#cause Beard misses America

[fangirl-k8ee-ladyknight]

Is there/can there be a fic where for a team night, Richmond goes to see Deadpool and Wolverine and Collin loses his shit over welshpool?

1) Colin nearly crawls into the lap of whoever is sitting next to him in the theater with excitement.

2) Jamie giving Roy shit about “if the wolverine bloke can still look like that at sixty, what’s your excuse?”

3) after listening to Colin rave about welshpool (and the rest of the team rave about the movie in general), Roy sets up a friendly with wrexham so Colin can meet welshpool.

4) none of the team knows that Roy sets up the meetup but Jamie suspects and is adorable about it.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I have a request of a quick smutty piece for bearded Steve rogers. Y/N has been missing her boyfriend and she finds him sitting like this during an avengers party… and the rest I’ll let you work on that. 🥹🥹❤️🥵😏 take your time.. of course! 💖🩷🩷🩵🤍

Want You » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Y/N has been missing Steve a lot lately.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, (f receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, pet names (honey, sweetheart)

I hope you like it and thank you for requesting!🩵🩷 @katherineswritingsblog

Written on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes or typos.

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

DIVIDER IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to @firefly-graphics

You walked through the Avengers Compound to the main room, looking for your boyfriend. You saw him across the room, sitting in a chair with a drink in his hand and talking to Bucky. You walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Steve looked up at you and smiled. He lifted your hand and kissed it.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” You say, looking from Steve to Bucky.

“No not at all. I was about to get another drink.” Bucky says, standing up. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N.” He smiles before walking away.

“You too, Bucky.” You smiled back.

Steve motioned for you to sit on his lap which you did. He wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close to him.

“I was wondering where you were, sweetheart.” Steve says.

Steve’s eyes scanned your dress, loving the way it looks on your body.

“I missed you.” You say with a pout.

“I missed you too.” He says.

“No, I missed you.” You say.

You leaned in, kissing his lips. Steve tightened his grip on your waist. You pulled away, looking into his eyes and biting your bottom lip.

“Let’s go somewhere private.” You say in almost a whisper.

“You read my mind, sweetheart.” Steve says.

You two stand up, hand and hand, leaving the main room to go somewhere more private. You guys found a dimly lit supply closet and went in there quickly before anyone seen you two. The second the door shut, Steve kissed you hungrily and backed you up so your back was against the wall.

“Want you.” You say against his lips.

“You’ll get me, honey.” He says.

He moved his lips down to your neck. You gasped when you felt his teeth nip your skin, hard enough to leave a hickey. His beard scratched your skin in the way you love so much.

“Fuck me please.” You begged.

“Fuck, alright.” He sighs.

Steve unbuckled his belt and undid his pants while you took your panties off and bunched your dress up above your hips. You watched as he pulled his cock out of his boxers. His tip leaking with precum. He picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He rubbed his cock in between your wet folds, coating his cock with your wetness. He blindly found your entrance and slowly slid his cock inside of you, inch by inch causing your jaw to drop. Steve thrusts were slow and loving, which you love, but you wanted more.

“Faster!” You begged.

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. His hands got a better grip on your hips before he started fucking you faster. The sound of skin slapping filled the room.

“Oh my god, yes!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the wall.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the material of his button up shirt.

“You feel so fucking good, honey.” Steve says in your ear.

Steve placed his lips on yours, kissing you hungrily. You put your hand on the back of his head to intensify the kiss.

“I missed you.” You say against his lips.

“I missed you too.” He says.

His fingers found their way down to your clit and began rubbing it. You gasped and threw your head back.

“Fuck yes, Stevie!” You moaned.

“Missed this, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Steve says.

“Mhmm so much!” You moaned.

“I missed it too.” He says pants.

His fingers rubbed faster on your clit causing your pussy to clench around his cock.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” Steve moans, tilting his head back.

His thrusts got faster and his fingers rubbing your clit made your orgasm come closer and closer.

“Stevie, I’m gonna cum!” You whimpered.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” Steve whispers in your ear.

That’s was enough to send you over the edge. His name left your lips as you came. Steve’s grip on you tightened when he felt his orgasm nearing.

“Shit!” Steve curses, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

You felt him cum inside of you, painting your walls. His thrusts came to a slow stop. You guys took a moment to catch your breath before he pulled out of you. Steve gently put you back on the ground and you two got redressed. You were about to open the door, but Steve cupped your cheeks and kissed you passionately.

“Round 2 later?” Steve asks.

“You read my mind, Captain.” You grinned against his lips.

-Bucky’s Doll

[officialleehadan]

On Embassy Grounds

Hello darlings! today's story was brought to you by SLK! Darling, thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: On Both Sides, with the Old Powers coming in.

+++

It had been a long time since the last gathering of Old Powers. So long, in fact, that Andrei wasn’t one of them himself. He was an active Power, but he came in at the request of his old mentor, Boris, better known back then as Cannonfire. He was a metal-based Power like Andre, and one of the few back then who could teach Andrei the ropes.

Boris was dead, taken by cancer some years back. Andrei wished he was still around. He missed his old mentor, and he would have been glad to have the man at his back.

No use wishing for what he couldn’t have.

The room was arranged by Vengeance, who kept an embassy handy in the city he once terrorized. It was, Andrei suspected, largely a matter of amused spite. Vengeance was easily entertained by upsetting the people who would love to do something about him, and who couldn’t touch him without starting an international incident. There wasn’t a country in the world that would stay quiet about another world leader being grabbed on embassy grounds, no matter who that person was.

His embassy, however, also boasted a large, neutral space for them to get together for a discussion about what was going on in their community.

“Ven, it’s good to see you again,” Andrei greeted Vengeance with a firm handshake and a clap on the shoulder. Vengeance was a very tall man who boasted a healthy tan from his small, tropical country in South America. It didn’t hurt that he was from South America himself, and embraced the land of his family whole-heartedly. His hair was longer than it had been the last time Andrei saw him, and he boasted both a very fine suit, and a very fine beard. “Thanks for coming so far.”

“I told you, if you ever needed help, to call me,” Vengeance told him seriously, and shook Belle’s hand next. She knew him, of course. He had hosted them for a vacation two years back, and Belle was close friends with his wife, Elena. “From your call, I should have come sooner.”

“We needed cause,” Andrei assured him in return and followed his friend into the wide meeting room, where the rest of their motley crew, villains, heroes, and civilians, were all gathered. It wasn’t a big enough room to need a microphone, so Andre didn’t bother with the podium that dominated one side of the room. “Hey, quiet down you lot! Is everyone here?”

“We have a couple more flying in tonight, but we’ll fill them in later,” Remedy spoke up from her chair. She was heading up the Hero side of the room. There were a lot of old enemies in the room, but everyone who answered the call knew there were more important things than their rivalries. Vengeance sat across from Remedy, heading up the Villains side as one of the oldest, but also one of the most powerful of the Powers in the room. If one of the villains caused a problem, he would handle it. “Go ahead and get the party started.”

“Right,” Andrei said and looked around the room. He knew most of the people in the room. Had fought some, and fought alongside others. Some were enemies of his and had killed friends and allies. He could let all of that go under the current threat. “Most of us were too young for the last meeting of thee Old Powers, and I’m glad for that. It means we haven’t had to deal with a problem like this in a long time. Thank you all for coming.”

“When someone puts out the call, we come,” Ruinous said from Vengeance’s right hand. His Power was terrakinesis, and he made a true danger of himself in California some decades ago. After Vengeance, he was the oldest villain at the table, and retired after losing both his legs to a freak car accident. Andrei called him personally, in case they needed to crack a prison. Between his own power over metal and Ruin’s stone-shaping, there wasn’t a building in the world they couldn’t rip apart. “What’s the problem, Evensteel? Takes a big problem to get everyone involved like this.”

“Junior Powers are being kidnapped,” Andrei said grimly and was darkly pleased when the murmurs around the table silenced into a hard, angry silence. “I don’t have a full list of names, but the most recent is my apprentice, Jackhammer. Brickmaker was there for his kidnapping. I was occupied with Vapor.”

“Someone jumped me from behind and hit Jackhammer at the same time,” Brickmaker said. He, of course, was present because he was furious at the attack, and about ready to level a city if it came to that. Between him and Ruinous, they had the stone-shaping completely covered. Andrei was glad to have them both. “I was awake about long enough to see him bundled up. Don’t know who got him but they were fast, and they were professional.”

“Dreamsurge has admitted to, and previously attempted to, take Jackhammer from me,” Andrei told the collected Powers, who were muttering again, but now in a decidedly hostile way. “I assume she is involved, and so is whoever she’s working for. That’s the first step. Who is running this, and how many of our kids have they grabbed? Reach out. Friends, allies, informants. We need to find them before we can get them back.”

“I’ve already started reaching out through my government’s information network,” Vengeance said, and traded nods with a few of the other Powers, who worked with various governments. “I’m happy to make this an official inquiry with the United Nations as well if we need to escalate.”

“I’ll back you,” Peace Lily said from across the table. She was a healer like Remedy, and worked with the United Nations, arranging aid missions. If there was anyone who could get the world’s eyes on the Powered Coalition, it would be them. “We all have informants. No one leaves the community without making sure we have eyes and ears to keep us posted. But Evensteel, what will you be doing while we lead the search?”

“I’m going to be the target that keeps them distracted,” Andrei said, and allowed himself a smile that made the Powers who knew him shiver in sudden alarm. Most of the Powers around the table were old enough to remember the last time he taught a lesson. Two of them, Monstertruck and Wildgrowth, both retired rather than keep fighting Andrei after that. He traded nods with them. Their enmity was long over and he was glad they answered the call.  “It’s been a while since I let everyone see what I’m capable of. If anyone here has friends in the Coalition HQ, it’s time to get them out. When I’m done, it’s going to be a pile of rubble and I’m going to be damn sure our kids aren’t hidden under our noses.”

+++

On Both Sides: (FULL COLLECTION)

Sanctuary Order

Home Safe Home (Subscriber Only!)

Sanctuary Enforced (Subscriber Only!)

Truth Truth Lie

New Hero (Subscriber Only!)

Rescue Team

Building Structure

Kidnapping Babies (Subscriber Only!)

Tag Teamwork (Subscriber Only!)

Light Saved (Subscriber Only!)

Call the Uncles (Subscriber Only!)

Metal Web Warnings (Subscriber Only!)

Useful Destruction

Old Enemy Returned (Subscriber Only!)

Metal Fight

To The Death

Recovery Time 

Phone Tree Awakened (NEW!)

On Embassy Grounds (NEW!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[mariana-oconnor]

The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax pt 1

Well, that title is a little different from the usual ones.

“The bath!” he said; “the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?”

So Watson has been to the Turkish baths? As part of a 'alternative' lifestyle. Right. Got it. Okay then.

Nice to have an introduction of Holmes teasing Watson with deductions about him.

“One of the most dangerous classes in the world,” said he, “is the drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crime in others."

I'd like to congratulate Holmes here on giving such an incredible example of victim blaming. Just, beautifully done. Pure, unsullied victim blaming. And in such a way that it blames all single female victims. Bravo.

"There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries."

I assume that this is specifically vs married ladies who would not have to handle their own money, but the way it's phrased does make me chuckle. Because no one else must live except Single ladies, and no one else uses banks.

"Besides, on general principles it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes."

Lestrade when Sherlock goes away.

So Holmes is just sending Watson on holiday? Is this just because Watson's feeling rheumatic and old? Is there even a case? Historically, though, Watson has never done all too well on his own - at least according to Holmes. He usually misses every piece of information Holmes would like him to get.

Marie Devine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actually engaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel...

That explains the money given to her, then.

He connected the sudden departure with the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. “Un sauvage—un véritable sauvage!” cried Jules Vibart.

Do we have anyone else's word about this other than the maid and her waiter's?

Only one thing Jules would not discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress.

So it... wasn't to marry him? That seems like a reason to me, but I don't really know, I suppose. I would have assumed she just left because she wanted to get married to someone who loved in Lausanne. It would definitely be easier if she didn't have to leave Lausanne whenever Lady Frances wanted.

While there she had made the acquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from South America. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort and occupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger's remarkable personality, his whole hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint.

These people seem suspicious. But I can't say why. Maybe just because they seem too religious to be true. A disease contracted in the exercise of his duties? It just kind of feels like a scam to me. Maybe I'm wrong.

“None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type.” “A savage?” said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustrious friend.

I mean... objection: leading the witness springs to mind. Don't give a person a description, ask them for a description, Watson.

Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog.

I'm pretty sure you're just creating a whole new smoke cloud to add to the fog so you can see even less, but sure.

I'm not 100% convinced this savage wasn't Holmes himself in disguise, but I am a very suspicious person.

In reply I had a telegram asking for a description of Dr. Shlessinger's left ear. Holmes's ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jest...

I don't think that was a joke, Watson. I think he actually wanted to know about the guy's ear.

“You are an Englishman,” I said. “What if I am?” he asked with a most villainous scowl. “May I ask what your name is?” “No, you may not,” said he with decision. The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best.

You've already been fairly direct, Watson. Running up to a random person and declaring their nationality without even stopping to say bonjour is kind of rude.

And now you're getting attacked.

“Well, Watson,” said he, “a very pretty hash you have made of it! I rather think you had better come back with me to London by the night express.”

I mean, I hate to say I told you so, Watson but I really did tell you so. Holmes, why do you let Watson go unsupervised when he never manages to do what you want? I know Lestrade would pine without you, but I'm sure he could cope for a few weeks. Probably.

Current theory is that Holmes only sent Watson so he could get some fresh Alpine air. As to what happened to Lady Frances, I have no idea. But I think maybe the 'savage' is on her side, not against her.

[jamietwat]

Ya know. Your version of the yoga moms very much strike me as they'd get behind shipping Royjamie as soon as they find out they're sharing a girlfriend.

Lol im imagining one of them as a retired engineer just pointing out triangles are stronger than v's when pressure is applied.

Roy’s going to think he’s being so subtle and normal about Jamie as if it isn’t just a matter of time after the yoga mums meet Jamie before they send Roy something off his own social media like “Does this mean we can stop pretending the three of you aren’t obviously dating?”

Also Roy is far too worried about what they’d think about polyamory as if he doesn’t watch dating shows where everyone’s dating everyone with them

But really there’s going to be a point where it’s

Yoga Mums 🤝 Colin 🤝 Trent 🤝 Rebecca 🤝 Beard 🤝 Isaac all knowing exactly what’s going on and just not outright saying anything about it because they haven’t directly been told and they’re clearly not supposed to know and they don’t want to be the one that causes whatever Roy’s reaction to them knowing would be (except for Trent who is more playing dumb around Jamie and Keeley)

And then there’s Ted off in America without a clue in the fucking world and at one point he’s gonna be on a video call asking Beard about anything new that he’s missed and Beard’s just like “Well, Roy and Jamie are dating now” after they’ve already told the team and Ted’ll start laughing and be like “good one, Coach” and then have to panic backtrack so fast when Roy pops into frame with an especially angry face and asks “What the fuck are you laughing about?”

[karlie-what-you-want]

i wanna know your take on this but i thought of this in the shower last night:

one of the main references to “joe” in taylors music is the “hes poor” joke. with paper rings, the rubies she gave up in maroon, the life she gave away in midnight rain, etc. but i think it relates back to her fame. fame = money and with her being the poster heterosexual good-girl for america, she makes sooo much money off of people seeing her that way. with the failed coming out during the lover era; if she were to have come out she would be giving away that perfect american dream life that is clearly important to her (in miss americana she has an entire segment about how she is obsessed with being good and not getting in trouble). which in turn means giving away her money and her fame because realistically so many fans would not be fans anymore if she came out. she talks a lot in her songs about how she was so willing to give it all up to be herself (to be with karlie) and to live her life freely. then the masters heist happened, causing her to lose money from her music because of something she can’t control. in my opinion, this caused her to have a reality check on what it would really be like if she came out. the loss of money and fame: what she has worked so hard to have in her life all because of something she can’t control (being gay). i think it all hit her what she would really be giving away if she came out. because of champagne problems and the constant marriage rejection plot in her music i think she got scared and backed out of coming out. then karlie moved on and truly started being with josh kushner, taylor got sad, on and on.

what is your take on this? does that even make sense? am i just gay and crazy?

There are some parts of this take that I really like! I have often pondered the masters heist, lover era, and the failed coming out. I think a lot of us have wondered the full reasons for why the loss of her mastered could have delayed a coming out for THIS long, and while any reason is valid, I think your take grasps the nuance in a way that I haven’t seen many others explain eloquently.

Perhaps at that time, she got a taste of what that kind of loss could be like and in turn lost her nerve. I’m sure there are other things that factored in as well, but I think you’re right, that it’s much easier to say you’re ready for something until it’s staring you in the face (til someone’s on their knees and asks you). So in addition to the numbers game that any big league celeb would be playing when coming out, Taylor might have also just thought “Wow, after the hell of losing my masters, I really don’t need the emotional toll of losing fans or having people say hurtful slurs at me.”

The one thing I have to question is the idea that Karlie would go from being Josh’s beard to marrying him for real. This doesn’t seem reasonable to me. I am of the belief that while Taylor and Karlie have clearly experienced hardships as a couple, they are still together and happy. That’s why Taylor keeps referencing Karlie in her art, and it’s how Karlie knows enough to keep hinting at Taylor’s projects before they’re announced or revealed.

I truly do not think that one could start off being contractually obligated to fake a relationship with someone and then fall in love with them for real, and I don’t imagine Karlie doing that out of spite either. Not to mention that Josh is actually married to a man named Mikey Hess 😅 If you have time for a quick google search (or better yet, tumblr search) on that couple, I highly recommend. It’s a fascinating little rabbit hole with a lot of verifiable evidence.

Thank you for the thoughtful message! This was a great read.

[thebibliomancer]

Earth X #2

I’m seeing a couple Things, a Giant-Sized Thing, a bearded Doom, and a whole lot of Kirby krackle. This issue must focus on the Fantastic Four.

What does this Bad Future have in store for the first family of Marvel? Nothing good, probably.

First of all, yes, Uatu is still being a massive prick. To Aaron Stack specifically and also just in general.

When Uatu is recapping the concept of the Fantastic Four for Aaron/the audience, he scornfully calls Reed’s concern for Ben Grimm something that limited Reed.

I thought Uatu liked the superheroes of Earth but he’s had a bad couple years, getting mysteriously blinded and all. Still though.

The Inhuman royal family shows up on Ben Grimm’s doorstep on their quest to find the missing prince.

Ben is actually retired from the superhero game. Retired and married to Alicia with two mini Thing children.

Alicia herself was affected by the mass empowering event. She’s got Kirby krackle eyes and can imbue life in her sculptures.

The Inhumans ask what the heck happened to the Fantastic Four while they were gone and Ben shares the sad story.

The mass empowering caused food shortages. I dunno if it’s because everyone needed so many more calories or whether the supply lines were just disrupted.

Consequently, countries began fishing EVEN MORE to feed their citizens. Which was related to the ocean and so pissed off Namor.

When the UN met to discuss the food crisis, Namor asked for a seat at the table. But the UN didn’t recognize Atlantis as a real place and told him to fuck off.

So Doom was easily able to recruit Namor in a scheme to attack the UN and hold the food supply hostage.

He who controls the hamburgers, controls the world.

Captain America and the Fantastic Four jumped into action to stop them. And Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, decides he’s got Namor.

Except Namor has him.

Namor kills Johnny. Right in front of Franklin. Who I guess has never had to really reckon with death.

(You brought him to the battle? You couldn’t get a babysitter or something?)

Enraged, Franklin uses his reality manipulation powers to wish Namor was constantly on fire.

The burning fish man flees screaming into the ocean, leaving the Terrific Three and Captain America to confront Doom.

Doom tries to bargain for his life against a FURIOUS Sue by claiming he knows what caused the mass empowering and he knows how to fix it.

Reed rejects the notion in disbelief because the mass empowering, what fucked the world, was caused by an experiment he was running to use vibranium to bring free energy to the world. Surely!

Vibranium altered the whole of humanity on a cellular level! That’s the explanation Reed believes!

(I have some doubts, given Doom suggested an alternative theory existed but never explained it.)

And then Doom exits scene pursued by Sue and both seemingly explode.

In grief, Reed takes over as Doctor Doom. Moving into Doom’s castle in Latveria and wearing Doom’s armor and working ceaselessly on trying to fix the world.

He works with equally shut-in and beardy Tony Stark over video chat but Tony is losing hope this is a problem they can fix. That maybe this is just the new normal and they’re obsolete.

These are the thoughts Tony thinks if he goes too long without shaving.

Also, in the issue, Captain America in his flag toga and Wyatt Wingfoot break into the crashed Helicarrier to use Nick Fury’s flying car to get to California to investigate the new Red Skull.

(The background info of last issue suggested that Nick Fury is dead but that there are tons of his old Life Model Decoys causing trouble around the world.)

The all-new all-different Daredevil finally appears. He’s the daredevil for a circus, the man without fear because nothing can kill him.

I cannot fathom so far why this new Daredevil gets so much focus. He appeared on the cover of issue 1 despite not appearing in person. There were posters of him in the backgrounds of some scenes in issue 1 and the Thing children were watching him on TV. And now he gets a whole extended sequence at the circus where the audience is invited to shoot flamethrowers at him.

Then minions of the Red Skull show up to kidnap the audience.

Hi Domino, Sunspot, and Sandman.

Guess there’s going to be some spot the cameo with Red Skull’s crowd.

Back of the book worldbuilding info: the mutated world has been great for some people. The Moloids enjoy surface tourism and revere Reed as a saint on the assumption he caused it.

The Skrulls and Kree have refugee populations on Earth after their forever war reduced both empires to a cinder.

And although the mutants were blamed for the mass empowering event, they blend in far too well to catch hate anymore.

Other popular theories were: the government caused it, a curse caused it, and evolution caused it.

So I’m assuming that none of those are correct and neither is Reed’s theory about the vibranium energy project being the cause.

There’s so many issues left. And this is the big mystery. The correct answer surely is not on the table yet.

So to sum up: Avengers dead, half the Fantastic Four dead, Captain America is wearing a toga, Norman Osborn runs America, mind control alien squid on the loose, and a new Red Skull causing trouble.

Earth X is a mess.

[alarrytale]

Hello Marte!

A little ask for you as I just want to understand it all completely - why was H saying "We're all a little bit gay, aren’t we" that big deal? He said it after years again during my show in Vienna which also makes me wonder if it was because he knows his "iconic" quotes and how popular it became or it´s just his sublte way to express he´s gay but if he´ll say it every other show it won´t be that big deal.

Also wondering about the missing English breakfast while on tour gif from like 2013-2014? Hope you´ll remember which one I mean, it was from some interview on red carpet I guess, H was wearing beige jacket and he´s holding microfone and fonding like crazy while looking down to the floor. What was the context and why it was such a big deal for larries? I know that Louis said he has a proper english breakfast and how happy it made him for some interview last year while touring in US but that gif with H was during 1D so Louis was with him all the time.

And my last question. How do you think Louis deals with H stunting when it comes to him doing pda with those women? We know they both were really jealous about each other in the beginning and it breaks my heart both of them had to deal with their closet this way and went that far with acting straight that they had to do pda. But imo it´s worse with H ´cause he´s a big celebrity with his womanizerTM image and him doing pda always end up in tabloids ´cause we all are meant to see it. Idk but it makes me really sad whenever I saw him kissing his stunt and that´s not how gf harries like call it "you´re jealous ´cause it´s not you, he will never date you" but it´s just makes me so weird to see him go this far and cross this intimate line and I just don´t want to see him doing this while I´m just a random person but...how Louis must feel? And especially during that awful 2 years of h*livia when she was clinging on him like crazy thinking she can actually make him fall in love with him, the yachtgate 2.0 when she touched him while he was almost naked, he had to kiss her etc. Idk how hard it can be for H but imo it´s much worse for his real partner.

Hi, anon!

It was a big deal because it was the first time (and one of the only times) he's said the G-word (gay). He also basically admitted to being gay. He hid it behind a claim that everyone is a little bit gay (that's just not true). I think he said it because he knew he could get away with it (it did create plenty of headlines though).

About the english breakfast incident. I think you're mixing things up a bit. 1D was performing on Good Morning America in november 2013. They were interviewed on stage between songs, and they were asked what they miss the most when they're away from home. Louis answered a good fry up and started to explain everything that's needed to make a perfect English breakfast.

We all know he can't cook for shit, so someone at home most be cooking this for him to miss it. Harry looked particularly guilty lol. It's just domestic!larry and confirmation that H cooks breakfast for L. H also confirmed he was single in this interview, so it was good times.

I think L deals okay with H stunting and doing PDA with women. I think it was harder for him in the beginning. I also think it's harder for him when H isn't getting along with the beard or when fandom buys into the stunt. I think both H and L approach their stunts like an actor. For all we know it's rehearsed, discussed and maybe they even got intimacy coordinators involved. H knows how hard it felt when L was stunting with E, so they've both gone through it and know how the other one feels. I think L is busy doing his thing and he isn't exposing himself to the stunt articles, narrative and pictures. Why would he? If seeing pics of H doing PDA is hurting him, or he's seeing H hurting while doing it, he won't look. He knows how this goes and is used to it by now.

[itr0ars]

the shriek of tetanal wind chimes, grammatically incorrect swahili inscribed into the politically incorrect dream catcher threatening to give her a concussion and a half, alert all possible threats to cady’s position. her steps come to a screeching halt. she is a half inch taller than decreed by mother nature yet feels as though the room’s artificiality will consume her at any moment leaving her a half-inch-tall pile of sequins on the floor. 

mara banks is real in the sense that she has a mouth that is moving and there are noises coming out of her mouth. mara banks is real in the sense that there’s news footage flashing through cady’s mind with the saturation and sensationalism cranked up to one thousand and while the tabloids may not tell all, the photographs tell cady that there’s something going on. mara banks is real in the sense that there is an ancient sticky note on her parents’ refrigerator barely responding to the life support of various natgeo stickers telling her that america is filled with violence and hate and everyone’s on opioids and if cady squints in this stupidly bright neon light the tattered curves and edgy contours of mara’s body become that sticky note.

@childactress — ❛  you're completely out of your element here, aren't you?  ❜ ( accepting. )

" miss banks, " she manages to greet through chattering teeth. there’s a smile on her face, but it’s one of obligation and recognition (are those synonymous?) rather than the non-red-stained arrangement of canines that would suggest significant reassurance. not that she isn’t happy to see mara. not that she wouldn’t be happier seeing the ghost of christmas future. “ i am in all my elements right now, actually. darwin saw me and was like, wow, girl, i was totally wrong about evolution ‘cause it took you one generation to get this cool instead of millions. but he said it all through his giant beard so you probably didn’t hear him. ”

‎‎ “ look, two negatives make a positive. i’ll be fine. ” if there is one element she is forever familiar with, it is that of distraction. “ do you, um, do you need help with that? ”

[goblin-phannie]

writing my ted lasso predictions down here so i can refer back to them if i’m (a) completely wrong or (b) absolutely right and i can show off

- ted’s big reveal and truth to rebecca is gonna be that he’s leaving to go home to america to spend more time with his son (we saw how much the reveal that his son misses him affected ted when his mom told him so this makes a lot of sense, it’s also expected to be the final episode so it nicely bookends his time in england)

- this is gonna leave the head coach of richmond position open for either beard or more likely nate to take over, thus giving richmond a fantastic coaching lineup for their final match of the season

- the match in question will obviously be between richmond and west ham and whilst it will likely be close for that sweet drama richmond will win out in the end, probably with goals from jaime, colin and sam

- this will be the final part of trent’s book about the team and he will likely read an excerpt to the team at some point to encourage or praise them/ted

- rebecca is going to finish her character progression by helping out bex and rupert’s old assistant to take him down and i think her and bex will end up going to the game together in richmond colours. maybe keeley joins them at some point for a girlie squad moment

- speaking of keeley, she and roy will obviously get together again, more than likely with support/blessing from jaime to round off his character arc and the trio’s relationship with each other

- all the richmond boys go and celebrate in may’s pub after the game and we have a final shot of everyone - ted, nate, rebecca, leslie, keeley, roy, the lads etc enjoying themselves eating and drinking for the final scene. maybe colin finally introduces his boyfriend to them as the person he’s dating and trent looks over them all like a proud dad

- then we all cry cause it’s over :((

[calypso-finale]

Seventy Seven.

I haven’t seen the kids since I come back, Robyn has been in Barbados since and hasn’t even attempted to come back at all, but I did talk to her and she is back today but I’m going Vegas, Oakley birthday trips and I was invited to come, I wasn’t going to deny not going because I got an invite and my daughter is splashing out a lot and I said relax but she said it’s whatever, so I am going there and going to turn up. Robyn has got a face on with me when she is the one that said what she said, how is this even my fault it makes me laugh to think. I came back a week ago and she was still in Barbados so what was that even about, she can’t holler about it when she was still in Barbados at the time, I came back to spend time with the kids but she will say it’s my fault for leaving and I honestly don’t care, she has her chance to come back but just complained on the phone about nothing, Ti is staying behind in Barbados because she’s feeling a little upset about things and then Taylan is staying too, Imani is coming back at least but if I was depressed I wouldn’t go to Barbados because those people are depressive on their own. I am not arguing with Robyn we haven’t even fell out, this whole thing is just a disagreement, things happen, and adults have disagreements. This whole thing isn’t us falling out but I’m sure Robyn will push it to them, my main concern is Rylee. I just don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t want to consider moving back to America if something happens to him, I feel she will get a better support network, but she won’t agree to it, I feel like that Oakley will be ok, that five year plan he will pull through, I have a good feeling. He just got to be hopeful about it all, I think the surgery went well so what makes him think he can’t beat this, he can. It was caught early but we never know in life, my ears perked up I think they are back now actually so this will be drama. I mean I won’t cause anything because I am going to act like everything is fine, I know that will annoy her even more, but I refuse to just argue about nothing.

Emi came running to me when she saw me “woah, woah! Little miss wobbly” picking her up “my fat little momma you missed daddy?” She pointed at Robyn “mommy” letting out an oh “you miss mommy instead but what about me” kissing her cheek “Barbados sucks dad” Junior said “why?” I questioned “because I couldn’t play any football! Momo said I was being too loud and whatever” oh he is moody “alright son” he’s walked off “what is wrong with your brother?” I asked, “mom hit him because he said to momo a bad word” letting out an oh “that is not good, go and get your brother for me” turning to the door and seeing momo is here, oh we in for a shit ride “oh you’re here” I said “hi to you too” she said “what happened with Junior?” I asked Robyn “ask him, he shouldn’t be swearing that’s what!” I groaned out walking off, these kids. Making my way to the games room, he ran into there of course he did but I mean he can’t be swearing at Monica either way, that can’t happen “dad said he wants you!” Raihan spat “no!” He spat back, moving Raihan to the side “Junior” Emi is playing with my beard, she is trying is trying pull at my beard actually “Junior, come here. Shut the door Raihan. Either you stay here, or you go out” I said to him, he closed the door “what is wrong? Speak to me” I asked him “what? Nothing is wrong” he shrugged “but you swore at your elder and we don’t do that so why?” He needs to explain himself “because she just talks! And then you never there dad, mom says she is upset and stressed out and then momo said you’re not good and never was and then she told me off and I said fuck off she is rude! You are never there dad! Mom is upset because you aren’t there” he spat “apologise to Momo and your mom, is that what your mom dad? Your face” he nodded his head “if you was there dad this wouldn’t have happened, it’s annoying. And you both argue, I hate it” he sobbed out and my heart fell for him “don’t cry” wrapping my arm around him “why aren’t you there?” He sniffled “because your other siblings are also going through things too, I’m sorry” I apologised to him “it’s hard but I did tell you kids I would be away, you can’t be mad at me now” I get I was away but I can’t help it “you need to apologise, I don’t care what you was feeling, you do not disrespect elders” he needs to be told, clearly Robyn already hit him but needs to know.

I have been spoilt by my girlfriend really, and the fact she flew out all my friends with us and her friends, but we couldn’t just allow her to do that, I said I couldn’t anyways, so we agreed that we go halves on the jet, and she got us a penthouse suite. I am so excited, the Bellagio is amazing, but I feel like maybe she is doing too much for me, like I don’t deserve it “what happened to you last night?” Rylee asked “oh yeah” I laughed “man I was just tired, jet lag you know” Rylee pulled a face “we have been here two days now, what you mean? You just be dazed and then half way through sex you did it again and then, you just turned around and fell asleep” I laughed “lot on my mind sometimes, what can I say. It’s just draining to me that I have a lot on my mind then trying to contend with the day ahead, by time night comes I’m tired, it’s nothing big or bad you know but I apologise” she peeped me acting off like that “yeah I peeped you, you know I never liked a man with a man bun or long hair” I shrugged “I’ll be losing it though won’t I, least I’ll be hairless” her face dropped “you didn’t have to switch it to that did you” rubbing my leg as I shrugged “I’m just saying, I just grew it out” getting up from the bed “yeah well I was just saying I don’t like a man with a man bun, it’s just first for me and then you had to mention you will be losing it anyways, you didn’t need to do that Oakley you know that upsets me” oh now she is going to complain “it’s whatever Lee, don’t need to like care about what I said, I am saying it about me really aren’t I” she frowned at me and I frowned back but laughed “it’s fine, but like my hair is long I don’t know, I will cut it maybe before you know, I just yeah, this is why I be wearing hats but at home I don’t, I didn’t know it annoyed you” I didn’t “it doesn’t, I am just jealous, you have bundles” I chuckled “alright, I see how it is” she is funny, I can’t help it but I do have a lot of hair and I like to grow it out, maybe I will let he braid it before we go to Atlanta, that might be a good idea.

Lee’ friends are just like her, I just be sat here watching them because they talk a lot and I don’t know how their men deal with it, I think they talk more then Lee “can you put this in the bin please” I said as Lee walked by me “here” placing my half eaten apple in her hand “you’re very quiet” Diji said “I think your friends are here” Lee said “that is just me, I be just people watching” I smiled “that is not a bad thing but you are so quiet just watching” I grinned “I know, wonder how Rylee likes me, I was quiet before she even met me. Like my fans would make memes out of me for standing because I just be watching, I don’t say anything until needed, that is me” Dapping Wadz “this is my boys Wadz if you haven’t met him” I pointed “oh hi, we met before. You forget” I laughed “yeah, yeah, you did . My bad” Wyge and the rest of my friends sat down “you all look like you ready to go on the rob” looking at them “it’s hot you know” Antony complained “trust me, well we can just scope out some things, meaning a break away from Lee” I knew she was coming, Wyge looked at Rylee “she causing issues?” he asked, looking at Rylee “issues, the only thing causing issues is his man bun he has created. Just look” she lifted my hat off my head, my boys are used to me “yoo, this is nothing. You ain’t seen the full package. You ain’t seen a seventeen year old Oakley, oh my god, Wyge. His long hair, remember he dyed his hair” rolling my eyes “he had blonde in his hair” Rylee side eyed me “don’t you dare” she pointed “I was young!” I defended “I can’t lie Oakley you look cute with a man bun, stop hiding it” Lillian complimented “see a woman with taste, Lee is just boring” Rylee swatted Lillian “don’t encourage him” shaking my head “Oakley been that kid where they didn’t know if he was white or not, he left school and he was bulky, like the guy had stomach and he was chubby. He just hit eighteen and he just went skinny, guy was sunk. Mental” I shrugged “Juke is still fat though, I don’t know” I shrugged “life, maybe pre-journey to cancer” the whole room groaned out “you got what?” Diji asked “Colin and Diji don’t know” Rylee said “well I am sure you can tell, I am going to go with the boys for a while, be back” Diji is shocked, like mouth open “bro what? You got what” getting up “he has skin cancer” Colin gasped “he makes sly comments about it, idiot” walking over to Rylee to touch her face and she swatted me “lowering the tone ass” Halle spat “I am so sorry, no what. He is the coolest guy” I will leave Rylee to it.

I can’t lie, it is a little warm over here “thank you” Antony got me a drink “you can sit in the sun?” he asked, “why can’t I?” I asked “nah, I am just saying can you?” he sat across from me “I don’t know” I laughed “I suppose I can, I mean whatever. I don’t know” I sighed out “stressed out of my ass but still trying to have fun” I mumbled “I love you bro” I smiled at him “I love you too” I mumbled “stressed about what” I sighed out “life, you know wanting to do what is best for me and wanting to do that tour. Then I realise that, I will be losing hair, going out with no eyebrows. Maybe if I delay the treatment” he kissed his teeth “fuck no, you dumbass. Fuck that life, it’s nothing. Just like relax it, you may not lose a thing” I shrugged, Wadz and Wyge sat down “talk to this dickhead man, you heard him” Antony pointed “delay treatment over some tour, fuck off” Wadz laughed “he ain’t doing shit like that, you know. Ybeez ain’t fucking announcing shit, this is why he ain’t said shit, you can’t do that” chewing on my bottom lip “that is it though, I have bills to pay, I have shit to do” I pointed out “we are hustlers! We always been hustlers, fuck that shit. Your clothing line, that shit will be pushed, don’t worry. Don’t fucking piss me off with your antics”  I sighed out “aren’t you Central Cee? Oh my god, you are” looking up at this white lady and a few friends “I don’t know, am I?” I said, she got big boobs I give her that for a white woman, I just turned my head “I love your music” looking at Wadz “Wadz you are so cute” I laughed “you here for Wadz” I said “Wadz is the real star here init, go on” the boys all laughed “I am just trying to eat right now” he is a trip “he is looking for a woman though” sitting up on the chair just laughing.

The fact my boys can get girls, they can have fun then I am all for it “I really cannot believe you here in the beach club just drinking water” I shrugged “I am Muslim didn’t you know?” I laughed “you’re such a liar” I chuckled “you never know though; you like my friend Wadz. He is a good guy” I smiled “I mean he could be a good guy but the guy we want to speak too is you” letting out an oh “mhmm well that is a shame, I am a taken man. You said you like my music right, what is it? If it’s Doja then you can go” Wyge snorted laughing “oh wow, you are so mean, but I like that erm, Obsessed with you” I grinned “I wrote that about my girlfriend, if you sing it then maybe I will take a picture with you, you been asking” I pointed “you do this with every girl” shaking my head “just some, it’s like a test you know. The real fans” she scoffed “you drive a hard bargain Cench, is your name really Oakley?” I laughed “you know me then, wow, ok. It is, I have my license on me I think” digging into my pocket, grabbing my driving license “look” she came over “oh my god, your name is fully Oakley” looking at her and her boobs are in my face, I moved back “yeah, yeah. That is it” putting it back in my pocket “imagine moaning that out loudly” I busted out laughing “I don’t know, I have to ask my girlfriend that, she is ok with it” I shrugged “you like to add in your girlfriend don’t you, like some added spice” I smirked “mhmm I do” nodding my head “I knew your government now so get up” she placed her hand on my shoulder “I wanted you to perform though” I frowned “you playing me, you British boys are not good people” I chuckled “nah I will get up” standing up “Wyge, let her friend take the picture before she doesn’t leave me alone” he is all into her friend now, her friend got up and got her phone out “I will take it on mine and send it” taking in a deep breath and stood next to her “are you scared to come near me, oh my god” she said “nah but still” I just laughed “I ain’t ever going to see you again so you need to make it look like we just got married” I pulled a face “nah, nah. Not like that now” I chuckled, she pulled me in for a hug “relax now” I laughed, moving her arms from around my neck “just simple picture, this girl is moving mad” Wadz laughed out “relax with my friend” Rimz actually spoke up, he never does “I am, tell him” she hit my arm “he right, you need to relax. You got it now” looking at Antony “moving mad bro” he said.

I need a big nap before I even go out again, I am tired “fuck bro, these American girls. They are on it!” Antony said behind me “they are” Rimz placed his hands on my shoulders “she was wanting you bad and you kept saying, my girlfriend” I laughed out “she didn’t get it, I am like my girl. I have one” shaking my head “she wanted you bad” I shrugged “but compared to Rylee, like my girl is bad as fuck and I know y’all agree” Rimz nodded his head “she is, I would be the biggest simp. This is why I know you are” I laughed out “can’t help it you know, I am a simp with her. But I am going to have a big nap, see you boys later. Tired” dapping them all “don’t be doing anything mad with those girls now” I know they going to be up to no good now, unlocking the door to the suite “you know us bro” Wadz laughed, pushing the door open and walking inside. I need the biggest nap right now, making my way through the living area to go into the bedroom but Rylee popped up “what’s up? You had a good day with your girls” I asked, she looks pissed off “I did have a good day until I see you on the shade room with a white woman, walking around with a whole bunch of girls right, beach club too” letting out an oh “that was for the boys, not me” I defended, is she serious “why did you at one point grab her shoulder to bring her closer to you!? I am not fucking dumb, don’t make me mad” oh she is serious “what you mean? I literally asked her if she was feeling my friend and she then said no me, I said I have a girlfriend so no” I don’t see the issue when I wasn’t even caring for her like that “don’t fucking lie to me!” She barked coming over to me pointing “don’t fucking lie to me, I saw the videos and images you was all over her like a bad fucking smell, why was you both walking side by side, her boobs all out too” I didn’t know I was going to get this shit “woah, don’t grab my face like that” pushing her hand away from “I ain’t done anything, I literally told her I have a girlfriend. Lee what the fuck” grabbing her hands “don’t hit me!” I spat holding her hands in mine “you’re a fucking liar and the videos all say the truth! You make me look a fool, everyone says I can do better, I am better then you. They are right, and you think you can play on me I ain’t that young girl anymore” she lost her damn mind “then why you with me? Do better, go for it Rylee. I am not keeping you to be with me, you better then me then go and find your better. I am not your pity, talking about everyone says who cares what anyone says clearly that has been harbouring inside of you and now you use that card. You’re moving mad” she has lost her mind “I am not blind, even the people that were there were in the comments was saying how you was” I frowned “because I was laughing!? Do I just stay silent” she has pissed me off now “nah you don’t be with half naked women!? It’s that fucking simple, I put up with your shit. I am the one there for you, I am the one doing shit for you, I am the one here for you at this age when everyone knows I am bigger then this” she is so full of shit “you chased me” I added “because I knew at that age I could have you, that’s how easy you were. Let me go now, you let me manipulate you. I am not a stupid young girl anymore, you tell me how you could pull a girl like me? Kenza is an exception but she couldn’t deal with you, you are only good for that white girl you was playing with you will never get another like me, trust me. You think some from the streets could get me, I got you. You’re punching” letting her hands go, nodding my head “least you got that off your chest mhmmm” walking around her, going into the bathroom, looking into the mirror, she has scratched my face too. I can’t lie, I would be lying to myself to say that didn’t hurt me, it did hurt me because I do love her.

Knocking on the door of Wadz room, I swallowed hard “you back?” Looking behind me “uh yeah” I smiled at Colin “look bro I am so sorry to hear what you got” nodding my head “it’s fine” smiling at him “you cut your face” nodding my head “yeah I just fell” the door opened “see you around” walking into his room “I could be having a good time with a female!?” He spat “can I crash here” I asked, turning to him “erm you have a suite? The hell you want want my double bed” he asked, rubbing my face trying not to cry as I turned around “what happened?” Sucking it up “I laughed with a female that’s what, she hit me you know” his face dropped “and then she just said everyone said I can do better and I can, just being hurtful as shit. I mean of course she’s going to repeat what everyone is saying, I mean everyone thinks that but it’s whatever. Can I just crash here” Wadz is shocked “she low-key mentioned the age thing and this is over nothing. I did nothing” leaning forward placing my hands on my knees trying not to cry “I’m good, she flipped you know. I ain’t good, she really hurt me. I knew it, but it’s fine. No I’m good” I stepped back “I didn’t think she would do this to you? I’m legit shocked for you, I’m sorry” shaking my head “don’t be, it’s what it is, it’s fine. I mean someone keeps telling you that you better then that you going to think it, also in a way. She don’t need to take care of me like that, it’s get out of this shit card” Wadz hugged me “I got you. I’ll be there for you, I’ll hold you up” wrapping my arms around him “I ain’t got many left bro, they all leaving me” I managed to say “to the very end bro, I got you” nodding my head “leave her though, she’s still the mother of my child so erm” moving back from the hug “keep things normal please” wiping my tears “things ain’t normal, she laid hands on you and told you that she is better then you, and you ugly. Her mother was ok to say you got cancer when you didn’t have it, her whole family talking on the low and she is too, I can’t be normal” Wadz is pissed and I don’t blame him “allow it, just please” I shook my head.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 37-38 End

CHAPTER XXXVII

HIS beard had grown again—he and his beard had been friends for many years, and he had missed it of late. His hair and mustache had again assumed a respectable gray in place of the purple dye that under electric lights had looked so bogus. He was no longer impassioned at the sight of a lamb chop or a cake of soap. But he had not yet got over the pleasure and slight amazement at being able to talk as freely as he would, as emphatically as might please him, and in public.

He sat with his two closest friends in Montreal, two fellow executives in the Department of Propaganda and Publications of the New Underground (Walt Trowbridge, General Chairman), and these two friends were the Hon. Perley Beecroft, who presumably was the President of the United States, and Joe Elphrey, an ornamental young man who, as "Mr. Cailey," had been a prize agent of the Communist Party in America till he had been kicked out of that almost imperceptible body for having made a "united front" with Socialists, Democrats, and even choir-singers when organizing an anti-Corpo revolt in Texas.

Over their ale, in this café, Beecroft and Elphrey were at it as usual: Elphrey insisting that the only "solution" of American distress was dictatorship by the livelier representatives of the toiling masses, strict and if need be violent, but (this was his new heresy) not governed by Moscow. Beecroft was gaseously asserting that "all we needed" was a return to precisely the political parties, the drumming up of votes, and the oratorical legislating by Congress, of the contented days of William B. McKinley.

But as for Doremus, he leaned back not vastly caring what nonsense the others might talk so long as it was permitted them to talk at all without finding that the waiters were M.M. spies; and content to know that, whatever happened, Trowbridge and the other authentic leaders would never go back to satisfaction in government of the profits, by the profits, for the profits. He thought comfortably of the fact that just yesterday (he had this from the chairman's secretary), Walt Trowbridge had dismissed Wilson J. Shale, the ducal oil man, who had come, apparently with sincerity, to offer his fortune and his executive experience to Trowbridge and the cause.

"Nope. Sorry, Will. But we can't use you. Whatever happens—even if Haik marches over and slaughters all of us along with all our Canadian hosts—you and your kind of clever pirates are finished. Whatever happens, whatever details of a new system of government may be decided on, whether we call it a 'Cooperative Commonwealth' or 'State Socialism' or 'Communism' or 'Revived Traditional Democracy,' there's got to be a new feeling—that government is not a game for a few smart, resolute athletes like you, Will, but a universal partnership, in which the State must own all resources so large that they affect all members of the State, and in which the one worst crime won't be murder or kidnaping but taking advantage of the State—in which the seller of fraudulent medicine, or the liar in Congress, will be punished a whole lot worse than the fellow who takes an ax to the man who's grabbed off his girl.... Eh? What's going to happen to magnates like you, Will? God knows! What happened to the dinosaurs?"

So was Doremus in his service well content.

Yet socially he was almost as lonely as in his cell at Trianon; almost as savagely he longed for the not exorbitant pleasure of being with Lorinda, Buck, Emma, Sissy, Steve Perefixe.

None of them save Emma could join him in Canada, and she would not. Her letters suggested fear of the un-Worcesterian wildernesses of Montreal. She wrote that Philip and she hoped they might be able to get Doremus forgiven by the Corpos! So he was left to associate only with his fellow refugees from Corpoism, and he knew a life that had been familiar, far too familiar, to political exiles ever since the first revolt in Egypt sent the rebels sneaking off into Assyria.

It was no particularly indecent egotism in Doremus that made him suppose, when he arrived in Canada, that everyone would thrill to his tale of imprisonment, torture, and escape. But he found that ten thousand spirited tellers of woe had come there before him, and that the Canadians, however attentive and generous hosts they might be, were actively sick of pumping up new sympathy. They felt that their quota of martyrs was completely filled, and as to the exiles who came in penniless, and that was a majority of them, the Canadians became distinctly weary of depriving their own families on behalf of unknown refugees, and they couldn't even keep up forever a gratification in the presence of celebrated American authors, politicians, scientists, when they became common as mosquitoes.

It was doubtful if a lecture on Deplorable Conditions in America by Herbert Hoover and General Pershing together would have attracted forty people. Ex-governors and judges were glad to get jobs washing dishes, and ex-managing-editors were hoeing turnips. And reports said that Mexico and London and France were growing alike apologetically bored.

So Doremus, meagerly living on his twenty-dollar-a-week salary from the N.U., met no one save his own fellow exiles, in just such salons of unfortunate political escapists as the White Russians, the Red Spaniards, the Blue Bulgarians, and all the other polychromatic insurrectionists frequented in Paris. They crowded together, twenty of them in a parlor twelve by twelve, very like the concentration-camp cells in area, inhabitants, and eventual smell, from 8 P.M. till midnight, and made up for lack of dinner with coffee and doughnuts and exiguous sandwiches, and talked without cessation about the Corpos. They told as "actual facts" stories about President Haik which had formerly been applied to Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini—the one about the man who was alarmed to find he had saved Haik from drowning and begged him not to tell.

In the cafés they seized the newspapers from home. Men who had had an eye gouged out on behalf of freedom, with the rheumy remaining one peered to see who had won the Missouri Avenue Bridge Club Prize.

They were brave and romantic, tragic and distinguished, and Doremus became a little sick of them all and of the final brutality of fact that no normal man can very long endure another's tragedy, and that friendly weeping will some day turn to irritated kicking.

He was stirred when, in a hastily built American interdenominational chapel, he heard a starveling who had once been a pompous bishop read from the pine pulpit:

"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.... How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? If I forget thee O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy."

Here in Canada the Americans had their Weeping Wall and daily cried with false, gallant hope, "Next year in Jerusalem!"

Sometimes Doremus was vexed by the ceaseless demanding wails of refugees who had lost everything, sons and wives and property and self-respect, vexed that they believed they alone had seen such horrors; and sometimes he spent all his spare hours raising a dollar and a little weary friendliness for these sick souls; and sometimes he saw as fragments of Paradise every aspect of America— such oddly assorted glimpses as Meade at Gettysburg and the massed blue petunias in Emma's lost garden, the fresh shine of rails as seen from a train on an April morning and Rockefeller Center. But whatever his mood, he refused to sit down with his harp by any foreign waters whatever and enjoy the importance of being a celebrated beggar.

He'd get back to America and chance another prison. Meantime he neatly sent packages of literary dynamite out from the N.U. offices all day long, and efficiently directed a hundred envelope-addressers who once had been professors and pastrycooks.

He had asked his superior, Perley Beecroft, for assignment in more active and more dangerous work, as secret agent in America—out West, where he was not known. But headquarters had suffered a good deal from amateur agents who babbled to strangers, or who could not be trusted to keep their mouths shut while they were being flogged to death. Things had changed since 1929. The N.U. believed that the highest honor a man could earn was not to have a million dollars but to be permitted to risk his life for truth, without pay or praise.

Doremus knew that his chiefs did not consider him young enough or strong enough, but also that they were studying him. Twice he had the honor of interviews with Trowbridge about nothing in particular—surely it must have been an honor, though it was hard to remember it, because Trowbridge was the simplest and friendliest man in the whole portentous spy machine. Cheerfully Doremus hoped for a chance to help make the poor, overworked, worried Corpo officials even more miserable than they normally were, now that war with Mexico and revolts against Corpoism were jingling side by side.

In July, 1939, when Doremus had been in Montreal a little over five months, and a year after his sentence to concentration camp, the American newspapers which arrived at N.U. headquarters were full of resentment against Mexico.

Bands of Mexicans had raided across into the United States—always, curiously enough, when our troops were off in the desert, practice-marching or perhaps gathering sea shells. They burned a town in Texas—fortunately all the women and children were away on a Sunday-school picnic, that afternoon. A Mexican Patriot (aforetime he had also worked as an Ethiopian Patriot, a Chinese Patriot, and a Haitian Patriot) came across, to the tent of an M.M. brigadier, and confessed that while it hurt him to tattle on his own beloved country, conscience compelled him to reveal that his Mexican superiors were planning to fly over and bomb Laredo, San Antonio, Bisbee, and probably Tacoma, and Bangor, Maine.

This excited the Corpo newspapers very much indeed and in New York and Chicago they published photographs of the conscientious traitor half an hour after he had appeared at the Brigadier's tent... where, at that moment, forty-six reporters happened to be sitting about on neighboring cactuses.

America rose to defend her hearthstones, including all the hearthstones on Park Avenue, New York, against false and treacherous Mexico, with its appalling army of 67,000 men, with thirty-nine military aeroplanes. Women in Cedar Rapids hid under the bed; elderly gentlemen in Cattaraugus County, New York, concealed their money in elm-tree boles; and the wife of a chicken- raiser seven miles N.E. of Estelline, South Dakota, a woman widely known as a good cook and a trained observer, distinctly saw a file of ninety-two Mexican soldiers pass her cabin, starting at 3:17 A.M. on July 27, 1939.

To answer this threat, America, the one country that had never lost a war and never started an unjust one, rose as one man, as the Chicago Daily Evening Corporate put it. It was planned to invade Mexico as soon as it should be cool enough, or even earlier, if the refrigeration and air-conditioning could be arranged. In one month, five million men were drafted for the invasion, and started training.

Thus—perhaps too flippantly—did Joe Cailey and Doremus discuss the declaration of war against Mexico. If they found the whole crusade absurd, it may be stated in their defense that they regarded all wars always as absurd; in the baldness of the lying by both sides about the causes; in the spectacle of grown-up men engaged in the infantile diversions of dressing-up in fancy clothes and marching to primitive music. The only thing not absurd about wars, said Doremus and Cailey, was that along with their skittishness they did kill a good many millions of people. Ten thousand starving babies seemed too high a price for a Sam Browne belt for even the sweetest, touchingest young lieutenant.

Yet both Doremus and Cailey swiftly recanted their assertion that all wars were absurd and abominable; both of them made exception of the people's wars against tyranny, as suddenly America's agreeable anticipation of stealing Mexico was checked by a popular rebellion against the whole Corpo régime.

The revolting section was, roughly, bounded by Sault Ste. Marie, Detroit, Cincinnati, Wichita, San Francisco, and Seattle, though in that territory large patches remained loyal to President Haik, and outside of it, other large patches joined the rebels. It was the part of America which had always been most "radical"—that indefinite word, which probably means "most critical of piracy." It was the land of the Populists, the Non-Partisan League, the Farmer-Labor Party, and the La Follettes—a family so vast as to form a considerable party in itself.

Whatever might happen, exulted Doremus, the revolt proved that belief in America and hope for America were not dead.

These rebels had most of them, before his election, believed in Buzz Windrip's fifteen points; believed that when he said he wanted to return the power pilfered by the bankers and the industrialists to the people, he more or less meant that he wanted to return the power of the bankers and industrialists to the people. As month by month they saw that they had been cheated with marked cards again, they were indignant; but they were busy with cornfield and sawmill and dairy and motor factory, and it took the impertinent idiocy of demanding that they march down into the desert and help steal a friendly country to jab them into awakening and into discovering that, while they had been asleep, they had been kidnaped by a small gang of criminals armed with high ideals, well-buttered words and a lot of machine guns.

So profound was the revolt that the Catholic Archbishop of California and the radical Ex-Governor of Minnesota found themselves in the same faction.

At first it was a rather comic outbreak—comic as the ill-trained, un-uniformed, confusedly thinking revolutionists of Massachusetts in 1776. President General Haik publicly jeered at them as a "ridiculous rag-tag rebellion of hoboes too lazy to work." And at first they were unable to do anything more than scold like a flock of crows, throw bricks at detachments of M.M.'s and policemen, wreck troop trains, and destroy the property of such honest private citizens as owned Corpo newspapers.

It was in August that the shock came, when General Emmanuel Coon, Chief of Staff of the regulars, flew from Washington to St. Paul, took command of Fort Snelling, and declared for Walt Trowbridge as Temporary President of the United States, to hold office until there should be a new, universal, and uncontrolled presidential election.

Trowbridge proclaimed acceptance—with the proviso that he should not be a candidate for permanent President.

By no means all of the regulars joined Coon's revolutionary troops. (There are two sturdy myths among the Liberals: that the Catholic Church is less Puritanical and always more esthetic than the Protestant; and that professional soldiers hate war more than do congressmen and old maids.) But there were enough regulars who were fed up with the exactions of greedy, mouth-dripping Corpo commissioners and who threw in with General Coon so that immediately after his army of regulars and hastily trained Minnesota farmers had won the battle of Mankato, the forces at Leavenworth took control of Kansas City, and planned to march on St. Louis and Omaha; while in New York, Governor's Island and Fort Wadsworth looked on, neutral, as unmilitary-looking and mostly Jewish guerrillas seized the subways, power stations, and railway terminals.

But there the revolt halted, because in the America, which had so warmly praised itself for its "widespread popular free education," there had been so very little education, widespread, popular, free, or anything else, that most people did not know what they wanted— indeed knew about so few things to want at all.

There had been plenty of schoolrooms; there had been lacking only literate teachers and eager pupils and school boards who regarded teaching as a profession worthy of as much honor and pay as insurance-selling or embalming or waiting on table. Most Americans had learned in school that God had supplanted the Jews as chosen people by the Americans, and this time done the job much better, so that we were the richest, kindest, and cleverest nation living; that depressions were but passing headaches and that labor unions must not concern themselves with anything except higher wages and shorter hours and, above all, must not set up an ugly class struggle by combining politically; that, though foreigners tried to make a bogus mystery of them, politics were really so simple that any village attorney or any clerk in the office of a metropolitan sheriff was quite adequately trained for them; and that if John D. Rockefeller or Henry Ford had set his mind to it, he could have become the most distinguished statesman, composer, physicist, or poet in the land.

Even two-and-half years of despotism had not yet taught most electors humility, nor taught them much of anything except that it was unpleasant to be arrested too often.

So, after the first gay eruption of rioting, the revolt slowed up. Neither the Corpos nor many of their opponents knew enough to formulate a clear, sure theory of self-government, or irresistibly resolve to engage in the sore labor of fitting themselves for freedom.... Even yet, after Windrip, most of the easy-going descendants of the wisecracking Benjamin Franklin had not learned that Patrick Henry's "Give me liberty or give me death" meant anything more than a high-school yell or a cigarette slogan.

The followers of Trowbridge and General Coon—"The American Cooperative Commonwealth" they began to call themselves—did not lose any of the territory they had seized; they held it, driving out all Corpo agents, and now and then added a county or two. But mostly their rule, and equally the Corpos' rule, was as unstable as politics in Ireland.

So the task of Walt Trowbridge, which in August had seemed finished, before October seemed merely to have begun. Doremus Jessup was called into Trowbridge's office, to hear from the chairman:

"I guess the time's come when we need Underground agents in the States with sense as well as guts. Report to General Barnes for service proselytizing in Minnesota. Good luck, Brother Jessup! Try to persuade the orators that are still holding out for Discipline and clubs that they ain't so much stalwart as funny!"

And all that Doremus thought was, "Kind of a nice fellow, Trowbridge. Glad to be working with him," as he set off on his new task of being a spy and professional hero without even any funny passwords to make the game romantic.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

HIS packing was done. It had been very simple, since his kit consisted only of toilet things, one change of clothes, and the first volume of Spengler's Decline of the West. He was waiting in his hotel lobby for time to take the train to Winnipeg. He was interested by the entrance of a lady more decorative than the females customarily seen in this modest inn: a hand-tooled presentation copy of a lady, in crushed levant and satin doublure; a lady with mascara'd eyelashes, a permanent wave, and a cobweb frock. She ambled through the lobby and leaned against a fake-marble pillar, wielding a long cigarette-holder and staring at Doremus. She seemed amused by him, for no clear reason.

Could she be some sort of Corpo spy?

She lounged toward him, and he realized that she was Lorinda Pike.

While he was still gasping, she chuckled, "Oh, no, darling, I'm not so realistic in my art as to carry out this rôle too far! It just happens to be the easiest disguise to win over the Corpo frontier guards—if you'll agree it really is a disguise!"

He kissed her with a fury which shocked the respectable hostelry.

She knew, from N.U. agents, that he was going out into a very fair risk of being flogged to death. She had come solely to say farewell and bring him what might be his last budget of news.

Buck was in concentration camp—he was more feared and more guarded than Doremus had been, and Linda had not been able to buy him out. Julian, Karl, and John Pollikop were still alive, still imprisoned. Father Perefixe was running the N.U. cell in Fort Beulah, but slightly confused because he wanted to approve of war with Mexico, a nation which he detested for its treatment of Catholic priests. Lorinda and he had, apparently, fought bloodily all one evening about Catholic rule in Latin America. As is always typical of Liberals, Lorinda managed to speak of Father Perefixe at once with virtuous loathing and the greatest affection. Emma and David were reported as well content in Worcester, though there were murmurs that Philip's wife did not too thankfully receive her mother-in-law's advice on cooking. Sissy was becoming a deft agitator who still, remembering that she was a born architect, drew plans for houses that Julian and she would some day adorn. She contrived blissfully to combine assaults on all Capitalism with an entirely capitalistic conception of the year-long honeymoons Julian and she were going to have.

Less surprising than any of this were the tidings that Francis Tasbrough, very beautiful in repentance, had been let out of the Corpo prison to which he had been sent for too much grafting and was again a district commissioner, well thought of, and that his housekeeper was now Mrs. Candy, whose daily reports on his most secret arrangements were the most neatly written and sternly grammatical documents that came into Vermont N.U. headquarters.

Then Lorinda was looking up at him as he stood in the vestibule of his Westbound train and crying, "You look so well again! Are you happy? Oh, be happy!"

Even now he did not see this defeminized radical woman crying.... She turned away from him and raced down the station platform too quickly. She had lost all her confident pose of flip elegance. Leaning out from the vestibule he saw her stop at the gate, diffidently raise her hand as if to wave at the long anonymity of the train windows, then shakily march away through the gates. And he realized that she hadn't even his address; that no one who loved him would have any stable address for him now any more.

Mr. William Barton Dobbs, a traveling man for harvesting machinery, an erect little man with a small gray beard and a Vermont accent, got out of bed in his hotel in a section in Minnesota which had so many Bavarian-American and Yankee-descended farmers, and so few "radical" Scandinavians, that it was still loyal to President Haik.

He went down to breakfast, cheerfully rubbing his hands. He consumed grapefruit and porridge—but without sugar: there was an embargo on sugar. He looked down and inspected himself; he sighed, "I'm getting too much of a pod, with all this outdoor work and being so hungry; I've got to cut down on the grub"; and then he consumed fried eggs, bacon, toast, coffee made of acorns, and marmalade made of carrots—Coon's troops had shut off coffee beans and oranges.

He read, meantime, the Minneapolis Daily Corporate. It announced a Great Victory in Mexico—in the same place, he noted, in which there had already been three Great Victories in the past two weeks. Also, a "shameful rebellion" had been put down in Andalusia, Alabama; it was reported that General Göring was coming over to be the guest of President Haik; and the pretender Trowbridge was said "by a reliable source" to have been assassinated, kidnaped, and compelled to resign.

"No news this morning," regretted Mr. William Barton Dobbs.

As he came out of the hotel, a squad of Minute Men were marching by. They were farm boys, newly recruited for service in Mexico; they looked as scared and soft and big-footed as a rout of rabbits. They tried to pipe up the newest-oldest war song, in the manner of the Civil War ditty "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again":

When Johnny comes home from Greaser Land, Hurray, hurraw, His ears will be full of desert sand, Hurray, hurraw, But he'll speaka de Spiggoty pretty sweet And he'll bring us a gun and a señorit', And we'll all get stewed when Johnny comes marching home!

Their voices wavered. They peeped at the crowd along the walk, or looked sulkily down at their dragging feet, and the crowd, which once would have been yelping "Hail Haik!" was snickering "You beggars 'll never get to Greaser Land!" and even, from the safety of a second-story window, "Hurray, hurraw for Trowbridge!"

"Poor devils!" thought Mr. William Barton Dobbs, as he watched the frightened toy soldiers... not too toy-like to keep them from dying.

Yet it is a fact that he could see in the crowd numerous persons whom his arguments, and those of the sixty-odd N.U. secret agents under him, had converted from fear of the M.M.'s to jeering.

In his open Ford convertible—he never started it but he thought of how he had "put it over on Sissy" by getting a Ford all his own— Doremus drove out of the village into stubble-lined prairie. The meadow larks' liquid ecstasy welcomed him from barbed-wire fences. If he missed the strong hills behind Fort Beulah, he was yet exalted by the immensity of the sky, the openness of prairie that promised he could go on forever, the gayety of small sloughs seen through their fringes of willows and cottonwoods, and once, aspiring overhead, an early flight of mallards.

He whistled boisterously as he bounced on along the section-line road.

He reached a gaunt yellow farmhouse—it was to have had a porch, but there was only an unpainted nothingness low down on the front wall to show where the porch would be. To a farmer who was oiling a tractor in the pig-littered farmyard he chirped, "Name's William Barton Dobbs—representing the Des Moines Combine and Up-to-Date Implement Company."

The farmer galloped up to shake hands, breathing, "By golly this is a great honor, Mr. J—"

"Dobbs!"

"That's right. 'Scuse me."

In an upper bedroom of the farmhouse, seven men were waiting, perched on chair and table and edges of the bed, or just squatted on the floor. Some of them were apparently farmers; some unambitious shopkeepers. As Doremus bustled in, they rose and bowed.

"Good-morning gentlemen. A little news," he said. "Coon has driven the Corpos out of Yankton and Sioux Falls. Now I wonder if you're ready with your reports?"

To the agent whose difficulty in converting farm-owners had been their dread of paying decent wages to farm hands, Doremus presented for use the argument (as formalized yet passionate as the observations of a life-insurance agent upon death by motor accident) that poverty for one was poverty for all.... It wasn't such a very new argument, nor so very logical, but it had been a useful carrot for many human mules.

For the agent among the Finnish-American settlers, who were insisting that Trowbridge was a Bolshevik and just as bad as the Russians, Doremus had a mimeographed quotation from the Izvestia of Moscow damning Trowbridge as a "social Fascist quack." For the Bavarian farmers down the other way, who were still vaguely pro-Nazi, Doremus had a German émigré paper published in Prague, proving (though without statistics or any considerable quotation from official documents) that, by agreement with Hitler, President Haik was, if he remained in power, going to ship back to the German Army all German-Americans with so much as one grandparent born in the Fatherland.

"Do we close with a cheerful hymn and the benediction, Mr. Dobbs?" demanded the youngest and most flippant—and quite the most successful—agent.

"I wouldn't mind! Maybe it wouldn't be so unsuitable as you think. But considering the loose morals and economics of most of you comrades, perhaps it would be better if I closed with a new story about Haik and Mae West that I heard, day before yesterday.... Bless you all! Goodbye!"

As he drove to his next meeting, Doremus fretted, "I don't believe that Prague story about Haik and Hitler is true. I think I'll quit using it. Oh, I know—I know, Mr. Dobbs; as you say, if you did tell the truth to a Nazi, it would still be a lie. But just the same I think I'll quit using it. ... Lorinda and me, that thought we could get free of Puritanism!... Those cumulus clouds are better than a galleon. If they'd just move Mount Terror and Fort Beulah and Lorinda and Buck here, this would be Paradise... . Oh, Lord, I don't want to, but I suppose I'll have to order the attack on the M.M. post at Osakis now; they're ready for it.... I wonder if that shotgun charge yesterday was intended for me?... Didn't really like Lorinda's hair fixed up in that New York style at all!"

He slept that night in a cottage on the shore of a sandy-bottomed lake ringed with bright birches. His host and his host's wife, worshipers of Trowbridge, had insisted on giving him their own room, with the patchwork quilt and the hand-painted pitcher and bowl.

He dreamed—as he still did dream, once or twice a week—that he was back in his cell at Trianon. He knew again the stink, the cramped and warty bunk, the never relaxed fear that he might be dragged out and flogged.

He heard magic trumpets. A soldier opened the door and invited out all the prisoners. There, in the quadrangle, General Emmanuel Coon (who, to Doremus's dreaming fancy, looked exactly like Sherman) addressed them:

"Gentlemen, the Commonwealth army has conquered! Haik has been captured! You are free!"

So they marched out, the prisoners, the bent and scarred and crippled, the vacant-eyed and slobbering, who had come into this place as erect and daring men: Doremus, Dan Wilgus, Buck, Julian, Mr. Falck, Henry Veeder, Karl Pascal, John Pollikop, Truman Webb. They crept out of the quadrangle gates, through a double line of soldiers standing rigidly at Present Arms yet weeping as they watched the broken prisoners crawling past.

And beyond the soldiers, Doremus saw the women and children. They were waiting for him—the kind arms of Lorinda and Emma and Sissy and Mary, with David behind them, clinging to his father's hand, and Father Perefixe. And Foolish was there, his tail a proud plume, and from the dream-blurred crowd came Mrs. Candy, holding out to him a cocoanut cake.

Then all of them were fleeing, frightened by Shad Ledue—

His host was slapping Doremus's shoulder, muttering, "Just had a phone call. Corpo posse out after you."

So Doremus rode out, saluted by the meadow larks, and onward all day, to a hidden cabin in the Northern Woods where quiet men awaited news of freedom.

And still Doremus goes on in the red sunrise, for a Doremus Jessup can never die.

[whileiamdying]

Allen Ginsberg, Master Poet of Beat Generation, Dies at 70

by Wilborn Hampton April 6, 1997

Mr. Morgan said that Mr. Ginsberg wrote right to the end. ''He's working on a lot of poems, talking to old friends,'' Mr. Morgan said on Friday. ''He's in very good spirits. He wants to write poetry and finish his life's work.''

William S. Burroughs, one of Mr. Ginsberg's lifelong friends and a fellow Beat, said that Mr. Ginsberg's death was ''a great loss to me and to everybody.''

''We were friends for more than 50 years,'' Mr. Burroughs said. ''Allen was a great person with worldwide influence. He was a pioneer of openness and a lifelong model of candor. He stood for freedom of expression and for coming out of all the closets long before others did. He has influence because he said what he believed. I will miss him.''

As much through the strength of his own irrepressible personality as through his poetry, Mr. Ginsberg provided a bridge between the Underground and the Transcendental. He was as comfortable in the ashrams of Indian gurus in the 1960's as he had been in the Beat coffeehouses of the preceding decade.

A ubiquitous presence at the love-ins and be-ins that marked the drug-oriented counterculture of the Flower Children years, Mr. Ginsberg was also in the vanguard of the political protest movements they helped spawn. He marched against the war in Vietnam, the C.I.A. and the Shah of Iran, among other causes.

If his early verse shocked Eisenhower's America with its celebration of homosexuality and drugs, his involvement in protests kept him in the public eye and fed ammunition to his critics. But through it all, Mr. Ginsberg maintained a sort of teddy bear quality that deflected much of the indignation he inspired.

He was known around the world as a master of the outrageous. He read his poetry and played finger cymbals at the Albert Hall in London; he was expelled from Cuba after saying he found Che Guevara ''cute''; he sang duets with Bob Dylan, and he chanted ''Hare Krishna'' on William F. Buckley Jr.'s television program. As the critic John Leonard observed in a 1988 appreciation: ''He is of course a social bandit. But he is a nonviolent social bandit.''

Or as the narrator in Saul Bellow's ''Him With His Foot in His Mouth'' said of Mr. Ginsberg: ''Under all this self-revealing candor is purity of heart. And the only authentic living representative of American Transcendentalism is that fat-breasted, bald, bearded homosexual in smeared goggles, innocent in his uncleanness.''

J. D. McClatchy, a poet and the editor of The Yale Review, said yesterday: ''Ginsberg was the best-known American poet of his generation, as much a social force as a literary phenomenon.

''Like Whitman, he was a bard in the old manner -- outsized, darkly prophetic, part exuberance, part prayer, part rant. His work is finally a history of our era's psyche, with all its contradictory urges.''

Allen Ginsberg was born on June 3, 1926, in Newark and grew up in Paterson, N.J., the second son of Louis Ginsberg, a schoolteacher and sometime poet, and the former Naomi Levy, a Russian emigree and fervent Marxist. His brother, Eugene, named for Eugene V. Debs, also wrote poetry, under the name Eugene Brooks. Eugene, a lawyer, survives.

Recalling his parents in a 1985 interview, Mr. Ginsberg said:

''They were old-fashioned delicatessen philosophers. My father would go around the house either reciting Emily Dickinson and Longfellow under his breath or attacking T. S. Eliot for ruining poetry with his 'obscurantism.' My mother made up bedtime stories that all went something like: 'The good king rode forth from his castle, saw the suffering workers and healed them.' I grew suspicious of both sides.''

An Authorization For a Lobotomy

Allen Ginsberg's mother later suffered from paranoia and was in and out of mental hospitals; Mr. Ginsberg signed an authorization for a lobotomy. Two days after she died in 1956 in Pilgrim State Hospital on Long Island, he received a letter from her that said: ''The key is in the window, the key is in the sunlight in the window -- I have the key -- get married Allen don't take drugs. . . . Love, your mother.''

Three years after her death, Mr. Ginsberg wrote ''Kaddish for Naomi Ginsberg (1894-1956),'' an elegy that many consider his finest poem.

Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village,

downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph

the rhythm, the rhythm -- and your memory in my head three years after -- . . .

''Kaddish'' burnished a reputation that had been forged with the publication of ''Howl!'' three years earlier. The two works established Mr. Ginsberg as a major voice in what came to be known as the Beat Generation of writers.

Mr. Ginsberg's journey to his place as one of America's most celebrated poets began during his college days. He first attended Montclair State College. But in 1943, he received a small scholarship from the Young Men's Hebrew Association of Paterson and enrolled at Columbia University. He considered becoming a lawyer like his brother, but was soon attracted to the literary courses offered by Mark Van Doren and Lionel Trilling, and switched his major from pre-law to literature.

At Columbia he fell in with a crowd that included Jack Kerouac, a former student four years his senior, Lucien Carr and William Burroughs, and later, Neal Cassady, a railway worker who had literary aspirations. Together they formed the nucleus of what would become the Beats.

Kerouac and Carr became the poet's mentors, and Kerouac and Cassady became his lovers. It was also at Columbia that Mr. Ginsberg began to experiment with mind-altering drugs like LSD, which would gain widespread use in the decade to follow and which Mr. Ginsberg would celebrate in his verse along with his homosexuality and his immersion in Eastern transcendental religions.

But if the Beats were creating literary history around Columbia and the West End Cafe, there was a dangerous undercurrent to their activities. Mr. Carr spent a brief time in jail for manslaughter, and Mr. Ginsberg, because he had associated with Mr. Carr, was suspended from Columbia for a year.

In 1949, after Mr. Ginsberg had received his bachelor's degree, Herbert Huncke, a writer and hustler, moved into his apartment and stored stolen goods there. Mr. Huncke was eventually jailed, and Mr. Ginsberg, pleading psychological disability, was sent to a psychiatric institution for eight months. At the institution, he met another patient, Carl Solomon, whom Mr. Ginsberg credited with deepening his understanding of poetry and its power as a weapon of political dissent.

Becoming a Protege Of the Poet Williams

Returning home to Paterson, Mr. Ginsberg became a protege of William Carlos Williams, the physician and poet, who lived nearby. Williams's use of colloquial American language in his poetry was a major influence on the young Mr. Ginsberg.

After leaving Columbia, Mr. Ginsberg first went to work for a Madison Avenue advertising agency. After five years, he once recalled, he found himself taking part in a consumer-research project trying to determine whether Americans preferred the word ''sparkling'' or ''glamorous'' to describe ideal teeth. ''We already knew people associate diamonds with 'sparkling' and furs with 'glamorous,' '' he said. ''We spent $150,000 to learn most people didn't want furry teeth.''

The poet said he decided to give up the corporate world ''when my shrink asked me what would make me happy.'' He hung his gray flannel suit in the closet and went to San Francisco with six months of unemployment insurance in his pocket. San Francisco was then the center of considerable literary energy. He took a room around the corner from City Lights, Lawrence Ferlinghetti's bookstore and underground publishing house, and began to write.

During this period, Mr. Ginsberg also became part of the San Francisco literary circle that included Kenneth Rexroth -- an author, critic and painter -- Gary Snyder, Michael McClure, Philip Whalen, Robert Duncan and Philip Lamantia. He also met Peter Orlovsky, who would be his companion for the next 30 years.

His first major work from San Francisco was ''Howl!'' The long-running poem expressed the anxieties and ideals of a generation alienated from mainstream society. ''Howl!,'' which was to become Mr. Ginsberg's most famous poem, was dedicated to Solomon, and begins:

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night. . . .

Mr. Ginsberg read the poem to a gathering arranged by Mr. Rexroth, and those present never forgot the poem, its author or the occasion.

Mr. Rexroth's wife privately distributed a mimeographed 50-copy edition of ''Howl!'' and in 1956, Mr. Ferlinghetti published ''Howl! and Other Poems'' in what he called his ''pocket poets series.''

With its open and often vivid celebration of homosexuality and eroticism, ''Howl!'' was impounded by United States Customs agents and Mr. Ginsberg was tried on obscenity charges.

After a long trial, Judge Clayton Horn ruled that the poem was not without ''redeeming social importance.''

The result was to make ''Howl!'' immensely popular and establish it as a landmark against censorship. The outrage and furor did not stop with the sexual revolution. As late as 1988, the radio station WBAI refused to allow ''Howl!'' to be read on the air during a weeklong series about censorship in America.

There were almost as many definitions of Beatniks and the Beat movement as there were writers who claimed to be part of it. As John Clellan Holmes described it, ''To be beat is to be at the bottom of your personality looking up.'' But if the movement grew out of disillusionment, it was disillusionment with a conscience.

Mr. Ginsberg tried to explain the aims of the Beats in a letter to his father in 1957: ''Whitman long ago complained that unless the material power of America were leavened by some kind of spiritual infusion, we would wind up among the 'fabled damned.' We're approaching that state as far as I can see. Only way out is individuals taking responsibility and saying what they actually feel. That's what we as a group have been trying to do.''

On another occasion, he described the literary rules more succinctly: ''You don't have to be right. All you have to do is be candid.'' Mr. Ginsberg was nothing if not candid.

As he wrote in ''America,'' another 1956 poem, which took aim at Eisenhower's post-McCarthy era:

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing

America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956

. . .

America this is quite serious

America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set

America is this correct?

. . .

Mr. Ginsberg said the poets who formed the prime influence on his own work were William Blake, Walt Whitman, Ezra Pound and Williams. He declared he had found a new method of poetry. ''All you have to do,'' he said, ''is think of anything that comes into your head, then arrange in lines of two, three or four words each, don't bother about sentences, in sections of two, three or four lines each.''

His disdain for poetry's traditional rules only gave ammunition to his critics. James Dickey once complained that the ''problem'' with Allen Ginsberg was that he made it seem as if anybody could write poetry.

Traveling Widely For Two Decades

Mr. Ginsberg used the celebrity he gained with ''Howl!'' to travel widely during the next two decades. He went to China and India to study with gurus and Zen masters and to Venice to see Pound. On his way home, he was crowned King of the May by dissident university students in Prague, only to be expelled by the Communist Government. He read his poetry wherever he was allowed, from concert stages to off-campus coffeehouses.

He was in the forefront of whatever movement was in fashion: the sexual revolution and drug culture of the 1960's, the anti-Vietnam war and anti-C.I.A. demonstrations of the 1970's, the anti-Shah and anti-Reagan protests of the 1980's. In 1967 he was arrested in an antiwar protest in New York City, and he was arrested again, for the same reason, at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968. He testified in the trial of the so-called Chicago Seven.

Through it all, he kept writing. After ''Kaddish'' in 1959, major works included ''TV Baby'' in 1960, ''Wichita Vortex Sutra'' (1966), ''Wales Visitation'' (1967), ''Don't Grow Old'' (1976) and ''White Shroud'' (1983).

In his celebrated career, Mr. Ginsberg received many awards, including the National Book Award (1973), the Robert Frost Medal for distinguished poetic achievement (1986), and an American Book Award for contributions to literary excellence (1990).

In 1968, Cassady died of a drug overdose. Kerouac died of alcoholism the next year. By the mid-1970's, Mr. Ginsberg had helped start the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics of the Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colo., a Buddhist university where he taught summer courses in poetry and in Buddhist meditation. He also was becoming one of the last living voices of the Beat generation and the keeper of the flame.

In 1985, Harper & Row published Mr. Ginsberg's ''Collected Poems,'' an anthology of his work in one volume that firmly established the poet in the mainstream of American literature. The poet again made tours, showing up on television shows, but this time he was in suit and tie offering a sort of explanation of his work.

''People ask me if I've gone respectable now,'' he said to one interviewer. ''I tell them I've always been respectable.''

During another interview, he confessed: ''My intention was to make a picture of the mind, mistakes and all. Of course I learned I'm an idiot, a complete idiot who wasn't as prophetic as I thought I was. The crazy, angry Philippic sometimes got in the way of clear perception.

''I thought the North Vietnamese would be a lot better than they turned out to be. I shouldn't have been marching against the Shah of Iran because the mullahs have turned out to be a lot worse.''

But despite his suit and tie, the censors continued to look over Mr. Ginsberg's shoulder. During the interviews, David Remnick, then of The Washington Post, accompanied him to CBS's ''Nightwatch.'' A producer, unfamiliar with the poet's work, asked if he would read something on the show.

''How about reading that poem about your mother?'' she suggested.

'' 'Kaddish,' yes. Time magazine calls it my masterpiece,'' Ginsberg replied. ''But I don't know. . . .''

The poet pointed to a word in the poem he doubted would make prime time. As Mr. Remnick reported, the producer's eyes glazed over and there was a long silence.

''Your mother's . . .?'' the producer said in horror.

''Couldn't we just bleep that part out?'' the poet offered, always helpful.

''No,'' the producer said.

''It's O.K.,'' the poet replied. ''I've got other poems.''

Social Conscience Plus Sex and Drugs

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

-- From ''Howl!'' (1955-56)

America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia

I'm addressing you.

Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time magazine?

. . .

It occurs to me that I am America

I am talking to myself again.

-- From ''America'' (1956)

And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers -- and my own imagination of a withered leaf -- at dawn --

Dreaming back thru life, Your time -- and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse,

the final moment -- the flower burning in the Day -- and what comes after,

looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city

a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed --

like a poem in the dark --

. . .

O mother

what have I left out

O mother

what have I forgotten

O mother

farewell

-- From ''Kaddish'' (1959-60)

. . . Kansas! Kansas! Shuddering at last!

PERSON appearing in Kansas!

angry telephone calls to the University

Police dumbfounded leaning on

their radiocar hoods

While Poets chant to Allah in the roadhouse Showboat!

Blue-eyed children dance and hold Thy Hand O aged Walt

who came from Lawrence to Topeka to envision

Iron interlaced upon the city plain --

Telegraph wires strung from city to city O Melville!

. . .

Thy sins are forgiven, Wichita!

-- From ''Wichita Vortex Sutra'' (1966)

[katieslondonadventures]

                                                 Christmas play

This Christmas play is about a group of friends from America having Christmas dinner and one of their friends is late, causing them to worry. Transportation had stopped, which Mark was not aware of and he had no way of getting into the city, so he had an adventure trying to get to his friend's house. 

Sarah: Where is Mark? We can’t start our Christmas feast without him!

Jenny: Maybe we could just have a little taste?

Sarah: No!

George: It's alright Sarah, relax. I’m sure he will be here soon. 

Sarah: John is never late, he is always early actually. Where could he be? Maybe I should call him?

Jenny: Ah he will be fine. At least it's not snowing.

George: It rarely snows here, but the freezing rain is so much worse. 

David: Guys, I’m trying to sleep. Could you keep it down in there?

Sarah: your best friend is missing and all you care about is sleeping?

David: Sarah, stop being so dramatic he is most certainly not missing.  

George: Jenny, looks like you spoke too soon. 

Jenny: Yay! It's snowing! The first snow all season on Christmas. Can you believe that?

David: That wonderful jenny. Now if you could kindly stop squealing I would like to finish my nap before we eat. 

Sarah: no one is eating until Mark gets here. Guys, I'm really worried. 

George: You know what, it has been over an hour and Mark still isn’t here. Sarah, now I give you permission to worry.

Sarah: AHHHHHH!

David: Gosh, Sarah, he said worry not wail. 

Jenny: That is what she does when she has totally lost it. Should we go out and look for him?

Sarah: Yes! Let's go! Let me grab my coat

Mark: woah Sarah, where are you off to, so quickly. You almost nearly took me down. 

Sarah: Mark, where in the world have you been? I am so glad you are alright!

Jenny: Yeah Mark, way to make us nervous.

David and George: Mark! Time to eat!

Mark: Thanks for the hugs, those are awfully kind, but no need. I am alright. 

Jenny and Sarah: What happened?

Mark: Alright everyone sit down, I could use a warm drink. 

George: I will make you some hot chocolate. Just wait to start your story, man.

Mark: Oh, thanks, this is delicious.  Well, I was on my way over when I realised that transportation does not run on Christmas day here in the city. So I started walking along, frozen to the bone, when a man in a little red car stopped me. He had a long white beard and a little red nose, with a smile that warmed my heart. 

David: dude, you met the real life Santa!

Mark: Seriously, I think that I did. He said he would drive me to the flat here, but we just had to make a few stops along the way. 

Jenny: What kind of stops?

Mark: He was delivering presents. 

George: NO WAY! That was Santa. 

David: Who else is coming? 

Sarah: We shouldn't have anyone else, no clue. 

David: I’ll get it. Guys! It's Santa!

Santa (random man): Sorry to bother you children, my car wouldn't quite start and it was a bit chilly outside, could I come in for a cup of tea? Also, I come bearing presents!

George: Let him in dude, it's Santa!

[tansypoisoning]

Lupercalia - Part 1

Homecoming

You return to your hometown after dropping out of university. If the shame of it wasn't bad enough, you are forced to comfront old mistakes and a persistent stalker.

Fandoms: MCU, Captain America

Genre: Mostly suspense, some drama, horror and smut.

Ships: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Chapter Warnings: Nothing in particular

Series Warnings: Smut, dubcon, sweat, violence, gore, body horror, minor character death.

An old work I'm finally getting around to finishing and posting. Decide to finally get done with it thanks to @searchforanotherway​‘s pep talk. It’ll be posted in 5 parts. Kinda experimental.

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

You had missed summers back home.

Nah. Who were you kidding? You had never liked the heat, and your three year stint in Chicago had spoiled you. Now home felt more like hell.

“You gotta fix your AC, Milton,” you told the man bagging your groceries as you wiped a bead of sweat from the back of your neck.

“Don’t I know,” he snorted and pointed at his dewy forehead “I called a guy couple days ago. Never showed up.”

“You can’t trust electricians from outta town when they’ve got no competition. They get complacent, you know? If you don’t know how to fix it, I can ask dad to come take a look. He’ll do it for cheap.”

“You sure? Can he still do that with-”

“He can still climb a few steps.”

“Alright, then,” he smiled “he can come in whenever we’re open.”

We. Milton had been the only one manning the store since his wife went missing nearly three years ago, but he still said we.

“I’ll tell him. Now pack up my shit; If I have to stay another minute I’m getting in the ice machine.” It wasn’t just the heat that had you impatient. At this time of day, anyone could walk in, anyone you didn’t want to see.

He chortled, but it was muffled by the sound of the door being opened up to its hinges and the rattle of the glass in the storefront windows. You turned to look at who had entered and had to resist your urge to grimace. Steve was the second to last person you wanted to meet, but then again, none in town ever wanted to meet Steve.

He looked from Milton to you then stomped into the store much like you remembered him stomping into everywhere else. He made his way to the counter, coming to stand just beside you. He tapped the vinyl surface with two fingers and pointed to the storage door with his head. Milton immediately scurried to the back room.

The difference between the two men was almost comical. Milton was a slightly overweight and slightly above average height man, with thinning red hair and a bald spot permanently hid under an old cap and the stubble of a beard that could never grow fully. His light blue eyes were milky and sad, harmless, and he easily faded in the background of your little town. Steve, on the other hand, was hard to miss. In a town comprised mostly of short people, his height and the way he carried himself drew attention. He was muscular too, not in the same way a man who worked carrying weight all his life would be, but with an air of careful cultivation; a gym physique. He had a full head of dark blond hair and a full beard, and everything about him screamed like it didn’t belong. His eyes were blue too, but harder than Milton’s. There was something akin to charisma about him, but it wasn’t quite it. His pull was less “charming person” and more “black hole”.

You didn’t greet Steve, didn’t even acknowledge him. You kept staring at your purchases, thinking about how you wanted to hide in the ice machine for real this time. It was making an awful loud noise, but…

“I thought you’d gone to university,” Steve said. Of course he would want to have a conversation with you. It was just your luck.

“I did.”

“Chicago?”

“Yep.”

You felt him nod beside you.

“You staying over for the summer?”

“I am.” And after summer.

“I never saw you around these last couple years.”

“Cause I was in Chicago.”

“Then why didn’t you stay there?”

That got you to look at him. He was sweating as well, and that made him easier to face, more human. “Didn’t want to. Do I gotta get your permission to come back?”

The edge of his mouth dragged upwards. It wasn’t really a smile. “I ain’t got that kind of authority. It’s this place,” and he pointed to a postcard of your sleepy little hamlet tapped to the wall behind the counter “You don’t just leave Lupercal.”

“People have moved out before, Steve.”

His not-smile widened into an almost-smile just as Milton walked back in, carrying a bunch of packets in both arms.

“Here you go,” he announced, dropping everything on the counter and grinning.

“Well, bag it up, man,” Steve urged.

You had to wait as Milton served Steve first. You really missed Chicago. Powerful people still got preferential treatment in big cities, of course, but it never happened right in front of you. Back there you could at least play at agency.

Once all purchases were rounded and paid for Steve murmured a “thank you” and turned to leave, but he paused, turned back around and looked right into your eyes.

“Welcome home.”

You don’t just leave Lupercal.

There was some truth to these words. Perhaps that was why Lupercal wasn’t practically a ghost town, like the ones that surrounded it. Most people didn’t leave, and if they did, they didn’t go far. Your older sister, the only one who’d managed to leave, now lived in the next town over. Few were the people who truly abandoned this neck of the woods for something better. Most didn’t get the chance to do it.

And you had squandered yours.

With no job and no school, you had all the time in the world to chastise yourself. Staying inside with nothing but your thoughts and the sounds of your brother’s video games to keep you company was going to drive you mad. You had to get out.

You were too old to hang out behind the local school and too young to hit the local bar this early in the day, and there wasn’t much else to do in town. You used to like hiking back in the day – maybe it would be nice to check Palatine Hill at least once. It had been the scenery of many a picnic with your family, and a place you still had fond memories of.

Your father had taken the car so you had to go on your old bike. It was rusty and too small, but it still took you from point A to point B.

Riding across your neighborhood was a blast from the past. From the yards with dry flowers to the old roof shingles, it looked just as you remembered from before you left and just as you remembered from when you were little. Lupercal never changed, which was another reason why you had always wanted to escape it.

You made your way to the nicer neighborhood, then downtown, watching as the same people you had known all your life did the same things they had always done, day in and day out. Most recognized you, a few waved, and all looked at you as if you were doing something wrong. That was familiar too.

The outskirts of the town were more pleasant. You seldom saw anyone, your only company being the trees and old houses, a portrait of disrepair. This, this sort of loneliness, you had missed.

Six minutes biking out of town, and you abandoned the asphalt of the highway for a dirt road that branched off of it, a path flanked by trees and bushes, and completely cut out from anything that resembled civilization. The perfect place to disappear in. You still resented your roommate during your freshman year for telling you about the many disappearances in national parks. Abducted by aliens, enchanted by fairies, coerced into a steamy love affair with Bigfoot – the stuff of nightmares. Those things ruined your affection for Palatine Hill just a bit.

The path continued up a slope, but you had tried going up it on your bike in middle school, and that hadn’t turned out well.

You dismounted your vehicle and let it fall on the grass. The backs of your thighs were drenched in sweat, and you wiped at them before continuing on your way.

The path to the top of the hill was as familiar as the one from the kitchen in your parents’ home to your childhood bedroom. The forest critters didn’t look at you with judgment in their eyes, and that was a plus. There, in the woods, you could forget about your shame and lack of direction. Even if you got lost, in Palatine Hill you always knew how to find your way back home.

You followed the dirt path up the hill, reminiscing about all the other times you did so before. You spotted the oak tree your eldest brother had carved the biggest heart you’d ever seen to impress a crush. You walked by the narrow trail that lead to Talisa Falls, one of you and your high school friends’ old hangouts. You stopped to rest at the same bent you had a vivid memory of your mother standing at as she waited for you to climb up to her.

There was a clearing at the very top of the hill where people from town had built park benches and even a rickety wooden structure that served as a lookout of sorts. It was the best place to get a panoramic view of Lupercal outside of a helicopter, but you hadn’t climbed the thing since your father fell from it. You weren’t scared of it so much as you were spiteful.

You sat down on the grass and leaned back, putting all your weight on your arms as you closed your eyes. The sun was blaring, but the mountain air was mercifully cool. Unlike your home, with your brother’s shoot em ups, your dad’s westerns, your mom’s YouTube knitting videos, and the dog barking in the yard, this place was as quiet as you remembered it. Perhaps even quieter.

You opened your eyes. There was none else around, but that was expected. People hardly came to Palatine Hill anymore. The weird thing was that you didn’t hear anything besides the wind. There should be birds chirping, at least.

A shiver ran down your spine. Everything suddenly felt so cold. You stood and wrapped both arms around yourself. You didn’t know what had changed, but you couldn't stay there for another second.

As you made your way to the path that would take you back to the base of the hill, you felt keenly aware of how exposed you were. Anyone standing beyond the treeline would be able to see you and remain unseen. Why there would be anyone hidden in the woods you didn't know, but the idea didn’t seem all that far-fetched.

The walk down the mountain took longer than the climb up. You didn’t know whether to blame your small, quiet steps, or the sudden weight on your shoulders dragging you down. You suspected both.

You were nervous sweating by the time you reached your bike. Good thing you hadn’t brought the lock. You felt something would catch up to you if you stayed still any longer. It struck you how that feeling was more than just momentary. It was as familiar as this town, and brought about by it. Sure, Lupercal sucked in the ways small towns usually do, but the main reason you had always wanted to run from it was the gaping maw which presence you’d always sensed; the unknown something lurking in its ancient woods.

Part 2

[elysiadjarin]

Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

~

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

~

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

~

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

~

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.