last decade. The vines adorned themselves with the blush colours of the setting sun, and opened their arms to the view of Devil's Dyke below. The never-ending greenery, the valley and the hills were battling for a chance to be seen by their two pairs of eyes, demanded the full spotlight and, in doing so, enhanced each other even more. Far into the horizon, beyond the curves of this landscape, glittered the shadow of the sea, reflecting the Heavens above like the Sun dropping into it burned like Hell below.

[...]

In his estimation, fifteen minutes passed before he nudged Aziraphale forward in their tour. They circled the orchard, until they reached the peaches and the pears that were hanging proudly from their trees. He guided him back into the small forest, and quickly, they were entirely covered with foliage above their heads. "I wanted to have more than one originally, but... they just don't know when to stop taking all the space. I thought it safer to just leave the one." This one was a fig tree, whose trunk was large, almost veiny with small craters all over, and its leaves and branches were extending so far beyond it that it had made itself a proper clearing. No other trees were allowed in its protection, and its roots were merrily swimming just below the surface of the ground, peeking through in a few spots. "But, strangely enough..." he brought him to the other side of the trunk and pointed to a large bush whose sharp-looking leaves were climbing up the fig tree like a praying Saint. "It seems to have gotten well acquainted with the strawberries. I don't know how they even appeared here, I for sure didn't plant them, but they've been clinging onto it for about ten years, I'd say." He leaned over the bush and picked one of its fruits, offered it to the angel. "Their taste really is unique, it seems that they've taken a bit of inspiration from the figs above them."

He brought him further into the orchard and back out the other side, and they were back into the garden around the cottage. Bushes full of fruits and vegetable patches were trailing their way around the back fence and contained to a single, rather large area, hidden behind rhododendron flowers. Crowley snapped his fingers for a basket, and did that a second time to collect the never-ending stream of growing zucchinis that were trying very hard to take over the entire area. A few pumpkins were starting to show, and the carrots and potatoes were just about to be ready- only a few additional weeks. Snap. The basket was sent into the kitchen directly. The sun was almost entirely set now, and the light was getting very dim. "If we enter the greenhouse now, I don't think you'll be able to see much. How about we go tomorrow morning, and I show you the house?"

"Yes, I'd like to see the greenhouse with the light, I believe thats where I'll find your best handy work so ..." He gestured toward the cottage. "After you?"

Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's and led him to the cottage's front door and unlocked it. He couldn't help a deep breath before opening the door, feeling his heart race again. That was it. Everything else would mean nothing if he didn't like the inside. The entry was a short corridor where a thin, dark brown table had been placed for usual end-of-the day clutter; it was open in a way that gave some space for the shoes of the hosts and visitors alike. By its side on the wall, a few hooks had been placed for any coat that needed taking off. It was quite simple, with walls painted yellow and a maroon ceiling. On the left, there was a bathroom as Crowley showed, rather large for the use they may have of it; a toilet, a sink, and, behind a semi-clear curtain, a grand bathtub, with enough space for two people to bathe without feeling the tiniest bit cramped. "I figured that you may appreciate visitors. There are a few families around here, and the kids get easily curious, I'm sure they'll pop by eventually. So... thought I'd furnish it properly, with the toilets and all."

[...]

He opened the door on the other side of the corridor, showing the living room, with one mahogany bookshelf taking over the wall in front of them, entirely empty except for two plants crawling their way up to the ceiling and showing off their vibrant green leaves all around the shelves. On their right was a large, arch-like window that would fully lit up the room during the day, in front of which were two armchairs and a small side table. In front of them, he had placed an off-white oak table that would comfortably host six diners, eight if they were feeling generous, but at the moment, a wooden bench and matching two chairs were surrounding it. On the far left of the room, a large couch and a low table were facing a grand chimney. Just before the couch was an archway that gave a hint of the kitchen hiding behind the wall.

Aziraphale wandered into the room, touching the furniture and looking at all the details of the room, a big smile on his face as he explored the living room. "This is so cozy! I love the chairs." He came to the arm chairs and leaned against one. "Do you prefer to have one or the other? Or is it 'whatever closer'?"

Crowley smiled tenderly at the angel. "You seem to have chosen yours already. Go on, try them out- I think you'll like them."

Aziraphale smiled, glad to see that Crowley noticed which one he favored. He sat in the armchair and leaned into it. It almost felt like he melted into the chair. "It's so comfortable and yet not too much so, I can definitely see myself spending a long time in this chair." He got up and walked over to Crowley, "next room?"

He nodded when it was time to get to the next step, and guided him through the archway and into the kitchen. Compared to the other rooms, it was rather small, but, Crowley thought, rather well furnished. It also was entirely Aziraphale, he hoped. Its soft, pastel colours, mainly beiges and teals, were lighting it up quite nicely, particularly considering that the window in this room was not quite as impressive as the one in the living room. It had a small folding table placed against the nearest wall with two high stools, where his basket full of almost overgrown zucchinis was resting. All over the right corner, facing the door leading to the entry, were a large set of counters and cupboards, an oven and a stove. In one of the cupboards, he had hidden as many kitchen appliances as he could find, enough to make the angel's life easier whatever the task he set himself to do. On the left side of the room was the stone staircase leading them upstairs; before it was a glass door bringing them back outside, behind it was one last door to be opened- and that was the big one. His library.

Aziraphale examined every drawer and cupboard. He pointed out the appliances he knew and questioned and investigated the ones he didn't; he was on an adventure through the kitchen, really getting to know everything. He knew this was his place. He had not really gotten too much into cooking,as he usually only made things for himself, but this time was different. He wasn't just cooking for himself. He was cooking for Crowley too, even if his demon only drank alcohol and coffee; he still got to share that experience. He hurried over to Crowley like a little kid. "Apologies dear, I couldn't help but explore. What's the next room?" He tipped his head ever so slightly in curiosity.

"Oooh, I think you'll like it." He really hoped he would. He took his hand, brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, looking straight into his eyes. "And please, tell me if you would change anything." He brought him to the door, and opened it. While it had not been filled with books yet, the library was covered, on every wall, from the floor to the ceiling, with book shelves. That was a very round and rather high room, crawling all the way up to the end of the first floor, almost eating into the roof of the cottage, and every bookshelf had been designed to embrace those facts. They were accompanying the walls, hugged them perfectly all the way up to the roof. Three more of them, thinner and shorter, had been placed closer to the middle, creating a visual guide to the large window on the left side, mirroring the one in the living room. In that place, he had installed a wooden resting place, with plenty of cushions and plaids to keep it comfortable. Under that bench, he had created a large space to confine all sorts of blankets, tartan covers, pillows and other comfortable fabrics that would prove incredibly useful during the winter period. Covering the ground, he had chosen soft, dark blue carpeting, and placed more ottomans and footstools in the middle of the room, and a small, low metal table had been fixed on the floor for stability. Aziraphale did love drinking something with his reading, it would be a shame for it to stupidly fall on the floor due to a bad movement making the table tumble. Crowley gave plenty of time to the angel to discover his space, sat on the wooden bench while he was looking around, anxiously watching his reactions.

Aziraphale's reaction was bigger than any of the other rooms he was so overjoyed that his wings burst out and stuck to him as he ran around checkout every detail of his library. He would chatter on and on about what books he wanted to stack where, what he wanted to do with which area during which time of year. He even joked about letting Crowley sleep in a little area for him to cuddle with his Angel when he wanted to read. Then he came running back, floating when he leaped, his wings assisting, then pounced Crowley kissing him. "Thank you! This is absolutely wonderful, my love!"

"Well, as you'd have it, that was the plan-" He kicked into the bench's sides, and a little door to its hidden space opened, revealing the overflow of covers. "I know how much time you'll spend in here, angel, and I'd hate for either of us to get cold. Now, since you're already floating- if you go up to the next floor, you should be able to see your study. I made it so it felt part of the library." It was a little space he had created with a desk full of drawers and a few shelves, usually accessible by going up the stairs, and facing the open space of the library with only a fence separating them. Two windows circled it, giving it a fair bit of light.

Aziraphale paused and looked behind him, and giggled, let his wings vanish. "No, I think I'll go up there the human way. Care to show me?"

[...]

He chortled against his mouth and grabbed his hands, dragged him towards the bedroom's door, opened it with a kick and brought him in. It was a great room, he thought; full of warm colours, albeit on the darker side of the spectrum. The walls were burgundy, with large beige accents all over them, and the lamp above them was adorned with golden colours. On their right, the wall was comprised of a large, retractable door, with large mirrors attached to it, opening to what he knew was an enormous walk-in wardrobe, big enough to host all the clothes they had amassed during the last centuries. There were two little, dark side tables with small lamps attached to them. But the main piece was the bed; perfectly outraged with the tiny thing that Aziraphale dared call his resting place in the bookshop, Crowley had taken it upon himself to make it a proper King size, which had been covered with white and teal bed sheets on which slithered a red bedspread.

[syrupsyche]

Goddd imagine reading Les Mis for the first time and getting to Javert Derailed! The last few scenes in the chapter is so poignant it feels like I'm watching it right in front of my eyes. Especially this final paragraph:

Javert remained motionless for several minutes, gazing at this opening of shadow; he considered the invisible with a fixity that resembled attention. The water roared. All at once he took off his hat and placed it on the edge of the quay. A moment later, a tall black figure, which a belated passer-by in the distance might have taken for a phantom, appeared erect upon the parapet of the quay, bent over towards the Seine, then drew itself up again, and fell straight down into the shadows; a dull splash followed; and the shadow alone was in the secret of the convulsions of that obscure form which had disappeared beneath the water.

Javert becomes nothing more than a "tall black figure [...] taken for a phantom" moments before his death; he's already gone before he even falls into the Seine. And this is, of course, contrasted against Éponine's death (4.14.6), who went from:

It was crawling along the pavement. It was this that had spoken to him.

to

All at once, at the very moment when Marius fancied her asleep forever, she slowly opened her eyes in which appeared the sombre profundity of death, and said to him in a tone whose sweetness seemed already to proceed from another world:— “And by the way, Monsieur Marius, I believe that I was a little bit in love with you.” She tried to smile once more and expired.

Éponine, who has been dehumanised and reduced to animalistic and ghostly qualities for most of her story, becomes human once more in the final moments before her death. Javert, who was similarly described with animalistic qualities, sinks even further and does not even register as a person anymore before he dies.

o7 to Inspector Javert! What a fascinating insight to his first and last moment of introspection in the novel.

[pyreofsunflowers]

Craving Intamacy in a world of bloodshed. Must be hard. Pt 1 of. something. more to come soon. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this relationship.

I wrote a lil short to go along with this, under the cut, I recomend reading it for the full expirence. ( Discussions of sex, but nothing fully explicit yet.)

She toyed with the hem of the silky white nightgown. Her gaze fluttered between him and the floor — she was so nervous. He could feel it palpitating through their link, warm and shaky, matching the thumping of her heart. 

“Master…” the words fell from her lips like a feather floating gracefully to the ground. 

“What occasion merits such a beautiful little dress, police girl?” He asked, shamelessly dragging his gaze across her body. The sight of her — kneeling on his bed like a young, virginal bride — lit a hungry fire deep inside his belly, and spoke to the very male parts of him he kept locked away. 

“Well… I… I've just been thinking about, you know, the last time we were together like this,” a faint blush graced her cheeks. It seemed paradoxical, how she was here, presenting herself to him, and at the same time so shy about it. 

Alucard smiled as he remembered that day. Seras had made a home for herself in his room. Seeking him out for companionship, talking to him about her struggles and her feelings. Alucard didn't speak much during these sessions, he just sat across from her and listened to her open herself up and spill out each memory and thought out into open view. 

That was until recently. When she had crawled into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder, and snakes her little arms around his chest. Alucard, despite his mind screaming at him to not engage, couldn't help himself. Gently, he had cupped her small face in his spindly hand, tilting her head up to meet his gaze — and then he had kissed her. It was her first kiss, and oh how he savored it. She had enjoyed herself too, as quickly their hands tangled within locks of hair and slid under fabric, mouths opened to allow curious tongues and the scrape of teeth. Alucard quickly found himself on top of her, her curves wiggling and grinding against him. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and pulled away as their gazes met.

“Fuck me master.” She had breathed through kiss bruised lips, her face red and hot, her maroon eyes wide and glowing with lust.

But he didn't. For once in his life, Alucard had done the right thing. He sat back on his haunches and told her no. It had confused her, and he remembered the glimmer of hurt in her eyes as she had gone back to her quarters.

She had done a similar stunt the next day, and the next, each time she had managed to get him to go a little farther. Touching her naked breasts, letting her paw at his erection through his pants, but each time Alucard had found the will to tell her no. To stop before he did something stupid. Before he did something to hurt her.

But it seems Seras had had enough of his caution — and was dipping her toes into waters far, far too deep for her.  Alucard sighed, and sat on the bed next to her. He hovered a gloved hand over hers, before retracting the limb and looking away from her. This only served to confuse the girl, as he felt her staring emptily at him, and shift closer to his body.

“Master…” She said, “are… Are you not attracted to me?” 

The question took Alucard off guard. Part of him couldn't believe how she could think such a thing. She was so beautiful, and that's what made it so dangerous for her to do this. He gnawed at his lower lip.

“I find you very attractive, Seras.”

He felt her aura flare with warmth as he used her real name. 

“Then why haven't you. Well. You know. Taken my virginity?”

Alucard had gotten himself into a place he very much didn't want to be in. His heart thumped in his chest and he felt his mouth dry up — was he nervous? He felt an overwhelming desire to leave, but he couldn't. It was his duty, after all, to tell her the truth about this — lest he ruin it forever and drive away the only woman he's ever loved. 

He turned his head back to meet her expectant gaze, “There are a lot of things you aren't ready for, police girl. There are many things about me that you don't know.”

Seras reaches her hands out to clasp his wrists, nervously, he allowed her to pull his large hands towards her chest. She said nothing, simply holding his hands in hers

He took that as a cue to explain further. “I am attracted to you, Seras. More than you realize. I want…. I desperately want to give you what you ask for. But I can't. You aren't ready. “

“What do you mean I'm not ready? Master… master, I'm a virgin, not a little girl.” She blushed, and her shoulders hunched inwards. “I… I can handle having sex.” she muttered, so afraid to speak.

“It's not that simple, police girl.”

She went quiet, her grip around his hands softening. He peered into her mind, and was met with an overwhelming crash of swirling, conflicting emotions and anxieties. Alucard gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Desperately trying to think of any way to make this better.

“I'm not human, my dear.” He finally settled on after what felt like hours of deliberation, “I'm nothing like a mortal man. You haven't seen the entirety of who I am, you aren't ready to. If…” he paused, and found his gaze dropped straight to the thin layer of white lace that held her large breasts. She had inched closer to him, to where he could feel each rapid exhale as her chest fell. Electricity jolted through his dead bones, the proximity was tantalizing — the cherry-almond smell of her body wash threatened to choke him, the way her skin shimmered called out for him to kiss and worship every part of her. To bite and drink her dry, to hold until dark bruises blossomed under his touch, to watch her bleed, to break her slow- 

“If what, master?”

Her voice pulled him from his fantasies, and he swallowed dryly. “If… if I have sex with you. I will hurt you.”

“Master… I don't believe you. I trust you, master. You've… you've taken such good care of me. You've been so kind to me. I mean. Just the fact that you're so worried about hurting me…. Doesn't that kinda show you won't?”

Alucard paused, wrestling with himself in his mind. He wanted to tell her she was right, to crash his lips against her throat and to pin her perfect body beneath him. He wanted to take her, to brutalize her in every way imaginable — her openness, her willingness, it all fueled this dark fire. But he couldn’t — he knew he would fuck it up, go too far, push her too much. He would leave her broken, leave her sore — and she would hate him for it. He said nothing, and moved to turn away from her gaze. But in a shocking moment of bravery — Seras kissed him before he could. It was a slow, gentle kiss — one full of trust, of something beyond lust. How foolish she was.

Alucard melted into the kiss, and placed a shaking grasp on her shoulders. Seras slid into his lap,   cupping his face with her small hands. She pulled away, and smiled as crimson blush flowered on her cheeks, gaze dropping to the floor.

“Master… I… I want to please you. I always do. I want to please you in every way. A-and…. Well. You're a man, you… You have your needs. And since y-you're attracted to me and all I… I want to… I wanna help you with that, I want to make you happy and… I want to be a good fledging a…. A good girl. Please… Master… Use my body…”

“Seras…” Was all he was able to choke out through the burning, throbbing urge in his mind to let loose all the fantasies, all the urges he had built up and bottled up since he had lost her a hundred years ago. 

“Master… Alucard… Please, I… I feel so useless, not being ready to drink blood… Not being effective in battle… I don’t wanna be a failure to you… At least, at least use my body. It’s… It’s all I can give to you. I… I can learn to take you, I want to do this… Please.”

Alucard gulped, damn her stubborn soul. She knew exactly what to say to get him going, which wasn’t helped by the fact that she was sitting on his lap — pressing those perfect breasts up against his chest; filling his senses with her sweet scent of cherry blossoms and almond oil; hovering the wet heart of her bare core above his hardening manhood. It was too much for him, her begging had caused the final crack to split in his common sense. Damn the chance of hurting her, damn the punishment he’d face from Integra, damn it all. He had waited too long for this, he needed her — just as she needed him.

[scotianostra]

On October 17th 1850 James Young obtained the patent for the extraction of paraffin from shale.

The following year the world's first commercial oil refinery followed opened.The chemist-cum-businessman James Young, later known as "Paraffin" Young, opened a works near Bathgate that produced lubricating oils and naphtha (for use as a cleaning solvent) from the shale found among West Lothian's coal deposits.

Soon he developed technologies that produced paraffin for lights – Bathgate oil lit a quarter of London's lamps – and paraffin wax for candles. In the 1860s, when many of Young's patents expired, Scotland became gripped by oil mania as dozens of hastily established companies dug pits and erected retorts and refineries in a small stretch of countryside to the south of the Forth.

During its first boom, the shale oil industry employed more than 30,000 people, many of them migrants from elsewhere in Britain. Existing villages grew at a rate bewildering to those who lived in them – Broxburn's population went from 660 to 5,898 in 30 years – while entirely new settlements of brick cottages, with perhaps a store or a working men's institute at their centre, appeared suddenly where no one had previously thought to live. By the 1910's West Lothian shale produced 27.5m barrels of crude oil, which was roughly 2% of then world production.

As the 20th century progressed oil from the Persian gulf became more abundant and cheaper to produce, the second world war and oil shortages prolonged the shale business but the writing was on the wall. The last shale mine closed in 1962, and then it was gone. The pitheads, the retorts, the refineries and the narrow-gauge electric railway that connected them: all vanished, leaving the spoil heaps, the bings, as the most visible evidence that industry had ever existed.

Just north of my home town of Loanhead lays Straiton, not retail parks and most famous for the large Ikea there, but back in the day it was part of the shale works that stretched across the Lothians, all that is left of the Straiton Oil Company are a row of cottages, the head office was in a building that eventually was converted into a pub, The Callyr Inn, sadly the people that bought it years after it closed let it rot, deliberately making it so unsafe that it was pulled down to be replaced by more warehouse type units.

Two of the bings remain, Greendyke and Five Sisters, as industrial monuments protected in law against excavation and reshaping by road builders who want their red waste as hardcore. Whether you love them or hate them the bings are there to stay, as a reminder to a once thriving mining industry around the lothians,, my fave is Greendyke, if you like a good walk, apparently they call it Bing Bashing, it offers great views, you can see the Ochils to the north and the Pentlands to the south, the strange cone of North Berwick Law away to the east and it's possible to make out the shape of Ben Lomond to west, on a clear day. Edinburgh Castle and the Forth bridges are easily picked out and if you walk to the northern edge,you can look down on Niddry Castle, a 15th-century keep where Mary Queen of Scots once spent a night.

There's loads of history, first is the official Shale Oil Museum webpage, promoting the museum itself, it will take you weeks to get through everything here https://www.scottishshale.co.uk/index.html

Pics are James "Parafin" Young, some old pics of the industrialisation, an old Farm eaten up by the plants and pics of the Greendyke bing, with Niddry Castle and Five Sisters Bing from the air

[whatsnewalycat]

Passenger / Chapter 1

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter One: Vermont

[ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Series Summary: In her time tramping across the United States, Charlie Wanderlust has found life on the road to be challenging, but rewarding. When she makes enemies with a powerful figure, a bounty is put out for her capture. Din Djarin, a long-haul trucker and occasional bounty hunter, takes the job as a means to gain financial stability. Their paths cross, and as a result, the winding route of their lives are forever altered.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 3.3k+

Content / Warnings: modern-day au, alternating pov, second person pov, slow burn, vagabond ofc, dog grogu, enemies to lovers, bounty hunting, violence, swearing, truckers

Notes: Heeeeyyyy buddy. Rated explicit because the whole series is just gonna go under that umbrella, I don't care to get into nitty-gritty of rating systems with each chapter lmfao but it will eventually be explicit. I made a Spotify playlist for the series and cross-posted on AO3 (un: glitter_deity), links to both are on the masterlist! OK BIG KISSES HAVE FUN!

Charlie’s Rules for Living on the Road, RULE #3: Keep your wits about you. 

The tiny bar you’re in is shabby and crowded. All-American beer signs reflect red white and blue off the nicked-up mahogany bar top that’s so sticky and rich it reminds you of maple syrup. Fitting, considering you’re in Vermont, of all places. 

It reeks of expired hand sanitizer. A strange combination of rubbing alcohol and rotting fruit that your nose doesn’t really know how to sort, but you just know you hate it. Thought it would be worth gagging through, but apparently not. 

Despite how crowded the small dance floor was during your set, the tips were a fucking joke. Sixteen dollars. 

Anyway, Rule #3. 

The Paul Bunyan-esque bartender who agreed to let you play for tips must recognize that his patrons are cheapskates, because he approaches you from behind the bar and says, “Tough luck. Want me to make you a drink?” 

“I’ll take some water.” 

“Can make something harder if ya want. On the house,” he offers, pressing his wide palms against the bar.

“How about,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, then tilt your head at the hard plastic menu display standing erect between his splayed hands, “some mozzarella sticks?” 

He raises a thick reddish-brown eyebrow at you, “Sure.” 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face and you lean against the bar, propping your chin up on your fist, “You’re a lifesaver. What’s your name?” 

“Jim,” he scoops ice into a tall glass and sprays water into it. 

A man wearing tawny carhartt overalls and a blaze orange stocking cap approaches the bar. Jim tosses a cardboard coaster in front of you and sets your water glass down, then ambles over to take his order. He tends to a few more customers and you surreptitiously size up their wallets. 

Once the demand for his attention wanes, Jim slides a parchment paper-lined basket of sizzling mozzarella sticks across the bar to you. 

“You’re a fucking saint, Jim, thank you,” you crack one open, revealing the gooey, cream-colored innards. Steam bursts from the chasm and scalds your fingertips. 

When you hiss and drop it, Jim chuckles, “Careful, they’re hot.”

“Thanks for the warning,” you tease, flashing a playful smile. 

He pulls up the sleeves of his heavyweight green and black flannel, “So what’s your deal, where you from?”

“I’m from everywhere, and nowhere,” you sigh, then meet his unamused dark eyes and explain, “Kind of a roamer. I’ve been tramping around the country for a while.” 

“All by yourself?” Jim raises his eyebrows, and when you nod he frowns, “Ain’t that kinda dangerous?” 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle. Get to meet all kinds of people, see all kinds of places. Always an adventure. It’s real living.” 

“And how long you been doin’ this?” 

“A few years now,” you answer, poking at the busted mozzarella stick to test its warmth, “Are you from the area?” 

“Born ‘n’ raised,” he looks around the bar, surveying the faces he must have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

“Do you like it?” you pinch off a piece of the fried food and pop it into your mouth. 

“Ain’t too bad,” he shrugs, “It’s familiar, ya know. It’s my home.” 

You hum in acknowledgment as you swallow your food, then press your elbows into the bar and lean forward, “Ever think of leaving it all behind? Seeing what’s out there?” 

Jim shakes his head and chuckles, “No ma’am, that’s not for me.” 

“Why not?”

“You’re just a curious thing, ain’t ya?”

Before you can retort, Jim is flagged down by another thirsty patron. You scarf down the greasy, scorching hot mozzarella sticks as he makes more drinks, then you push the bar stool out and call over to him, “Hey, can I leave my stuff here while I use the bathroom?” 

He glances up at you and nods in the affirmative. 

On your way back to the bar after your bathroom break, you stroll by a stack of heavy winter jackets sitting unattended at a table. It’s been on your radar since a group of four tossed them down about an hour ago. Since then, the jackets have only been revisited when their owners found their beer pitcher dry and in need of a refill. You couldn’t help but notice the sea of green inside one woman’s wallet before she returned it to its (terrible) hiding place. 

RULE #8: Take care of yourself. 

You squint up at a sign on the wall while your hand plunges into the pile of jackets. Your fingers brush up against the metal clasp of a wallet. You unfasten it and feel around for two bills, slipping them up your sleeve before walking away.

Adrenaline thuds through your heart, flooding your body with a weightless, buzzing energy. No matter how many times you’ve stolen, it’s still a rush. 

When you return to your seat, you heave your rucksack over your shoulders, then your guitar strap, adjusting it until the guitar is safely fastened at your back. 

“Taking off?” Jim asks as he clears your empty food basket from the bar. 

“I suppose,” you meet his gaze and flash him a cordial smile, “Gonna see if I can find a place to set up camp.” 

“You’re not sleeping outside, are ya?” he frowns, “Gonna drop below freezing overnight.” 

You shrug, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aww hell, I can’t let you do that,” he protests, then ushers you closer, “Tell ya what—There’s an empty apartment upstairs, why don’t you sleep up there? No furniture, but I figure you have a sleeping bag or something, yeah?” 

You search his face, trying to read his intentions and determine whether or not this is a safe offer to take. 

He must recognize your hesitation, because he adds, “I’ll give you the key, you can deadbolt it from the inside. Just leave it unlocked in the morning, ok?” 

“Really?” your eyebrows press together, “That would be… fucking amazing, actually.” 

He tugs a key ring from his front pocket and wrestles one of the keys off, then slides it across the bar to you, “First unit around the corner. Don’t make me regret it, ya hear?” 

Din slides his pen into the logbook’s spiraled spine and tosses it onto the empty passenger’s seat. He taps the tablet mounted on his dash and pulls up the load board, surveying available pickups in the area. 

After factoring in fuel prices and time on the road, he determines that none of them have a particularly high net gain. Not enough to take his 1999 Peterbilt 379 in for the repairs it so desperately needs, anyway. 

With a dissatisfied sigh, he pulls the cell phone from his pocket and dials Karga. 

“Din, my old friend, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the man’s jovial voice booms through the speaker. 

“Do you have anything in New England?”

Karga hums to himself. Din hears a few computer mouse clicks and the rapid clack clack clack of a keyboard, then Karga responds, “Let’s see here, I have a few bail jumpers, nonviolent offenses, in Maine, New Hampshire…”

“How much?”

“Five thousand for Maine, ten thousand for New Hampshire.”

“Anything bigger?” 

More humming, some clicks, then, “Ah! Look here, there’s a private bounty, last seen along I-89 in Vermont. Deliver dead or alive to Portland.”

“Portland, Maine?” 

“Oregon.”

“That’s too far.”

“It pays one-hundred fifty thousand.” 

Din raises his eyebrows. He’s silent as he considers this. His truck is in a tenuous state, but if he can make it there, he could get every repair needed. Hell, he could buy a whole new truck and still have excess money to donate to The Academy. 

“I’ll take it.” 

After hanging up, Din gets a new email notification on the mounted tablet. He leans forward and opens the message from Karga listing the details of the bounty.

Name: Charlie Wanderlust  DOB: Unknown, assumed to be aged mid-to-late twenties  Race: White Sex: Female Height: Estimated between 5’0” and 5’4” Weight: Estimated between 130 and 160 lbs Hair color: Blonde Eye color: Brown  Last known location: Near Williston, VT, Travel Plaza of I-89 10/14. Prior possible sightings: near Londonderry, NH, RMZ Truck Stop off I-93 10/12; near Newburgh, NY, Pilot Travel Center off I-84 10/8. 

Included are blurry CCTV stills of a petite woman, dressed head-to-toe in black, face mostly concealed by a bandana, stringy white blonde hair spilling down her back from beneath a beanie. The stills appear to be taken in some kind of warehouse, and show the subject pointing a handgun directly at a man whose hands are raised behind his head.

Another collection of photos, much clearer than the shoddy CCTV stills, show the target on her tiptoes, talking to a trucker through his rolled-down window. The snapshots depict them trading a plastic baggie and cash. A bloated dark green rucksack hangs off her back, and an acoustic guitar strap spans her chest, leaving the instrument hanging upside down, flush against one side of the sack. 

Din observes her profile and notes the pointed chin and hooked nose as distinguishing features that will make her easy to spot. He surmises that she’s using an alias, because there’s no way that’s a real name. Her posture and trigger discipline in the CCTV stills tells him that she boasts familiarity with gun safety, and is probably armed. She’s backpacking, likely hitching rides with, and selling drugs to, truckers.

When he pulls up a map on the tablet’s screen and traces the path between the sighting locations, he notices she’s trending north. Probably trying to cross the Canadian border, considering most bounty hunters won’t find the difficulties that would come with re-entering the United States worth it. Try explaining to the border patrol why a pretty blonde woman is being held against her will. That will go well. 

He zooms in on truck stops and gas stations further along I-89. The stretch of road he wants to search is approximately 200 miles away. It will take 3 hours to get there, maybe less. She doesn’t seem to be moving at a particularly fast rate, but her trajectory indicates she’s close to Canada. Probably only needs to hitch one or two more rides to get to the border. 

Din glances over his shoulder into the sleeper cab, at the wrinkly, white, satellite-eared French bulldog sitting at attention on his bed, “What do you think? Should we go catch a bad guy?” 

The dog tilts his head in response. 

“Come on, boy,” Din pats the passenger’s seat, then the dog hops off the bed in favor of the front seat. 

At 7 AM, just as you’re rolling your sleeping bag up, a knock sounds at the door, then the doorknob jiggles. 

You jump to your feet and approach the noise, hollering, “Yeah?” 

“It’s Jim.”

You unlock the door and swing it open to find the lumberjack bartender standing there with a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He’s wearing a new flavor of flannel long sleeve, this one checkered black and red, tucked into his dark blue jeans. His reddish brown hair is damp and slicked back, pale skin tinged pink by the cool air. Or rosacea. Or both. 

“Good morning,” you greet and step back to let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him. The thuds of his heavy leather boots echo across the barebones efficiency apartment. 

“I got you a coffee,” he says and sets one of the cups on the kitchen counter. 

“Thank you so much, Jim,” you smile and meet his eyes. In the bright light of morning, they gleam a rich golden brown that feels warm and inviting. You drop your gaze and tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind your ear, then clear your throat before returning to your sleeping bag. 

As you roll it up, he tells you, “Figured I’d stop by and make sure everything went ok last night. You takin’ off this morning, then?” 

“That’s what it looks like,” you tie your sleeping bag tight with practiced efficiency, shove it into your pack, then zip it closed while muttering, “On the road again.” 

“Need anything else before ya go?” 

This man’s kindness and generosity is almost overwhelming. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smitten with you. A concept that curdles your heartstrings.   

“Um… well,” you sigh and raise your eyes to meet his, “If you’re offering, I could use a ride to the truck stop off I-89.”

“Sure thing,” he grins, the apples of his cheeks pushing his eyes into crescents, “Ready to go now, or you wanna get some breakfast first?” 

“I’m ready,” you stand with a grunt and pull on your coat. He watches you do this, and when you glance up at him, he looks away and strokes his bushy beard, then takes a sip of coffee. 

Jim insists on carrying your bag out to his black pickup truck. You follow behind him, coffee in one hand, neck of your guitar in the other. The ride to Jolley Truck Stop is accompanied by a Sunday morning country music segment dedicated to Christian songs of the genre. The trees are all ripe with autumn colors, their leaves a gorgeous array of reds and oranges. 

“It’s so beautiful this time of year,” you comment as you watch the scenery go by, “Look at that foliage.”

Jim chuckles, “We have a name for the types of folks comin’ around here to look at the trees in fall.” 

“What’s that?”

“Leaf lickers.”

You swing your head over to look at Jim, who’s sporting an amused grin, then start laughing, “Leaf? Lickers?”

He snorts and nods, “Yes ma’am.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” you shake your head and look out the window again, “Have any exciting plans for the rest of the day?”

“Church, then a Patriots game,” he answers, “Where do you think the day’ll take you, Miss Charlie?” 

“Hopefully to Canada,” you murmur, “But we’ll see. Rule number six of living on the road: Embrace change.” 

“Good rule to live by,” Jim responds, flicking on his blinker to turn into the truck stop, “I’ll have to try that out for myself.” 

“You should, Jim,” you cast a warm smile his way, “Really, I mean it. There’s more to life than Milton. I think you’d like it out there.” 

When his truck comes to a stop, he shifts into park, keeping an eye on you as you open the passenger’s side door and hop out. 

You grab your rucksack and guitar, then tell him, “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I wish you the best of luck on all your future journeys, Jim.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he nods and gives you a wistful smile. 

With this, you slam the door shut and approach the sidewalk next to the truck stop, then take a moment to organize your belongings. After verifying you have all the things you need in the most accessible locations, you secure your rucksack and guitar on your back. Jim’s truck rumbles in idle for a while, but you don’t turn around until you hear him pull away. 

RULE #9: Do not get attached. 

Din is 5 miles out from the last place on his list, Jolleys Truck Stop, when the CB radio crackles to life. 

A voice cuts through, “Anyone see that blondie wandering around at Jolleys? Rusty Crawler, Over.”

“With the guitar? Interstate Blackbeard, Over.” 

Din’s heart skips and his spine straightens. 

“Aye-firmative, Blackbeard. She a lot lizard er what?” 

“Negative, Rusty, she has party favors.” 

He picks up his mic and asks, “Do you have eyes on her, Rusty Crawler? 38-91, over.”

“Do I ever, 38-91, wheeew,” the man jests. 

Din looks over at the dog, who was jolted awake by the radio. He starts panting, his buggy black eyes darting around the cab, little nub of a tail wiggling with excitement. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question to his companion. 

“Boof.”

“Good,” Din chuckles in response, then turns his eyes back to the road.

You knock on the red Freightliner’s window and squint up at the driver as he rolls his window down, “Hey there. Are you looking for a west coast turnaround?” 

He grins and shakes his head, “No, darlin’, but I reckon I’m lookin for a friend if you’re offerin’ your company.” 

“Not on the table, I’m afraid,” you crinkle your nose and wave, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Same goes for you, pretty girl,” he hollers at your back as you walk further down the row of idling rigs. An intuitive shiver runs down your spine; you suspect the man’s foul vibes are at fault. 

There’s a newcomer in the lineup: an old, silver Peterbilt, shiny with chrome details. The driver is wearing a black baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, but seems to be looking in your direction, so you wave. 

He waves back. 

As you draw near, he opens the driver’s side door and hops out of the cab. He’s broad-shouldered and tall. The sleeves of his black crewneck sweater pull taut around his chest and biceps. His posture is impeccable, his steps metered, and you’re immediately struck by the assertive energy radiating off him in waves. 

Another shiver creeps along your backbone. And it’s just an off kind of feeling that gives you pause, but you stop in your tracks. 

RULE #2: Listen to your gut. 

He puts one palm up towards you in a gesture of peace and says, “Charlie Wanderlust—”

“How do you know my name?” 

Your eyes flick to your distorted reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. The hair back of your neck stands at attention. You take a cautious backwards step. 

“I can bring you in warm,” he slides a gloved hand to the back of his cargo pants, “or I can bring you in cold.” 

Static booms in your chest. Your stomach plummets to the asphalt beneath your feet, and you scoff, “Fuck you, man, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

He tilts his head, as if to mock your feigned ignorance. 

A dog barks.

It pulls his attention away for just a second, but it’s long enough for you to turn and bolt in the opposite direction. 

All you can hear is your ragged breath and blood whooshing behind your ears and boots pounding against the pavement. 

Not just your boots. 

His, too. 

They get closer with every beat. 

A tug on your rucksack makes your heart gallop. You yelp and duck between two semi-trucks, pushing yourself as hard and fast as your legs can go. You reach the end of the rumbling trailer corridor and glance over your shoulder, only to find he’s not there. 

That moment is enough to blind you. 

It’s like you hit a wall, he’s just that fucking solid. 

You bounce off of him, and before you realize what’s happening, he’s slamming your face against a trailer door. His thick fingers tangle in your hair and close into a fist. 

“Fuck, that fucking hurts! What the fuck is your problem?!” you wail, thrashing in resistance as he rips off your guitar and tosses it to the ground with a twangy thunk that breaks your heart.

“Hey!” you bellow, “Be fucking careful with that!” 

The man strips your rucksack off next, dropping it at your feet. He grabs one wrist, pinching a handcuff around it, then the other.

“Stay there,” he pants, then picks all your worldly possessions off the ground and slings them onto his shoulders. 

He yanks the chain of the handcuffs, sending you stumbling back a few steps. You steady yourself, only for him to push you forward and throw you off balance again. Your vision goes red with anger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit through gritted teeth, “Fucking asshole.” 

He doesn’t say anything in response, just presses his hand between your shoulder blades and prods you onward. 

Rage bubbles between the layers of your skin. Every single insult in the book simmers at the back of your throat, but all that comes out is a strained growl. 

Then you put one foot in front of the other and let him lead you to your fate. 

[ Next Chapter ]

[omgellendean]

Thread 🧵

We hated the “aid” food we got during the Bosnian Genocide soooo much that we literally erected a “monument” to the Intl Community as a very sarcastic “thank you” for the shitty food they sent us. People undergoing genocide are still deserving of dignity and decent food!!!!

People want passive victims who will kiss their asses for sending them garbage. Westerners waste food like nobody else in the world, they gorge themselves on food on a daily basis and yet they think they get to lecture genocide survivors for daring to say the aid is crap. I grew up eating dandelion tea, pita made from nettles and sugar between bread which was carefully cut up and shared equally between all 20 of us living in one 3 bedroom apartment during the Bosnian Genocide. You know nothing of what it means to be hungry. I refused the aid food. It is infuriating to watch as some of the world’s most privileged people speak about war zones and people enduring a genocide. You know absolutely fucking NOTHING about what it means to be starving, being bombed mercilessly, massacred due to your identity. Women in Bosnia would still dress up every single day during the genocide. They would put on their make-up and their favourites clothes. It was an act of resistance in the midst of a brutal genocide. People were seeking out dignity where they could find it. B/c people in war zones, people suffering a genocide are still human beings. They are entitled to dignity. They are entitled to have decent food to eat. They are not required to be whatever pathetic concoction you’ve made up in your heads about what a genocide survivor must be. After the war, a Kosovo refugee family was taken in by my family. Five of them lived with us. They were starving by the time they got to us. You think we gave them canned beans and expired food? No, we made them healthy, delicious home cooked meals!! B/c they deserved that! You don’t get to give people expired and disgusting food and call yourself their saviour. They are not deserving of less because they are suffering and have nothing. You want genocide survivors to be passive victims who kiss your asses for the bare minimum. Fuck that & fuck you. Also, I just want to note for the assholes who are saying “well if its good enough for our troops”. 1. These are regular humans, not soldiers who signed up willingly for the army & knew what they were getting into. 2. Soldiers are provided with MREs every 8 hours. The people in Gaza do not get MREs every 8 hours, they get barely one meal and often they have to share it with others because there is NOT enough aid being provided because Israel keeps blocking aid trucks from getting into Gaza to provide people with food! A single MRE is NOT enough for a family, its not enough for a single person even. & even if was…people do not have to like it. If it tastes gross, if its expired, if its moldy as many have reported the aid is…people do not have to be “grateful” for it. And when every single human rights organisation, when every single IHRL mechanism is stating “hey, people in Gaza are being starved. Israel isn’t allowing aid in. Kids are dying of starvation and malnutrition” then maybe you should stfu and listen to the damn experts. I just don’t understand how utterly devoid of empathy you must be to minimise the suffering and starvation of an entire people despite all the evidence. How vile of a human you must be to demand they be grateful for the leftover crumbs you sent them, while you fund their genocide

[finniestoncrane]

2.5k Event Request - Maximus x Fem!Reader word count: 750 a/n: you dare maximus to try a bit of roleplay, trying to get him to push past the awkwardness that often precedes sex. i tried to make this just smut, but i am so obsessed with his silly almost innocence so it's actually little bit of goofy flirting cw: dares, roleplay, awkward flirting, suggestive stuff, goofy fluff 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2.5k (to follow or to block)

“It’ll do, right? I mean, it’s not as glamorous as some other places, but at least it’s safe. And it has a roof. Prime real estate out here.”

Maximus turned to you, offering a sweet, charming smile as he tried to convince you both that this abandoned Red Rocket was going to be the best place to hide out. And it didn’t take much convincing. It felt like you had been travelling around the Wasteland for weeks, but it was only days since you had last managed to find some shelter with at least three walls and some kind of roof. Things were finally looking up now, although running from the Brotherhood of Steel hadn’t been all bad. Yes, the lingering threat was constantly on your heels, but it had also given you plenty of time to get to know Maximus, and as it stood, your relationship with him had blossomed, only becoming stronger as you survived with him.

Rushing ahead of you, Maximus declared a race, claiming any leftover colas in the long-broken refrigerators as the prize for the victor. And once inside, and three warm, expired sodas later, you and Maximus were sitting in an awkward silence, struggling to think of how to shift the mood, or event he conversation, to what you both wanted. Mindless flirting, a little bit of physical touch, but you were both stuck on how to take it any further. That was until you had a stroke of what you could only describe as genius.

“Oh! Maximus!”

He looked to you with wide eyes, raising an eyebrow when you spoke.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth… or dare?”

“Yeah, it’s a game! We take it in turns to ask the other ‘truth or dare’ and then, when they choose their option, you either ask them a question that they have to answer with the truth, or you give them a dare that they have to do!”

He raised his eyebrows, considering it for a moment, eventually realising, quite innocently, that he could get you to confess to stealing his last fancy lad snack cake. And then, with a twinge of excitement, that he could dare you to just kiss him already. But you had chosen first, so to get what he wanted, he had to play along.

“Sounds… fun, I guess. Uh… I guess I’ll take a dare. They can be… they can be like, sexy, right?”

You giggled a little, blushing at how quickly his mind had gone to the dirtier possibilities. So you changed the dare you had planned and smiled wide as you spoke.

“Ok… I dare you to… have you heard of roleplay?”

“Roleplay?”

“Yeah! Like… we act out a little fantasy… maybe it makes it easier to push past the awkwardness?”

“Hm, that sounds… interesting.”

He was smiling at you, trying to pretend that he wasn’t as excited as he was. But there was a twinge of electricity that coursed through him, knowing that he might be able to finally have sex with you, after you’d explained to him a week ago that there really was no danger in that act at all.

“Ok then, I dare you to try some roleplay with me. What do you think?”

“Yeah, I could get into that. If, uh… if you want to. And you promise my cock-”

“I promise your cock won’t explode!”

You giggled a little, watching him shift on the bedroll to hide his growing erection.

“So. What kind of roleplay do you want me to try?”

“I think you should act like a Paladin. And I can be your Squire.”

“And I boss you around?”

“Mhm, I’ll do whatever you want me to. I’m at your command, Paladin Max.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, fingers twitching as he considered the opportunity in front of him. His nerves were quieting him, so you took the lead and leaned into him.

“Gosh, Paladin, it must be so stressful doing the work you do. Would you like me to… relieve some of that pressure?”

Your palm slid up his thigh, fingers grazing over the growing bulge. He stuttered something unintelligible, mumbling as he tried to find the words to describe what he wanted from you.

“What is it, Paladin? What’s my first task as your faithful and willing Squire?”

“I… maybe, uh… maybe I would like you to make my cock explode. Sounds like it might be kind of fun.”

You licked your lips, lowering your head into his lap as he leaned back, smiling wide.

[chunkypossum]

Azriel x Eris

4112 words

Part One of Three || or… Read on AO3

1 2 3

- Happy Holidays! Special thanks to my favorite little urchins and gremlins for throwing an eye on this and helping me. Love y’all!! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Winter Court for Solstice, Autumn for the Equinox, Night for Starfall. While every court had their own holiday they celebrated with the rest of Prythian, these three were the most anticipated.

The purpose of these holidays, officially, was the promotion of peace and goodwill between courts. The idea was that everyone had a chance to show off their hospitality in the wake of the age of war ending with the fall of Koschei. Feyre Cursbreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and first High Lady of Prythian, spearheaded the campaign that quickly caught fire among the direct allies of the Night Court. With the help of her sisters and the High Fae that owed her a life debt many times over, she managed to construct a simple but elegant way forward. Officially, that is.

Unofficially? A true High Lord is nothing if not incredibly vain. Not only did the courts try to one up each other with their respective holidays, they also tried to beat out their own parties from the year previous. Fae lived a very long time, which meant this could get out of hand quickly and three years into the new tradition, it had already started to.

On an unused piece of property, deep in the arctic wilderness, Kallias had constructed a massive five-story ice castle just for the evening. In the way that only high fae can be dramatic, winnow points were erected outside in the blistering cold. That way, when guests were received into the foyer, they could bask in awe and warmth under the cathedral ceilings laced with the ethereal blue light of glow worms. The space was dripping in frivolous luxury. A massive fireplace was situated on the right hand side, its mantle and threshold also seemed to be made of ice, though more opaque than the shining floor and ceiling with its sparkling icicle stalactites hanging from intricately carved beams. The spelled fire within changed colors every few minutes to the delight of those mingling in the space before entering the main hall. Elaborate designs were carved on the surface of the walls from floor to ceiling. They depicted great winterscapes, forests of life size, towering pines, bear drawn carriages sledding through the snow, and so much more.

On the left side of the room were ornate, magically formed displays. Wilderland beasts made of ice carrying trays on their backs or in their paws holding layers and layers of glasses filled with sparkling liquids in bright blues, puffy pinks and simmering champagnes. The displays had tailored cards to match each type of drink with tiny descriptions in the corners and important disclaimers that stated each spell's expiration times and who exactly to find if you needed one immediately removed. Most were labeled alcoholic and not suitable for children warning teenagers of the dire consequences for trying to sneak one away. All of them had fantastical sounding magical effects and despite the warnings, more than one teenage youngling was seen skirting away various drinks to try with their friends.

Navy blue and glittering for staying light on your feet and moving with the grace of a swan on the dance floor. Cerulean for side stitching fun as you become the funniest person in any given crowd (what happens when two or more people drink it in the same group? Well, that’s probably what the emergency instructions are for). Bright pink for adding a layer of glamor over yourself and getting anyone you want to beg you for one dance. The more curious ones had simple labels with seemingly higher alcohol content. Rose for bubbles, glitter or flowers, champagne for weather, baby blue for … hair? From there, they only got more ridiculous with the most absurd listed on a sign by the doors leading into the grand space. It promised floating bubble shots that would do anything one could think of from making you glow in the dark to giving you a high, squeaky voice.

After guests warmed themselves and chose their drinks they were ushered through a set of carved, ice doors at least 25 feet tall and marked with thousands of stars. The foyer was impressive to say the least but the sight that greeted people as those doors opened onto the rest of the castle left many breathless.

Winter, besides being fucking freezing all the time, was known for the animals that eagerly worked alongside the High Lord. There was a special understanding between the Court and the creatures that inhabited it. So much so, that one could often see snow white hares delivering mail or great polar bears donning armor for battle. This year, Kallias and his Lady Viviane had employed every manner of beast to take part in the festivities.

Caribou sentries flanked every doorway, adorned with crystal collars and antlers that shined like freshly fallen snow. Arctic foxes, hares and little ermines jumped, ran and skirted around the ballrooms, playing with the fairy children and earning more than a few giggles from the adults as well.

The first floor was nearly completely overtaken with a dance floor. At its center grew a live evergreen tree which the castle had been built around. The floors above had been cut to accommodate the height which could have been 100 feet or more. Its boughs were laden with snowflake garland and colorful bubbles of ice. Where it wasn’t crusted over with the gem like baubles, snowy owls sat perched in masse. As they preened and fluffed their feathers, shaking the branches, the snow and orbs, lit from within with their own special magic, shook and shimmered, clinking together like little diamond bells.

Polar bears with golden harnesses offered sled rides around the ribbon of ice on the outer edge of the dance floor and white wolves heralded important arrivals with their haunting calls. Spelled against the animals, everything was pristine and smelled like iced cranberries and supple, fresh winter evergreens.

It wasn’t hard to tell who had tried what drink, the evidence of the spells wafted around each person and through the air. Much to the horror of the teenagers who had snuck drinks, not only did the magic sense their age and nullify the alcohol, but once drunk, it made them confess one of their most embarrassing moments to anyone that was near. The space was full of bubbles, and tiny storm clouds that spat soft snowflakes. Some fairies were trailing glitter or flowers in their wake while others were running around chasing their friends to touch their hair and turn it pink or make them grow a temporary beard. Squeals of delight could be heard from every corner.

Eris was eternally grateful for his own foresight as he pulled a flask of whiskey from an inner pocket of his velvet lined coat. He had declined to choose from one of the prepared cocktails, refusing to look too foolish, at least this early in the night. Having stopped reading the information cards after hair, he didn’t dare go near any unfamiliar bubbles floating in the air.

Though Eris would never admit to it, secretly, he thought some of it looked quite entertaining. Namely, he would love to send a little rain cloud over the top of Helion’s head.

“So that’s what ‘hair’ meant.” A gruff voice sounded next to the Autumn Prince where he had taken up residence at one of the tall tables near the sidewall.

“Lucien.” He greeted, without turning. Eris kept his eyes trained on the dance floor, inclining his head only slightly.

“Don’t drink those.” Lucien said with a shudder as they both dodged a violet bubble with liquid inside. “I’m not sure what all of them do but I’m pretty sure the purple one makes you sound like a mouse.” Eris raised a well manicured eyebrow at his brother before turning away, dismissing him.

Unbothered by Eris’ obvious snub, Lucien asked, “Where‘s dear old dad?” He noted Eris curiously tracking his tumbler of clear liquid as he set it down on the table top and added, “Vodka. There is a normal bar on the second floor.”

“Father sent me alone to represent the Autumn Court this evening. He was feeling rather ill.” Eris took a sip off his flask before returning it to his emerald coat's inner pocket.

“Is that so?” Lucien said suggestively, turning to face Eris fully.

“Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with it.” Eris replied simply. Normally, he wouldn’t bother engaging Lucien, even at these more relaxed events. His brother, who learned well from Eris himself, was just looking for information he could exploit. Lucien didn’t actually care to talk to Eris otherwise. Pretending it was any other way would only lead to heartbreak down the line. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

“Suppose I do believe you. Would you return the favor and trust me about something I’m about to say against my better judgment?”

Eris didn’t turn to him. The only sign of his curiosity was the slight twitch in the tip of his pointed ear.

“Depends.” He murmured.

“You know brother, as much as you piss me off, when it is time… I’ll be there.” They both stiffened at the words, too close something they both needed but neither was willing to properly provide just yet. Lucien added in a barely audible whisper. “Somehow, I’ll always end up in your corner.”

Eris huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head slightly. He didn’t have it in him to hash anything out with family tonight. This evening was meant to be about the absence of family, at least the one he was born into. So, he let the words go as if he hadn’t heard them. Giving Lucien and himself the benefit of ignorance for a little while longer. If he hadn’t, there would likely be a brawl before midnight.

As it turned out, Eris, even without the help of a special cocktail, was in a rather good mood that he didn’t want spoiled. His father really was sick and with any luck, the cold he caught would kill him. For the present though, it just meant that Eris was allowed to come to a party, unescorted. Any excuse to be out of the damn forest house without his father was good enough, but one with the promise of something more was especially exciting. Eris’ eyes roved over the dance floor, lingering in the darkened corners of the room, searching.

“Looking for someone?” Lucien asked just a bit too casually. Eris finally turned his eyes towards his brother. It had taken every ounce of his grace not to bite his head off for presuming they could have a brotherly chat like Lucien hadn’t spent the last few centuries dragging his name through the mud. It would take a whole lot more patience than he had to continue to provide him with that kind of privilege.

“What do you want?”

Lucien shrugged before turning to watch the dancers once again. His smirk was anything but innocent. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Why?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hmm. Quite.” Eris hummed, turning away again and taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Fine, I’ll take the hint, but after you’ve had time to imbibe a little more, I expect you to be nicer to me.”

With a wave of Lucien’s hand, a tumbler full of whiskey appeared in front of Eris. He took it gingerly in his hands and before he could react, Lucien used his own glass to toast them both before sauntering off into the crowd. Unable to help himself, Eris smiled after his brother. He was so used to having to keep a tight leash on his emotions that he sometimes forgot that he could talk to Lucien again. Even though the male didn’t actually want to have anything to do with Eris, at least not anything real, it was still a nice feeling, if not a strange one. One day, he would get used to it. Someday, it would feel natural.

The more Eris drank and the longer he stood there at that table, the antsier he became. He was a social creature after all and sitting idly by while a party went on around him did not suit him well. After nearly an hour he began to make the rounds.

The host and hostess were out mingling with their guests and when an alcohol soaked Kallias spotted Eris he clapped him on the back and invited him to join the conversation he was having with Thesan. The conversations flowed easily enough and the company was pleasant but the longer Eris was at the party, the more irritated he became. It seemed like every time he turned around, there was another face greeting him and never the one he wanted.

After Kallias had been beckoned away by his wife, Thesan and his lover had taken Eris onto the dance floor which he tried heartily to decline. They weren’t hearing any of it and just when Eris thought he might be able to get away, Elain of all people cornered him and asked him for a dance as well. Lucien may not have wanted a real relationship with him but his mate still tried very hard to include Eris. To anyone else it might have felt like a sweet gesture. Eris just tried very hard not to be rude about how suspicious it actually made him. It wasn’t her fault after all.

Chatting with him idly, Eris got the feeling that Elain was not exactly there just to keep him company. She kept him busy well past what would be considered appropriate which is why he almost didn’t feel the eyes on him. Almost.

Towards the end of their third dance, Eris sensed that someone had been staring at him. The back of his neck felt hot and he swiveled the two of them expertly around the dance floor in search of that stare.

“I’m boring you.”

“Hmmm.” Eris agreed, completely distracted by his search.

Elain giggled softly, breaking Eris out of his trance and he looked down at the small female and flushed.

“Oh, no. No I -” He blew out a breath and tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted this evening.”

“I was told you might be.”

Eris raised a brow in question but Elain just shook her head and smiled.

“Very well then.” Eris grinned down at her. “You have my full attention for the rest of this song.”

“How generous.” Elain replied, the sarcasm sounded unfamiliar on her tongue.

“I did apologize.” He joked.

“Well, make it up to me properly. Tell me something embarrassing about Lucien.”

Eris’ heart panged in his chest when he thought about his brother in that way, like they were still family.

“You know little Archeron…” Eris began as those wide doe eyes looked up at him in question. “Lucien and I, we’re not -“

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand in his face making him blink. “He will come around, just leave it to me. You’re my brother now too, whether that sardonic grump likes to acknowledge it or not. I promise to always help you two find common ground.. And… I’d like to be your friend too.”

She looked away sheepishly and Eris, despite himself, smiled at her earnesty.

“I’d like that.” He replied gently.

“Besides, I think the pair of you are far closer to being what you would like to be to one another than either of you idiots are willing to see.”

Eris looked at her in surprise and laughed. Elain was turning pink around the tips of her ears. It dusted the tops of her cheekbones prettily and Eris sighed. He knew Elain was trying and it was a gesture he appreciated so he obliged. Just this once, he told himself.

However, the bastard’s ears must have been burning because as soon as Eris uttered the words “Have you heard about the time he tried to impress a date by putting on my mother’s-” Lucien appeared out of thin air and cut in to sweep his mate away. With a wink towards Eris’ they turned into the crowd of other dancers and were gone. The slightly annoyed and crestfallen look on Elain’s face made him laugh softly to himself as he turned to leave.

Of course he couldn’t be that lucky.

Eris spent the better part of another hour being twisted and turned by what felt like every pair of hands in the room except the pair of roughly scarred hands he really wanted.

Per usual, Eris was pleasant enough, able to fake his way through niceties, even going so far as to actually enjoy himself more than once. Helion even managed to get a light laugh out of Eris when he grabbed the wrong drink and accidentally turned his hair fuschia.

Finally spotting a pair of leathery wings headed straight for him, Eris’ eyes narrowed. They were entirely too small to be the ones he was really looking for but they would lead to the bigger version all the same.

“Hello little prince.” Eris crooned, smiling. He crouched down to eye level with the 6 year old.

“Momma told me to come find you.” Nyx said in a practiced way that made Eris laugh with disbelief. No wonder he could feel eyes on him all night. Eris was being baited.

“Oh she did now. Well, if you want me, you’ll have to catch me I suppose.” Eris tousled the little guy's hair and stood up swiftly, gaining a few feet in retreat before Nyx caught on.

“Wait! Come back!” He giggled, nearly tripping over himself to catch up to his target. Eris, careful to keep a balance between staying ahead of Nyx’s grabby hands and not losing him in the crowd, wove in and out of the dancers towards the giant tree in the middle. Because he wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, Eris nearly careened right into someone carrying a tray of those spelled cocktails. He quickly ducked around them, snatching one of the rose colored ones, downing it in one gulp.

Eris, smiling, made a show of tumbling backward before sitting with his legs crossed under the tree. Nyx came barreling towards him, the look of concern from Eris’ fall quickly turning to a toothy grin. When he collided into Eris’ lap the elder male broke out in a fit of laughter. Accompanying the sound, his laughter was made of pink and gold bubbles spilling out from between his lips. They tasted like sugar. Nyx squealed in delight trying to catch as many of them as he could.

The laughter felt good and Eris knew that it meant he had already had entirely too much to drink but he was safe here tonight and could indulge in the things his heart yearned for. Playing with this child that he hoped someday would be a real part of his family, was one of those things. Nyx was the easy one in the family, as was his mother. Eris enjoyed their company plenty and didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of them. He sighed as those deprecating thoughts wound their way through his brain. That was ok, it’s not like he needed everyone’s approval. Eris was used to having a certain version of himself attach to people in a way they couldn’t easily shake.

They all lived such a long time. Maybe someday it would be different.

Animosity aside, incredibly the only actual unsafe people in all of Prythian were Eris’ father and some of his brothers. Perhaps there were a handful of spies watching the soft way Eris played with the youngling that would love to sell this kind of information back to Beron but Eris couldn’t be bothered to worry about them at the moment. When his family was absent he felt free to goof off and enjoy himself. No one at the party paid him any mind except for that incessant pair of hazel eyes he could feel boring into him but couldn’t yet see.

“You caught me!” Eris exclaimed, making a show of covering his wounded heart. Every word was laced in bubbles and Nyx couldn’t stop laughing. When the bubbles began to coat only every other word, then once a sentence slowly ebbing away, Nyx finally had a chance to calm down. The tiny sprite stood up with all the audacity of his Night Court heritage and grabbed a hold of Eris’ wrist.

“Come on. You’re my prisoner now.”

“Well, fair is fair I suppose. You caught me so I must go with you.” Eris groaned as he stood up, his movements purposely sluggish. Nyx was not impressed and tugged hard on Eris’ arm, grunting with the effort it took to pull him along.

“You let me catch you.”

“Did not.”

“Yes you did.” The little terror sounded smug about his catch either way. They went back and forth like this all the way across the dance floor where Feyre was waiting, drink in hand. She was holding back a smile and winked down at her son who beamed proudly as he presented his prize to his mother.

“I see you’ve finally deigned to make an appearance.” Eris said, bowing to the High Lady of the Night Court. When he stood back up he looked around the room for the rest of the Night Court, for one person in particular.

“Oh.” She smiled wryly right back at him. “We’ve been here the whole time, we were just ordered to stay quiet and hidden.” She glanced casually down into her glass before bringing it up to her lips, her smile widening.

Eris' mouth fell open slightly. “That little-”

“Language.” Feyre chided, glancing down at the little boy still attached to Eris’ wrist. His mouth popped closed and Eris huffed through his nose instead picking up the runt by the ankle and holding him upside down.

He scrutinized the dangling child, squealing his head off and poked him in his stomach where his shirt had ruched up. “Well, do I get the privilege of his company? Or do I need to take a hostage?”

“Put me down!” Nyx swung a fist out in vain, giggling through his aggression. “Momma Help!” He added when Eris did not immediately put him down and began tickling him instead.

Eris smiled gently as he pressed Nyx into his mother’s reaching arms. “Well, “ He sighed. “There goes my bargaining chip.”

“Uncle Az is-” Feyre pressed a hand against Nyx's traitorous mouth and laughed.

“Nyxie! Your uncle has worked very hard this evening. Don’t spoil anything.” She laughed. The image of this tiny fae female wrestling her, not so tiny 6 year old made Eris wistful with longing for his own mother, who had never had the chance to play with her children in that way.

It was a reminder at how different things were going to be for the next generation of fairy children. Eris knew he would make sure his own children would never have to endure the psychological and physical abuse that he had to grow up with.

Feyre glanced up from the mass of wings and giggles that was her son and saw the bittersweet look on Eris' face. She smiled softly at him and set Nyx back on his own two feet.

“Ok my Nyxie, time to go keep auntie Elain company.”

“Wait!” The little imp yelped, running over to Eris. He gestured for the male to bend lower so he could whisper in his ear. Feyre eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to continue.

Eris bent low and winced when the prince’s secret was not as quietly whispered as Eris was sure he intended. “I promise to help you gang up on uncle Az forever.” Feyre grimaced slightly but quickly smoothed over her features into a simple smile. Eris on the other hand grinned like a wildcat at the little one’s promise.

“I’ll hold you to that child.” He told him, rapping a knuckle lightly on Nyx’s cheek before standing tall once again.

“Ok Nyx, let’s go.”

“But momma!” He protested, stomping his feet. “I wanna go with you.”

“No darling. You know the plan.”

“Oh so there is a plan.” Eris cut in, glaring at them both. Feyre and Nyx gave him identical guilty faces and quickly sealed their lips. Well, Feyre did anyway. Nyx’s silence was only temporary. He inhaled deeply about to spill another secret when Feyre pressed her palms to his cheeks, squishing his little face in admonishment and they disappeared in a puff of star flecked night.

[rjzimmerman]

Bayer lobbies Congress to help fight lawsuits tying Roundup to cancer. (Washington Post)

The biotech giant Bayer has lobbied Congress over the past year to advancelegislation that could shield the company from billions of dollars in lawsuits, part of a national campaign to defeat claims that its weedkiller Roundup causes cancer in people who use it frequently.

The measure threatens to make it harder for farmers and groundskeepers to argue that they were not fully informed about some health and safety risks posed by the popular herbicide. By erecting new legal barriers to bringing those cases, Bayer seeks to prevent sizable payouts to plaintiffs while sparing itself from a financial crisis.

At the heart of the lobbying push is glyphosate, the active ingredient in certain formulations of Roundup. Some health and environmental authorities contend it is a carcinogen, but the federal government — which previously conducted its own review — does not. Under local laws, thousands of plaintiffs have filed lawsuits targeting Roundup over the past decade, claiming at times they were never warned that regular exposure could cause them to develop debilitating or deadly diseases, such as non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

Throughout the legal wrangling, Bayer has maintained that its popular weedkiller is safe, though it agreed to pay roughly $10 billion in a landmark settlement that concluded thousands of cases in 2020 without any admission of wrongdoing. Yet tens of thousands of additional claims remain unresolved, prompting Bayer to mount a nationwide lobbying campaign in hopes of reducing its risk of future liability.

In Washington, the company recently has set its sights on the sweeping legislation known as the farm bill, which Congress must adopt every five years to sustain federal agriculture and nutrition programs. The approximately 1,000-page House version of the measure contains a single section — drafted with the aid of Bayer — that could halt some lawsuits against Roundup, according to documents viewed by The Washington Post and seven people familiar with the matter, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss private conversations.

The provision builds on an earlier proposal introduced by Reps. Dusty Johnson (R-S.D.) and Jim Costa (D-Calif.), two members of the House Agriculture Committee. Bayer helped craft that measure, then circulated it among lawmakers to rally support before later pushing the House to add it to the farm bill, the people familiar with the effort said. The House doesn’t yet have a vote scheduled on that package, which expires Sept. 30.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Nickolaus Hines

Published: Oct 18, 2021

In 2016, the famous nun Mother Teresa was declared a saint by Pope Francis — but many people say she doesn't deserve it.

Ever since the Vatican made Mother Teresa a saint in 2016, the response has been controversial and polarizing.

In order for Mother Teresa to achieve sainthood, the Vatican had to recognize two miracles that the famous nun performed after her death. Pope John Paul II recognized the first miracle in 2003, just six years after she died in 1997. And Pope Francis recognized the second miracle in 2015.

The popes claimed that Mother Teresa performed miracles when she cured one woman and then one man of their respective tumors. However, these “miracles” have been disputed by some — especially since a doctor who worked on the woman’s case said that she had been treated with drugs.

But debates over Mother Teresa’s miracles didn’t dissuade the Vatican from moving forward with its plans. Pope Francis officially proclaimed Mother Teresa a saint on September 4, 2016. But the decision remains controversial, and the dispute over her miracles is just one small part of it.

Of course, Mother Teresa’s sainthood may seem well-deserved to some. After all, she cultivated a mostly sparkling reputation as a selfless humanitarian while she was alive. But in recent years, her image has lost its luster. And when you take a closer look at her story, it’s not hard to see why.

Inside Mother Teresa’s “Selfless” Intentions

Mother Teresa was intent on converting as many people to Catholicism as possible, even at the expense of the poor and sick.

No one builds a church purely for the love of God — especially in places like India where critical services, like hospitals, are lacking. Religious groups that erect churches in these areas do so not just out of the kindness of their hearts, but to increase the number of people who believe in their faith.

Like those missionaries, conversion — the Church’s key to survival — was Mother Teresa’s primary goal. And in the context of the Catholic Church, charity can be viewed as a self-interested act.

“It’s good to work for a cause with selfless intentions,” said Mohan Bhagwat, the head of a Hindu nationalist group. “But Mother Teresa’s work had ulterior motive, which was to convert the person who was being served to Christianity. In the name of service, religious conversions were made.”

And when The New York Times reviewed the British documentary Hell’s Angel, a film that highlighted some of Mother Teresa’s flaws, the paper concluded that she was “less interested in helping the poor than in using them as an indefatigable source of wretchedness on which to fuel the expansion of her fundamentalist Roman Catholic beliefs.”

Still, some argue that even if Mother Teresa had ulterior motives, at least the people she cared for were better off for it. But others who have actually visited and worked in her medical centers wholeheartedly disagree.

The Horrific Conditions At Mother Teresa’s Medical Centers And Missions

Though Mother Teresa’s medical centers were meant to heal people, her patients were often subjected to conditions that made them even sicker. In the same documentary, an Indian journalist compared Mother Teresa’s flagship location for “Missionaries of Charity” to photographs that he had seen of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Nazi Germany.

“Workers washed needles under tap water and then reused them. Medicine and other vital items were stored for months on end, expiring and still applied sporadically to patients,” said Hemley Gonzalez, a noted humanitarian who briefly volunteered at Missionaries of Charity.

Gonzalez continued, “Volunteers with little or no training carried out dangerous work on patients with highly contagious cases of tuberculosis and other life-threatening illnesses. The individuals who operated the charity refused to accept and implement medical equipment and machinery that would have safely automated processes and saved lives.”

It wasn’t just volunteers who criticized Mother Teresa’s treatment of patients, either. In her hospice care centers, Mother Teresa practiced her belief that patients only needed to feel wanted and die at peace with God — not receive proper medical care — and medical experts went after her for it.

In 1994, the British medical journal The Lancet reported that medicine was scarce in her centers and that patients received nothing close to the treatment that they needed to relieve their pain.

Meanwhile, some doctors took to calling her missions “homes for the dying” since her Calcutta home for the sick had a mortality rate of more than 40 percent. But in her view, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

In response to all the criticism, Mother Teresa allegedly said, “There is something beautiful in seeing the poor accept their lot, to suffer it like Christ’s Passion. The world gains much from their suffering.”

However, when it came to her own suffering, Mother Teresa apparently took a different stance. When she began experiencing severe heart problems, she received care in a modern American hospital.

The Questionable Company That Mother Teresa Kept Throughout Her Life

While neglecting the needs of the sick, Mother Teresa was also called out for rubbing elbows with several wealthy — and corrupt — world leaders.

This included Haitian dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier, who was eventually charged with crimes against humanity for his abuse of his fellow Haitians.

At one point, 60 Minutes released footage that showed Mother Teresa praising Duvalier’s wife Michele. In the footage, Mother Teresa said that she had “never seen the poor people being so familiar with their head of state as they were with her. It was a beautiful lesson for me.”

That wasn’t the only friendship that raised eyebrows. Mother Teresa also received $1.25 million from her friend Charles Keating.

Keating was one of the key figures behind the 1980s savings and loan crisis, brought about by housing market and loan speculation, which cost American taxpayers $124 billion. And while he was on trial, Mother Teresa wrote to the judge presiding over his case — seeking clemency for him.

“I do not know anything about Mr. Charles Keating’s work or his business or the matters you are dealing with,” she said. “I only know that he has always been kind and generous to God’s poor and always ready to help whenever there was a need. It is for this reason that I do not want to forget him now while he and his family are suffering.”

Though a co-prosecutor of Keating actually responded to Mother Teresa after his conviction — and pointed out that one of the people Keating stole from was a poor carpenter — he never got a response from her.

And that wasn’t the only issue related to Mother Teresa’s finances.

The Enduring Mystery Of Where Mother Teresa’s Money Went

Countless well-meaning Catholics gave money to Mother Teresa’s charitable organizations throughout the years, but many of them would never see their generous donations go toward good works.

Keating’s $1.25 million donation alone would seem large enough to lift all of those in her care out of poverty, but one volunteer said that “even when bread was over at the soup kitchens, none was bought unless donated.”

Once, after running up an $800 tab at a grocery store to feed people at her charity, Mother Teresa refused to get out of line until someone else paid.

A 1991 report in the German magazine Stern also estimated that only seven percent of the millions of dollars she received were used for charity.

But seven percent of what total figure, exactly? The world will never know. Nirmala Joshi, the leader of Missionaries of Charity who succeeded Mother Teresa, said the donations were “countless,” and there was only one person with the actual numbers. “God knows,” Joshi said. “He is our banker.”

One is left to wonder where all of that money was actually going — and what happened to it after Mother Teresa’s death.

Mother Teresa’s Views On Reproductive Rights

Though it’s not surprising that a Catholic nun would be against abortion, Mother Teresa still raised eyebrows when she discussed her stance while she was accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979.

In reference to Bosnian women who had been raped by Serbs and who were seeking abortions for their unwanted pregnancies, Mother Teresa said, “I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a direct war, a direct killing — direct murder by the mother herself.”

She also rallied against birth control, claiming that “natural family planning” would solve the woes of women who were not ready for a child.

What Mother Teresa did promote in the realm of family planning — like abstinence — didn’t help anyone, either. And despite abstinence-only education being proven ineffective, she still stuck by her claims.

But even though she gained some critics for views like these, Mother Teresa was mostly successful at avoiding controversy while she was alive. However, a glimpse of her “dark side” would slip through the cracks every so often — especially when it came to her infamous homes for the sick. 

In hindsight, these issues are hard to ignore today. And it’s also difficult to understand why the Catholic Church decided to make Mother Teresa a saint. She may have been revered for helping the poor and the sick, but her practices ensured that they were mired in pain until their final moments.

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Reminder: Mother Teresa was a sadistic fundamentalist.