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bluecookies02 · 4 years ago

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Dabi x Reader- I Run To You /nsfw/

warnings: praise/degradation, sex oriented quirk?(meaning succubus-ish!Reader), choking, overstimulation, squirting, pinning/slightly obsessed reader.

The reader becomes a villain-->brief mentions of blood, mentions of Touya's "death".

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Maybe you're supposed to feel some sort of remorse when you see your childhood friend on the screen, blue flames hugging every corner of the building he's in, the poor glass shattering and melting as the reporters hurriedly fly around to catch every evidence and information they can.

You couldn't see much of his face, but the way he carried himself and the exact patterns of his scarred arm were enough for her. You only needed one glance.

It took a few months for you to wrap your head around it. Trying to push down the anger and grief by finding excuses for whatever he's doing. You became obsessed though, super fixated on every last trail of him you can find.

Years went by fast. Gaining the trust of other villains was fairly easy when you share the same hatred for the heroes. It brings you a sense of belonging and they listen. They listen and feel your anger, understand loss better than anyone else you tried to talk to before. You don't receive stupid condolences and bullshit like "it gets better" or "that's what faith had in store for you". You get raw emotion, telling you exactly what you yearned to hear, finally knowing that you're not crazy and that there are people who have enough braincells to see through the terrible facades the society has been smearing over everybody's eyes.

It's hard at first, watching blood and flesh rip through the air you breathe as your shoes leave red trails that follow your step...until they don't...they get mixed and lost and the footprints you once knew were yours look foreign, you don't know where you came from, you just know where you're headed.

You come back to your small apartment almost every night, writing down and scribbling each piece of information before it has the chance to be forgotten, intent on not letting a single detail slip.

You find it bizarre. You wanted to be a hero. For as long as your memory goes, you admired and glorified the kind and selfless faces you saw on TV, and in your own house.

He wanted to be a hero too? Even more than you. You're close, just a handful of months and you'd earn yourself a place. You know it.

Would he remember you?

Your pen breaks under the pressure of your palm, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You stack the notebooks neatly, locking your door before plopping on your pillow.

All of this for a boy...how silly of you...Would he be happy to have someone familiar next to him?

You feel lonely...You miss the comfort of the past and you wonder if he does too. Did he even like you back then? You dig for every memory of him smiling at you, gracing your hand while the two of you played the games on his computer.

Then your eyes wander to the pictures on your wall, collages of newspapers with his face on it. He aged like fine wine. Strong and handsome. His hands are something you can't look away from, his long fingers keeping you in a trance while you snuggle under your blanket, slipping your hand in your shorts. Just this time.

You bend your legs at your knees, head craned to look at the pictures on your walls, mouth loosely open. You take your time working your clit, imagining how he would do it. How he would take his time exploring you after not seeing you for so long.

Your ass bucks off the bed a little, humping against your fingers, almost dipping into your greedy pussy, ghosting over the slicked up hole and spreading the nice coat of the slimy wetness across your folds.

Would he be good at eating you out? Stretching his scarred jaw to fit his mouth over your cunt and lap at it, sticking his tongue out as far as it can go.

You stretch your shorts to fit your hand in, pressing two fingers on each side of the sensitive nub, using your other hand to flick at the exposed pearl. It almost burns from the pressure, too sensitive when it's not hidden under the thin layer.

What if he had his tongue pierced? Imagining the metal on you, swirling over every inch, digging into you as it bumps your clit. You can't make yourself wait anymore, pulling your shorts down and pressing your knees to your tummy. Like he's there in the room, giving him a perfect view of your dripping hole, untouched and clenching around nothing as you trail your finger across it.

You slip two of them in, too horny to drag it out anymore, you start pumping them in and out of your pussy, convulsing and shivering each time you hit that spot while you arch off the bed. Your other hand works your clit, chasing the trashing of your hips while your drenched cunt pools around your fingers, the sound making you high. It's wet and erotic, your palm slamming against your other hand, the rhythm on your clit rushed and messy, interrupting the pace you need.

You imagine his skilled fingers on you again, precisely circling your swollen nub as he stuffs you with his cock, his hot breath on your neck while his dyed hair tickles your face, wet kisses adoring your skin as he's about to stuff you full of his cum, press your legs to your stomach until they feel like they're gonna break. He'd try to go deeper than possible, holding your neck so that he can kiss you properly as your bodies rock the bed.

He'd cum first, seconds before you just to make sure that you milk every last drop as you cum and pulse around his shaft, your pussy gripping and sucking him in while he still balls deep inside you, groaning into your mouth.

The sensation of him shaking against you sends you over the edge, your breath being knocked out of you as your thighs flex and clench together, squeezing your hands and trapping them in place.

You're gasping for breath, eyes closing and ears buzzing from your high, light thrust against your clit coming to a stop as you slowly calm down.

Bliss washes over you as you lay there for a bit, chest rising and falling, your body completely relaxed.

You hope it'll all turn out to be worth it and joining the League would just be another step from many to go. Yet you still hope that your feelings were mutual back then. You experience loss too early in your teen years and a lot has changed since. But one thing was constant, you never stop loving someone even after they're gone, and Touya is the biggest proof of that.

You still had his books, pens, shirts and all of the notes the two of you passed around during dinners or classes...and you held onto them long before you found out he was still somewhere out there.

He was stoic and cold most of the time, his affections looked calculated, keeping you on the line throughout the whole friendship, not letting the two of you slip into a relationship. Pausing his flirting as soon as you seemed to get your hopes up.

If not a relationship, you want closure, and you want him, in any form you can have him.

_______________

Slowly you wake up to a pattern of knocks on your bedside table, not having the time to panic or get scared as you're slipping away from your dreams.

When you finally do see a tall white-haired man next to your bed, you raise your hands up in defense, heart skipping beats and toes curling as you back away to the headboard.

"Quiet a stalker aren't you?" Red eyes pierce through you, your quirk activating for a split second until he grabs a hold of your ankle with four fingers.

"You know what the fifth one does...so behave nicely, I'm not here to kill you" You look around the room, avoiding the uncomfortable gaze of the leader.

The shame of your interior upsetting you more than the initial fear of getting murdered.

"How did you get in?" Your locks are too good to be broken down, your alarm system expensive(but stolen) and working perfectly.

A purple portal flashes in the middle of the room. Well not so perfectly, you figure.

"I won't snitch on your obsession cause I couldn't care less, I want you in the League. Pack your shit or run." Your eyes are wide open, watching as the man slips into a portal and disappears, the purple mist still glowing in front of you.

You hurriedly grab a small suitcase, stuffing everything you know is important, already having some luggage packed in case you had to move fast for whatever reason. It comes in handy being organized.

You hide the newspapers you took off your walls, slipping them between your clothes and zipping the suitcase. First impression matters, so you risk wasting a bit of time to pick out an outfit, making yourself look presentable before you slip into a mellow cloud, dragging your stuff with you.

Your heart is pounding, blood rushing to the tips of your ears and the pads of your fingers, pulsing and warming you up.

The leader greets you again, grinning as he leads you to a room, telling you to make yourself at home.

"I wanted to give you a roommate, but that would be distracting" he teases, his teeth still showing as he closes the door behind you. The room is warm and surprisingly not messy at all. Yes, some things are carelessly tossed on the bed or draped over the chair but everything else is neat. You figure out fairly quickly that it was probably occasionally used.

You take your time to explore the room, piling up the stuff that wasn't yours in one corner of it. You unpack one of your suitcases and half of the other, cursing yourself for bringing the evidence of your little plan.

You don't know why you brought it, it seemed useless after you found out where you're going, but you guess it's for sentimental reasons. You didn't plan for it to happen so fast. But they were indeed a bit low on numbers after recent attacks so they must've gotten impatient and started seeking out more people.

You did do everything in your power to get noticed so you do want to take some credit. You smoothen out the sheets before you sit on the bed, thighs rubbing together from nervousness.

Is he on a mission?

How can you play it cool?

What's his favorite food now?

What are his interests?

Does anything make him particularly happy...maybe a hobby?

Should you try using your quirk to lure him in?

Does he know you exist?

Will he recognize you?

Would he remember you even after you tell him?

Maybe you shouldn't tell him.

You stop before you get too deep in your thoughts, deciding that you should make yourself comfortable. It's very likely that he's not there anyways, and he might not even show up soon, sitting there all alone is just making you more anxious.

You decide to leave the room, curious to meet other members that you heard in the hallways a few minutes ago. They were all headed to the same place, so you decided to go to what you figured was the living room.

The smell of alcohol got stronger, and the small giggles and banter got louder. You fixed your clothes one last time before opening the door, seeing the all too familiar faces in the room.

A blonde-haired girl ran to you, almost tumbling them both to the floor as she giggled excitedly.

"I was dying for more girls in this dump, they all stink" she whined, sniffing your shirt. She was grabbed by the collar by the boss, his pinkie up as the girl huffed.

_________________

So that's exactly how you met everyone, sitting on the bar as you silently wished the last member showed any desire in greeting you. He was sprawled out on the sofa in the far end of the room, a beer in hand and a cigarette in his mouth. You've never seen someone so unapproachable before, and it had to be him of all people.

Yet you didn't take it to heart. He was always like this...well minus the alcohol. New people didn't phase him, even more, he hated new. You're not worthy of his time until he deems you as so and you figure he never met "you" before.

But you do glance at him. The whole fucking night, chatting with others but always slipping and almost getting caught. They pointed it out but you just brushed it off as being curious to why he doesn't look like he's enjoying himself.

Even tho, you can practically feel his gaze on your back each time you turn away, feeling flustered you sip on your drink through the night, blushing when you catch him averting his gaze.

He is intrigued, to say the least. The way you move and talk is intoxicating, your voice feeling like something he had forgotten a long time ago. It reminds him of his past and it makes him fairly angry...but it brings some form of comfort he didn't feel in a while. He'll be selfish enough to indulge himself.

And he does. Months. Seeping into years.

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Missions are exhausting, so far you've been on more than you could bring yourself to count. On the run for weeks with little to no rest wasn't the luxurious lifestyle younger you dreamed about.

The comfort of the not so soft bed never felt more heavenly than now. A cheap motel wasn't your form of rest either, but you had to deal, hopping in for a not so relaxing shower with water that jumped from freezing to burning hot every second, tho it did an amazing job on easing the coil in your stomach.

Your quirk is taking a toll on you, control over it fading away as soon as you are laying clean and fresh on the bed. Too much...You were working too much and just teasing the victims never seemed to satiate your quirks' hunger. You second guess your path a lot, especially when you end up alone and exhausted, but you never think about quitting...as weird as that feels. It has its perks you guess...

Him being your partner wasn't one of them. He's practically eating you up, showing off in front of you but ignoring you all the same. You feel like crying from frustration, huffing to yourself before digging into your backpack and grabbing your small toy. It's been a few weeks since you could indulge yourself, the tension of your muscles painful.

Tears are almost freely rolling down your cheeks, your quirk making you feel dizzy as you slip the toy against your clit.

His voice is rough and quiet in your head, the conversations you had playing on repeat, searching for anything that you might've missed.

Every time you thought of one, it was followed by a memory of him pushing you away, smirking before going to do his own thing. He always had a smart mouth, flirting with you but making sure to step right off when he feels like he's dancing on that line.

You bit back equally though, returning the snarky comments and putting up a tough facade all while you tried to cling onto every thread of hope he threw your way.

He was almost sure he heard you though, his real name followed by a muffled cough as you tried your hardest to drown it with small talk. A moment of pure joy after you both made it out alive and safe made you let your guard down.

And when he called off the rest of the mission for the day out of nowhere, you were almost sure too.

But he isn't here now. He didn't follow you, and you're certainly all alone in this empty room. He'll come around...or he'll leave in the middle of the night. You wouldn't be able to blame him for either.

He's in the room right next to you, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock and his eyes squinted shut. He knows exactly who you remind him of, knows exactly what he felt as soon as you joined. You were always similar to her.

Awfully similar.

He knows.

It doesn't feel fair. Not to you or him. But he can't think. He can't focus and he can't stop himself from moaning out your name as his cock slicks up with pre-cum, his other going to his balls and squeezing them lightly.

He feels drunk, even though he didn't drink...well more than the usual amount... his body is burning like it's on fire...which isn't a foreign feeling to him. But it's different, the blood in his veins is warm, surging to the tips of his hands and toes as he fucks into his own fist. He's almost in a haze, fighting the urge to get up and slam your door open. If he runs away now, you'll be safer, maybe quit the League if he's lucky.

But he can't win, messily pulling his pants up and slipping on his shoes, grabbing your door handle in less than a blink as he tries to go back one last time. He has a primal need that pulls him towards you, even when he's not in the same room, it urges him to reach out and chase you, grip on the last straw of sanity and happiness that happens to be you.

Your toy buzzes faintly, sweat gracing your body while you so desperately try to cum. You're too sad and it doesn't help in reaching your high at all, but if you don't do it you feel like you might explode. He knows and he doesn't want you. You wasted your life away. You deserve it for being a creep.

He opens the door cautiously, feeling his cock pulse against the loose buckle. The lamp highlights your tear-stained cheeks and it's criminally hot, illegal even, making his toes curl.

You notice him immediately, dropping the toy on the mattress and using the sheet to cover as best as you can.

"I can't believe you" he whispers.

"Please..." you whine, drinking in the sight of him, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. To leave or to stay...any of the two.You know desire when you see it, praying that he came to quench it.

You're so desperate, craving him, letting go of your quirk and sending hormones to clash and bite against his skin.

You'll lie if you have to, say how you couldn't control it for a second more.

Nothing matters now when he's crawling up your naked body like a starved man, ripping the sheets away, digging his nails into your sides as he ravages your skin like it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

And it probably is, the soft nibbles turning rough and hungry as you struggle to hold one, tangling your hands in his hair. You try to pull on it, yearning to kiss him and pour everything you feel against his lips, even if you're just a fuck, you need him to know that you never forgot him.

He doesn't budge, instead, he makes quick work of his pants, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

The room is too warm for you, the air too thick to breathe. You don't know if you want to stop and talk first....maybe you'll have the chance later?

"This is your fault" he huffs, slipping one hand to his boxers to ease the tension, gripping his cock tightly. He'll have to rush it, groaning when your legs subconsciously twitch and spread to let him fit in between.

"I feel like a fucking teenager" he argues, cupping your pussy and hunching over you.

He's missing a few steps, but seeing you so desperate and aching to cum urges him to help you out first.

"Since when did you start luring me in with your stupid quirk huh? Part of your little plan?" he questions, not letting you answer.

You're shaking your head, trying to mumble how you never tricked him into wanting you, not until this exact moment. But words are not your friend right now.

His eyes pierce through yours, beautiful blue swallowed up by the black of his pupils, half-lidded stare stripping you naked. Bare and vulnerable as your back arches, ghosting his fingers over the right spots and making you moan out a soft "Dabi".

It doesn't sound right on your tongue, and he sees the way it rolls off your lips, strained and dishonest.

His large hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place as he works the small bud, lowering his lips dangerously close, whispering across yours.

"Don't close your eyes." he demands.

It's in his arms reach, and everything is so close to making sense. If you look at him, he might start feeling like himself again. One of his fingers slowly dips inside your warmth, dragging the pad of it gently while he presses his thumb against your clit.

Your soft lips fit on his, your hands pulling him in by the back of his neck. He wants to make it slow and romantic, a nice reunion, yet he lets you slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss.

He's not holding himself up anymore, his body's weight shifting onto you with each thrust of his finger, the clacking sound of your pussy urging him to move even faster, make you feel even better. He adds in another one, watching you mewl and relax.

"That's fucking right, you wanted it, you fucking planned this, you sick fuck" he muses, catching you off guard. There's something bittersweet in the fact that he'll never be able to leave every little aspect of his life behind.

Before you even try to mumble something out, his lips are slamming against yours, teeth clashing and pulling on your soft skin.

You clench around him, riding his fingers greedily and roaming your hands across his back, fisting and gripping at his shirt.

You can feel the blood on your tongue, hissing when he pulls out only to slap his palm over your clit, causing you to yelp and pull away from the kiss.

"Touya, listen-" He shakes his head, nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

"You little stalker...how much work did you do for this cock huh?" he presses against you for good measure, making you feel his hot length on your cunt.

"You have no fucking idea" you snarl, gaining some of the confidence back, wiggling from beneath him.

He kicks his shoes and boxers all the way off, getting on your bed and pulling you to him.

His shirt is thrown messily to the edge of the bed, his hands pressing on the small of your back so that you can tower over him, trapping him between your thighs as he leans against the headboard.

Your ass slides over his cock, your hips moving slowly while he trails your figure, gliding his warm fingers across your thighs and up to your breasts.

Both of his hands cup the soft mounds, eyes glued to yours as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth. Hypersensitive to every little touch, your body shivers as he takes gentle, almost there swipes across your nipple, moving his arms back to your sides while he slips the sensitive bud in his mouth.

He lowers his thumb to your clit, flicking it slowly while he nips at your tits, biting and sucking marks across the smooth skin. His cock hooks and prods at your hole each time you both sway against each other, teasing you until the knot in your belly becomes too tight, skin crawling with pleasure wherever his body meets yours. He can hear your breath hitching in your throat, grinning while he speeds up the work on your clit, patiently waiting for you to start arching into his hand. He's gonna make you feel so good...convince you that chasing after him was the best decision you made in your life. Make up for all the years you had to deal with everything on your own.

He can feel your pussy clenching around the tip of his cock, making him push up in one slow and deep motion, immediately feeling the spasms of your soft walls gripping tight around his length. You let out a shaky breath, riding out the first high that finally satiates your quirk if only for a bit, making you drop your weight on him.

"There we go...Feeling better?" the ground might swallow you up, but when his hips start to lazily buck into you, you get distracted...You didn't notice how full you are, every inch pushing and stretching perfectly. You realize his finger never really stopped, only slowed down while he built up the agonizing pace he's bouncing you on.

You know your quirk makes you needy, but it makes everyone even more so, the realization that he probably feels like 9 circles of hell causing your hips to move, meeting his thrusts more roughly.

His head moves back to the headboard, eyes glued to yours as you ride him, propping yourself on his shoulders.

He ignored the burn of his body, too intoxicated and keen on making you feel better to focus on his aching cock, getting drowned in pleasure now that he can experience everything clearly.

You're beautiful.... and he wants to break you, make you blabber his name as you cling to him like he's the only one that can make you feel good. And he's gonna make sure he is. He admires you for a moment, cheeks heating up while watches your tits bounce, your eyes averting under his stare.

Your world turns upside down, your head sinking into a soft pillow as your legs are pushed as far as they can go.

You're scared to look away now, his gaze never breaking when he starts plowing in and out of your cunt, slamming his cock all the way in with each thrust.

His feet dig into your mattress, making the cheap bed creak.

You don't know where to put your hands, switching from the sheets to your thighs.

"Dumb little whore...is this all it takes?" he moves lower to you, pressing your spit coated lips against his.

You manage to hook your arms around his neck, swinging your legs behind his back.

He's plowing too deep, his navel bumping against your clit. He can't make himself pull out at all anymore, stuck on humping inside your pussy, slamming and angling his cock until you cry out.

Panting and groaning against your lips, he manages to slip a few curses, hissing when he tries to stop himself from cumming. Your quirk is cruel.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you still as he bottoms out completely, feeling his cock throb and spill, your walls tightening up against his shaft as hot cum paints them white.

He's high and addicted, already fucking his cum deeper, making sure it goes into every little crease and pore it can reach. You slip your fingers to your clit, trying to get yourself off while he rocks both of you.

"You wanna cum? Wanna milk my cock again huh? Want me to knock you up?" He's stammering it out, words spilling from his mouth in a rush, feeling the burning of his sensitive head as he picks up the pace again, slapping your hands away.

He raises just a bit, pressing one of his large palms on your belly.

His other hand slips to your clit instead, circling and flicking it to make you reach your high before he fills you up again.

Your whining does nothing to slow him down, his motions too rough and almost painful, your cervix bruising up when he presses even harder on your tummy, making your hips buck off the bed.

"Want you to cum...want you to make a mess..." he urges, a low rumble in his throat.

You can only nod, grabbing both of your thighs and spreading them further for him, your pussy open and on display to him to watch as it hugs his cock, slick and dripping.

You have to close your eyes, too embarrassed as you feel the burning sensation surge through you, eyes watering from the pressure as you finally let go. Your whole body tenses up, a low scream slipping out of your mouth when clear liquid splashes over your thighs and stomach, leaking onto his cock.

"Fucking hell" is all you can hear before he stuffs you full again, this time dropping onto your chest as his knees and feet numb out, hot breath tickling your neck as he moans against your skin.

Your weak hands slump on his back, muscles relaxed and barely working.

Someone is supposed to say something...minutes passing by quickly.

Your tired voice fills the room, a soft "Touya..." reaching his ears as you trail off. You're not sure what you wanted to say, but he holds you a little tighter, heart beating faster at the sound of his name.

He kisses your cheek softly, snuggling into the crook of your neck. "Fucking creep".

#dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #touya x reader #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader lemon #dabi #bnha #mha #touya x reader lemon #touya x reader smut #idk #tags are weird

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sithsecrets · 5 years ago

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A Matter of Expediency - Part IX

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

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Part 9

4.7k words

Mentions: swearing

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The next several weeks of your life are a virtual continuum of meetings and planning sessions. You work both with the Board of Charitable Affairs and alone, studying poverty statistics, learning about various cultures, and deciding which locations and issues take precedence over other points of interest. It’s a lot of hard work, but you find satisfaction in your duties nonetheless. Every positive report and letter of gratitude that falls into your hands staves off feelings of burnout and discouragement, and after a month and a half, you feel like you’ve made a real difference in the lives of some of your underprivileged subjects. Even so, there’s still so much to be done, but you’re more than ready to rise to the occasion.

Other members of the Board are wowed by your dedication, and even some the Chairwoman’s cronies admit that your proposals have merit. Evan herself is still a thorn in your side, but mostly harmless. Her jabs are sly, and you know that she gossips about you behind your back. She’s furious that you’re doing so well, and it shows in every malicious remark. The Chairwoman could do nothing to spoil the work you love so much, and in any case, the friendships you’ve forged with your peers are fine buffers for her nastiness.

Overall, you feel more comfortable on the ship now. You know your way around for the most part, the strangers are less strange… The Supremacy feels like home, almost. You still miss sunshine and breathing real air, but you’re acclimating to this environment, to this life. People regard you with respect, and you think that most of them even like you— what more could you want?

Even your relationship with your husband has become a bit… smoother. The two of you have fallen into a routine together, and though you sometimes wish you saw Kylo more during the day, you’re still content to spend your evenings with him, to share his bed. He remains pleased with your charitable work, and you even caught him singing your praises to a group of officers once. Every compliment from Kylo, be it about your work, your appearance, or something else, never fails to make your pulse quicken, and you try to show him just as much kindness. Kylo isn’t free with his physical affection outside of the bedroom, but he does hold you each night as the two of you fall asleep, regardless of if you’ve had sex first or not. Though you yearn for a bit more affection in your marriage, this gesture does give you a bit of hope. You know that you’ve come to care deeply for Kylo, and you think (hope, pray) that he cares for you as well.

You find yourself mulling over the nature of you and your husband’s relationship frequently, plagued with worries about your connection. Truthfully, you wish you could see into the future so you could confirm for yourself whether or not you and Kylo will ever fall in love, but you have no such abilities. So, you’re left to wonder in silence, alone with your thoughts. You ponder the notion of simply being friends with the man you’re married to, of being cordial with the father of your children. The idea leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you finally gather up the courage to voice your concerns to someone you think may be able to understand.

“Miriam,” you say one evening, eyes your attendant in the mirror as she brushes your hair. She is focused on her work, never looking up at you even as she speaks.

“Yes, Empress?”

“Have you ever worked for someone like me before?” you ask, immediately realizing how the question could be cause for confusion. “I mean, have you ever worked for someone who’s marriage was arranged?”

“Oh yes,” Miriam says at once, adjusting her stance as she works out a knot. “Many of the women I’ve served had their marriages arranged. Some of them never even laid eyes on their husbands before their wedding day.”

The mere notion of such circumstances makes you feel marginally luck, seeing that you got to meet Kylo more than once after your engagement. Not knowing what your husband looked like before you married him? Stars above…

You sit up a bit on your stool, hands fidgeting. “Did… Did it usually turn out okay?”

“Define ‘okay’,” Miriam says slowly, throwing you a curious look in the mirror now.

“Well… Did the couples usually end up caring for one another? As lovers do, I mean, and not just as partners or… or teammates.”

Miriam sets your brush down on the vanity in front of you, running her fingers through your hair absently as she decides what to do with it. “I’ve only seen one such marriage play out terribly, and I think it had more to do with their age difference and the husband’s proclivities than anything else. In every other case, at least in my experience, the couples ended up caring deeply for one another.” Miriam expression shifts to one of concern, and she sets her hands on your shoulders rather gently. “Why do you ask, my lady?”

You could dismiss Miriam, you know. You could tell her that you’re done talking, you could shut her down completely and demand that she dress you without saying anything more. But Miriam doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, and your heart is too raw for cruelty at the moment.

Miriam must take your hesitation to speak as an indicator of trouble, because she narrows her brow and asks, “Has everything been alright with the Supreme Leader, Empress?”

It’s a bold question, almost too bold, but you’re happy to know that Miriam feels safe enough with you to speak in such a fashion.

“No, no,” you say quickly, rushing to assure your attendant that you’re okay. Because you are, in the grand scheme of things— you’ve just been locked inside your head too much lately. “Kylo’s been wonderful. I just— I just hope that I have his heart, or that I’ll come to have it, eventually.”

You hate yourself for crying, swiping away the tear that rolls down your cheek as if it’s burning your skin. Miriam watches you do this, concern and sympathy written plainly on her face. She finally takes her hands off your shoulders, threading her fingers through your hair now. An outsider would think that she was simply sectioning off your hair for styling, but her touch is far too gentle against your scalp to be anything less than comforting.

“Does the Supreme Leader have your heart, Empress?” Miriam asks quietly.

You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, biting back more tears. As a result, your voice is nothing more than a strained whisper. “I think so.” Miriam’s eyes soften considerably, and she quits fussing with your hair. You bark out a laugh, though it’s a humorless one. “Isn’t that pathetic? “I’m in emotional turmoil because I have a crush on my husband.”

Your attendant replies, failing to acknowledge your self-deprecating remark. “Though I don’t profess to know his feelings, I do believe that the Supreme Leader cares for you,” Miriam states, making an actual effort to style your hair now. “He doesn’t parade you around like a trophy or a decoration, but he does like having you by his side when the two of you make appearances. And you’ve told me yourself that he’s proud of the work you’ve done for all of the Order’s charitable causes. Men who don’t care for their wives definitely don’t care about what their wives do, no matter how great their achievements.”

Miriam pauses to meet your eyes in the mirror, smiling warmly. You return to the gesture, already feeling a bit silly about your little crisis. Everything that Miriam’s said isn’t news to you— perhaps you just needed to hear it from someone who’s not involved the way you are.

“And,” your attendant adds, “if I may be so bold… his affection for you is written plainly on your skin.”

Your entire body floods with heat at this, and your face turns so red so fast that it’s almost unnatural. You know good and well what Miriam’s referring to, the love bites on your shoulder, the bitemark on your chest. Kylo called them “reminders” the first time he ever put such a thing on your body— they’re supposed to help you remember how beautiful he thinks you are. And though you like to think that the sentiment is something special, you downplay it now in front of Miriam now.

“He could do that to anyone,” you say, flustered. Miriam raises her eyebrows a little, casual.

“He could,” she concedes, “but he doesn’t. He marks you where only the two of you can see. It’s not a possessive action, not meant for the benefit of others.”

You quite like the sound of that, but your embarrassment prevents you from saying so. Miriam tucks one last pin into your hair, and then her hands are gripping your shoulders again.

“The Supreme Leader thinks much of you,” she declares, “both as a diplomat and as his wife.”

You nod at this, encouraged by the serious look in your attendant’s eyes. Miriam gives you the smallest of shakes, a gesture meant to punctuate her conviction. “Love will come,” she assures you, “I promise.”

Part of you wants to argue, wants to say “what if,” but you push every doubting remark back down your throat. Miriam is no great oracle, she can’t possibly know how everything’s going to play out, but you trust her immensely. She’s lived far more life than you have, and if she says that something’s going to happen, then it likely will. And in any case, Kylo is sweet to you, he does hold you and kiss you and call you his when the door is closed and the lights are low. So for now, you choose to be content with what you have.

“Love will come.”

---

The rest of your day is rife with meetings and political engagements, more so than usual. You receive countless ambassadors and visiting parties in the throne room, talking with each and every single person at length about their concerns and worries. Winter is fast approaching on some of the Order’s most underprivileged possessions, and many leaders from those planets and territories fear for their poor and sick. You sympathize with them immensely, but still, it’s been daunting to take each proposal and plan in turn. But thankfully that’s all done for now; the throne room sits empty, the corridor outside of it vacant and quiet.

The ship’s evening cycle is upon you, and you’re more than ready to retire to your chambers. A hot meal and a warm bath would do you good, you think, along with a change of clothes. Your shoes have been pinching your feet for hours, and you’re just sick of being covered in beading and embroidery and delicate little things that you have to treat gently. Draping yourself in beautiful clothes is always such fun, but all the fussiness of it does get old after a while.

Before you can make it back to your sanctuary, however, two stormtroopers come out of nowhere and inform you that your husband wants to speak with you at once. With a raging headache and aching feet, you want nothing more than to send the both of them away, to send Kylo a com letting him know that he can come to your quarters if he wishes to tell you something, but you do none of this. If Kylo’s asking for you directly, it must be urgent, so you let the two troopers lead you through the ship, praying all the while that nothing too awful has happened.

It’s cold in the hanger bay when you and the stormtroopers arrive, icy air biting at your skin through the fabric of your sleeves and bodice. Kylo awaits you near a small craft, flanked by the other Knights of Ren. Though they bow deeply and regard you with the proper respect you deserve, you can’t tell what any of them think of you, these strange, powerful men and women who serve Kylo so loyally. Honestly, they unsettle you quite a bit, all of them faceless and expressionless behind masks and helmets, constantly armed and armor-clad. You suppose other people are afraid of Kylo for the same reasons when they first meet him, but you’re of the opinion that the other Knights are just simply less approachable, less human than he is. Perhaps if you could just see their faces…

Turning away from the stares of the Knights, you give your husband a tired smile. “What’s the matter?” you ask, bracing yourself against the chill of the hanger as goosebumps pop up all along your arms.

“I just wanted to inform you that the Knights and I will be leaving for a few days,” Kylo declares, voice robotic through the vocoder in his helmet.

A wave of sadness washes over you, heavy and completely unexpected. You try to cover it quickly though, keenly aware of your audience.

“Now?” you ask, voice rather small.

Kylo nods curtly. “Yes.”

Suddenly, you hate his mask, you hate the fact that your husband’s face is covered. You wish you could see his expression, the look in his eyes, anything that would let you know what Kylo’s thinking.

“How long will you be gone?” you ask, shivering now. It really is cold in this damn hangar, and you aren’t draped in a cloak like everybody else.

“Two to four days,” Kylo answers. The stab in your chest is inexplicable, but it pains you nonetheless.

“I see,” you say, just because you feel like you ought to speak. You cast a look towards the Knights, eyeing their weapons and protective garments, and it suddenly dawns on you that they may be armed for battle. “Where exactly are you all going?”

Kylo is in no mood to be specific, it seems, simply telling that they’ll be doing some scouting in the Minor Possessions. This feels like a lie, but you don’t call him out, unwilling to accept the fact that Kylo could be injured or killed in the very near future. You wish desperately that the two of you were alone, that you could maybe have a moment with him before he leaves. He’ll never let you show him affection, not out in the open like this in front of subordinates, so you just nod, trying to paint on a smile to the best of your ability.

“Well, I hope you all return safely.” You take a small step forward, addressing your husband directly now. “Please be safe.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything for a moment, and though you still can’t see his face, you do think his voice is a bit gentler as he goes to speak. “We’ll be back very soon,” he assures you, and your heart jumps when he reaches out to stroke your arm for the briefest moment.

You smile one more time, watching sadly as your Kylo and his Knights file onto their vessel. They blast off into space without another word, leaving you to watch as their ship becomes but a speck on the inky expanse of stars before you.

It’s an upsetting turn of events, Kylo leaving, and you feel almost childish for not wanting him to go. If he and the Knights decided to leave so promptly, whatever they’re off to do must be important. And who are you to hinder your husband’s work? He never begs you to take a day off from your obligations, nor do you think he would stop you from doing whatever you felt was necessary. But… It’s just that you’ve had a long, grueling day, and you were so looking forward to crawling into Kylo arms at the end of the night.

Thankfully, Miriam’s already waiting for you when you arrive back to your rooms. You drag your feet all the way into the ‘fresher, scrubbing at your eyes with makeup remover as your attendant works to undress you and let down your hair. After you’re changed into more comfortable clothes, you dismiss Miriam for the evening, unable and unwilling to make small talk any longer.

Eating alone is just as depressing as you thought it would be, though getting into bed is even worse. You turn in early, of course, completely drained from all you’ve done today, but you find the bed far too big and far too cold without Kylo beside you.

Tossing and turning, you lie awake until the wee hours of the morning, finally passing out after it seems your body cannot stand to be awake any longer.

---

Kylo’s absence and your foul night’s sleep does nothing for your mood the next day, and you spend much of the morning agitated and snappy. It feels as though your meeting with the Board will never end, and what’s worse, the Chairwoman seems to be in a particularly bright, almost mischievous mood today. You’re sure her cheerful demeanor stems from something that happened this morning, likely an incident that involved her spatting on a custodian or kicking a small child as she walked by. In any case, her shrill laugh and wolfish grin only serve to sour your mood, and as the meeting wears on and on, you grow more and more inclined to have Evan’s tongue cut out on site. However, she’s left you alone for the most part, so you feel as though the action would be unwarranted.

Not ten seconds after this thought crosses your mind do you find yourself reconsidering your self-restraint.

“Oh, my lady!” the Chairwoman exclaims, turning her sharp little eyes your way. Malicious intent curls out of her mouth like smoke as she speaks, you can practically feel the jab coming. “I meant to ask you— where has the Supreme Leader run off to?”

Holding back the urge sigh deeply, you regard the Chairwoman evenly, saying, “A planet in the Minor Possessions.”

You’re being very fair, you think, indulging Evan with the truth even though your husband’s location is none of her business. But she’s seemingly unsatisfied with this, and there’s a glint in her eyes that you don’t like.

“Well, you certainly are a good wife, letting him jet out like that on a whim,” Evan sighs. You’re keenly aware that all eyes are on yourself and the Chairwoman, everyone no doubt waiting to see how this volley between the two of you will play out. “I know I’d be much less inclined to let my man go if I knew that he was going to be out unattended with whores about.”

Evan’s smile is so bright, and you know it must be painful for her to set her face in such a fashion. Her comment is obviously meant to bait you, and you hate that you have to bite the hook— what she’s said is too scandalous to be ignored, and you risk letting her win if you don’t cast your own line.

“The Knights are not whores, Evan, at least to my knowledge,” you say, deadpan, though you do let a sort of wry smile play on your lips as you regard the rest of the table. “Though I don’t profess to know what they do in their free time, nor do I care.”

The quip gets most of everyone chuckling along with you, and Evan’s feathers are ruffled. She sharpens her verbal sword, trying in earnest to draw blood with her words now. “Yes, that may be true, but there are rumors that say that more than one of the Supreme Leader’s Knights of a Ren is a bit… more than just a knight in his eyes.”

If you didn’t know her, this remark might upset you, might make you worried that someone else is sharing Kylo’s bed while he’s away from you. But this is the Chairwoman, and she is nothing but a vile, spiteful woman who wants to make you squirm simply because she enjoys making people upset. She’s so threatened by you, this cruel, bejeweled woman. It’s pathetic.

You lean on the smooth black table before you, chin cradled in one hand. “Chairwoman, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, my lady,” Evan replies readily. Oh, and she thinks she’s winning, you can tell by the glint in her eyes.

“Do you ever get tired of coming up with the drivel that constantly spews out of your mouth?”

Your foe looks as if she’s been slapped, that stupid grin finally melting off of her face. She’s overstepped herself and she knows it.

“I— I was simply making conversation, Empress,” Evan says quickly, letting out a light, nervous laugh.

“No you weren’t,” you scoff, shooting daggers right into the Chairwoman’s gray eyes as you cut her down to size. “You were trying to insinuate that my husband’s abandoned me here so he can fuck someone else in peace.”

The Chairwoman flushes, sitting up straight as a pin as she goes to dispute this. “I—”

“Oh, will you shut up?” you spit, cutting her off. “All you do is fucking talk and talk and talk! Sometimes I think I should just do everyone a favor and cut your tongue out myself.”

Right about now, Evan, her little lapdogs, and even the other members of the Board all look like they’re about to soil themselves. The only person who remains cool, calm, and collected is Hux, glaring at the Chairwoman from your side as you finish your little tirade.

“But I’m not going to do that because I’m a nice person.” You break into a sarcastic, mean grin as you say this, turning Evan’s favorite expression right back on her now. “I am, however, ending this fucking meeting. My head is pounding, and I’m sick of listening to you hold court at my expense. Get your work done somewhere else and be ready to impress me tomorrow.”

Nobody moves, not even when you say that the meeting’s over. They’ve never seen you like this, threatening and aggressive. Really, you don’t take any pleasure in acting this way, but enough is fucking enough.

“Go!” you snap. “All of you!”

Everyone is up like a shot now, including the Chairwoman, fleeing from the room as if it were on fire. You remain seated, watching on with disinterest and contempt, sparing a glare to anyone who isn’t moving fast enough for your liking. Within seconds, you and the Chancellor are the only ones left in the room.

“You can tell me if that was too harsh,” you say to Hux after a moment, feeling a bit sheepish about your outburst now that it’s over with. The Chairwoman absolutely got what she deserved, but you probably shouldn’t have dismissed the Board the way you did.

Hux shakes his head. “They’re you’re subordinates,” he tells you. “You can talk to them however you like. Personally, I think it was time someone reminded them who they’re dealing with.”

That makes you feel a bit better about the whole thing, but you shoot Hux a look, teasing. “You’re my subordinate, you know.”

Your friend rolls his eyes, rising from his chair as he drawls, “Have me drawn and quartered for my insolence, if you must.”

But then the Chancellor gives you one of his reserved little grins, offering you his arm, and you can’t help but smile back.

The both of you decide that it would be nice to dine privately, so you arrange to have your lunch brought to you and Kylo’s quarters. Hux jokes that the Chairwoman will be accusing you of adultery next time she wants to toy with you, and the two of you have a good laugh about that one. Anyone who could actually believe that you and Hux are having an affair is an absolute moron.

You give Hux a little tour of your quarters while the two of you wait for your meal to arrive, letting him duck into your closet and ‘fresher to kill time. It comes as a bit of surprise to you that the Chancellor’s never visited these rooms before you and Kylo married, but you suppose he had no reason to. And in any case, you’re sure that Kylo’s always been a private person— he’s not partial to intimacy in general, and that goes double when it comes to conducting official business.

Hux is in the mood to chat, it would seem, tittering on about this and that as the two of you dig into your plates. You tell him about your abysmal night’s sleep, even going so far as to disclose that Kylo’s sudden departure upset you more than you’d like to admit. What with Hux’s usual no-nonsense demeanor, you’d been half expecting him to laugh at you for that; instead, he’s surprisingly sympathetic.

“It’s difficult to sleep without your lover,” your friend states, pushing some of his food around idly. “Some beds are just too big for one person.”

It’s only then that you notice how exhausted he looks, pale with dark circles stamped under his eyes. The vulnerability in Hux’s gaze is unmistakable when he sneaks a glance up at you, behaving as if he’s just told you something private, as if he’s made a confession. You assume that this is his very stiff, emotionally guarded version of opening up to you, and you feel rather touched that your friend has come to trust you in this way. Your first inclination is to press for details, to make Hux elaborate on what he’s just implied, but you know that he’d just clam up and refuse to speak about the matter ever again. So, you simply say that he’s right, eyeing your friend carefully as he nods and goes back to eating.

---

To say that you’re relieved as you crawl into bed that night would be an understatement. It’s been such a long day, and you want nothing more than to drift off to sleep and forget about everything for a little while. But like the Chacellor said earlier, your bed is too large and too cold without Kylo beside you, and you can’t make your thoughts stop racing. Your head is filled to the brim, images of the Chairwoman and Hux and your husband swirling together into a storm that chases sleep right out of the harbor of your mind. It’s infuriating, lying wide awake as your body screams for rest.

You find yourself tossing and turning, flinging yourself across the bed in every way possible in a vain attempt to make yourself comfortable. Still, nothing works, and after twenty minutes you’re about ready to burst into tears. The mere notion of getting another awful night’s sleep has you ready to throw a fit, and now more than ever do you wish that your husband was home holding you in his arms.

Kylo checked in with you earlier on the com, though your correspondence was quick. He told you that he and the Knights were doing fine and that the mission was going well, though he was vague on the details. You’d been reluctant to get off the line, happy to hear your husband’s voice, but then Kylo said it was time to make camp and that he had to go. Really, you would feel best if he were here with you, but hoping that he’s warm and safe will have to do for the night. Everyone is always telling you how tough Kylo is, but wish he didn’t have to be. It pains you to imagine him shivering, to think of him anticipating an attack even as he tries to rest…

Yes, you’d much rather have your husband next to you now.

Finally, after what feels like hours, your eyes grow heavy. Burrowing down under the comforter, you turn to face the pane of transperisteel on the far wall, drifting off with the stars glittering before you.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #ame #my writing #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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thewreckkelly · 4 years ago

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Watch "Could Only Happen In Ireland" on YouTube

GOOD GOLLY IT’S DOLLY (My Mother Myself)

I love my Mum – loved her when I was under her care, loved her throughout my independence, love her now she’s in someone else’s care. Of course I’m aware such maternal love is by no means exclusive and undoubtedly, while the expression of such love tends to soften with distance and age, it remains an emotional bond that is a true unbreakable.

Recently I’ve been helping a florist – who also happens to be a great friend - with an online marketing campaign for ‘Mothers Day’ and, (during the course of concocting and plagiarising four line sentiments and graphic displays of floral fawning) , got to thinking of my Mum and what we have shared throughout a lifetime of mutual love.

A strange highlight dominated my walk through that particular past!

-o-

The year was 1980 (I think) and I was slowly ridding myself of the adolescent petulance properly associated with teenage angst while also - willingly and without excuse or apology – continuing to embrace the evolutionary revolutionary mindset of ‘Punk’.

Don’t get me wrong I had never fallen into the ‘Mohawk’, ‘Piercings’, ‘Gobbing’, ‘Pogoing’ or ‘Safety Pin’ syndrome - not this good Catholic boy. It was more than enough for me that the freedom of expression associated with the genre felt ridiculously inspirational and challenging in its raw depth – ‘Never Mind the Bollox’ proving a universally perfect mantra of how to be young in that very beneficial yet restrictive first world of change and changelings.

My Mum was the polar opposite in her musical taste and, (with a small ‘c’), conservative view of people, society and trends. Perry Como was more her cup of tea than the subversive Sinatra or Elvis while country music provided the stories of life she could relate to. Her idea of rocking out was to blare the Ray Conniff’ big band singers through my Da’s good stereo speakers on Sunday mornings - after mass - while letting go of any dancing inhibitions as she prepared the traditional roast.

The funny thing is; I sort of liked her music – without ever admitting such a ‘terrible’ thing to my friends and so called musical peers of course. There is an argument I liked the stuff she liked in much the same way liking anything that defines a good person has a habit of doing, but I don’t believe that was the reason.

I was too young and self-obsessed to understand that all was not simple and simple was, most certainly, not all – yet somehow aware enough to know without really knowing. Later I would realise my Mum had a terrific universal ear for much of what was good and great but back then ...... well .......

My Mum’s life, at the time, was neat and tidy by design - honed from a lifetime of consideration for others and struggle against an incomplete education, social gender relegation and being without too often. Mine was naturally a mess - a snap semi considered series of decisions and influences borne out of immediacy and yearning coloured by arrogance and naivety – a rebel searching for a ‘because’ if you like.

I had spent the summer just gone in London immersing myself in a musical and literary culture that was maturing from the raucous irregular nature of punk and had taken in lots of pub and small venue gigs that ranged in influence from ‘The Jam’ to ‘Elvis Costello’ to ‘John Cooper Clarke’ to ‘Jimmy Pursey’ to ‘Billy Bragg’ to 'Kafka' to 'Tom Wolfe' to 'Philip Larkin' .

It was my coming of age moment when all of such seemed terribly exciting and dangerous to the person I was and surely massively influential in opening up my, (up till then), purposely covert disdain for authority and establishment

In the autumn of that year, weighed down by the morass of all such personal contradictions, I secured two front row seats for a Country & Western show at the RDS - with some degree of trepidation – to treat and play chaperone to my Mum, who was a big fan and unlikely - at that time - to actually enjoy or have the opportunity to avail of such an occasion.

And so it came to pass the two of us left the semi in the suburbs and drove to a monolith in the better part of town to see Dolly Parton do her thing.

-o-

The Royal Dublin Showgrounds in Ballsbridge, Dublin, was, and probably still is, a throwback statement in architecture and class driven membership designed to promote and embrace all of what was good from the Protestant protectorate time of Victoria - while actually succeeding in highlighting much of what was insidious about those whom believed in a realm upon which the sun would never be expected to set. A venue where aspiring middle-class Dubliners and those beyond the pale could, on occasion, sample and digest possibilities their betters expected them to aspire to but rarely achieve.

The entrance to the RDS is signature and a facade of understated power – inviting and intimidating in measure and construction. I hadn’t been in the exhibition hall before and was hugely underwhelmed by its ordinariness, the starkness of the concrete floors and rows of institutional collapsible chairs set out in slightly skewed rows. The room was cavernous, very bright with a stage that looked more suited to a communist political convention than a glitzy C&W extravaganza.

Mum was dressed to the nines, which had worried me slightly to begin with only for such fear to rapidly evaporate upon arrival - it was twenty year old me, dressed as conservatively as I could allow in Wrangler jeans, Polo shirt and black suit jacket, that looked out of place among the throngs of Sunday best middle aged men and women taking their seats in an excited, orderly and happy manner. I felt like the proverbial fish out of water and had to reach deep to marry myself to my Mother’s mounting excitement and sense of occasion.

The support act that night was a solo artist called Kevin Johnson. Here I was on relatively safe ground as his big song was; ‘Rock & Roll I Gave You All the Best Years of My Life’ to which I knew all the lyrics and felt some level of identification with. He was a good competent performer with the troubadour’s presence and I remember being impressed at his professionalism along with enjoying the Americana folksiness of the set. I relaxed a touch and, when he finished off with that song, felt at least I’d got my money’s worth and anything else would be a bonus.

A sense of fervent excitement in the hall grew as we waited for the headliner and, to a point, became infectious. I genuinely had no idea what to expect and the sense of expectation bordering on privilege emanating from this packed venue caused me to doubt any possibly disingenuous pre-conceptions I had inwardly held since I’d bought the tickets and surprised Mum.

The lights went down, the band silently took to the stage as shadows. A fanfare of guitars, fiddle, bass and drums in galloping beat broke the deafening silence of the seated audience and then .......

‘GOOD GOLLY IT’S DOLLY’ issued forth from a disembodied deep male voice - in the pronounced accent of a Southern American State - to rapturous applause.

A spotlight broke the darkness and concentrated its stardust on the wings from which a tiny giant bounded and danced her way to centre stage with more energy than Sellafield.

Clad in a very revealing figure hugging silver diamantes laden dress, sporting perfect make-up on cheeky cultured facial features pronounced with ruby red lipstick – all artistically framed by an abundance of perfectly coffered Dixie blonde tresses.

This would be first lady of country music lit the auditorium miles beyond the ability of mere electricity.... Oh yes Ms Dolly Parton made an entrance you couldn’t beat with a stick.

The show is a blur – I do remember her doing ‘Applejack’ on the banjo, with ridiculous big painted nails not being a bother at all – and the best I can actually recall for the most part is before you could wail ‘Jolene’ I found myself cheering, clapping, dancing and singing along with songs I didn’t know in the company of equally uninhibited people I didn’t know and wising the show would never end. This was new to me; this was a living example of the best at what they do, doing it for me along with everyone else and delivering on every level.

The famous composer of melodies, Thomas Moore, once wrote:

‘And the best works of nature can only improve – when we see them reflected in looks that we love’

When Dolly caused us all to settle down, mid set, and invited each and every one present to relive a childhood memory of Motherly love with her soft ballad; ‘Coat of Many Colours’, I glanced smilingly at my Mum and her returned look allowed an understanding of exactly what Tom Moore was getting at.

Thanks for giving me Dolly Mum, (I’ve held on to her ever since), and, of course, all the rest of the other stuff.

Happy Mother’s Day

#conde nast #new york times #washington post #boston globe #the guardian #the irish times #bbc radio 4 #chicago tribune #ny times #la times #bbc #irish times #dolly parton #grand ole opry #country music

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sonxflight-a2 · 4 years ago

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@kathexismania (☯)

A paradox of nonexistent gravity and saturnine heft, these vibrant sentimental particles being transfused from within the relative simplicity of clothing as it brings the insight beyond an ordinary undemanding touch. More than a blend of scents... More than the wormwood of shedded saline afflictions and sorrow... To feel the erst-cracked fervent core, not through its lulling cadence and heated sternum but circuitous enfold upon his own skin, it’s either quite odd and yet so very wonted. Sheer resonating empathy... How eerie it is, to not be certain of your ending point and the beginning of the dearest other?... Smaller well-defined frame making the textile appear to be loose in its fit, Ryou is uncannily precise when it comes to palpations of his husband’s ardent heart no matter, unwittingly causing the lightly clenched coarseness of palm to steer upon both his own chest and its indirect location.

All-encompassing fondness, what is brought by such perception rises the issue for another brief dispute between emotions and reasoning. Inseparable dolour and soaked in negativity gave birth to the wish of uprising replacement... To bathe the ingrained and woven with the very fragrance of life and tangibility, can his love be truly called intact despite this act of selfishness?... The sudden urge for a melancholy smile remains unheeded, Ryou is aware this controversy being as ridiculous as to deny true love being multifaceted and complex. There is egoism and there is sacrifice... The mightiest force of this world is undeniably human and thus beautiful in its imperfection... He will not give the stolen back until it ceases to be such in the first place, not before the worn-in acrimony will yield to the strengthened bittersweetness as he’ll ameliorate the leaden vibrancy with even more of revived ethereum and united starlit yearning of their daydreams.

Perhaps, it’s the instinct that induced the emerge from within rather than sinking to the bottom. Gradually processed rawness, somehow this is much easier for him to try and look through one's sight than explain the mystery of his own, still to be sealed fractures and chronically bleeding kernel. Perhaps, this absorbed and kept not only one spirit’s lamentation and lifeblood, yet there’s a little of the specific heaviness that once pinned his spine down... Memento of witnessed and endured along, he all the same doesn’t sense oneself being suffocated with the plumbic ocean of his own long-dried tears, keen to recognize the diversity amongst traces while preferring to focus at the most distinct trail. The unbroken longing for contradictory wholeness of his beloved or the desire to carry off the load he was careless to leave and let to be imbibed?... Ryou knows this requires no announced reply when he’s involuntary to find and run his fingertips across the erst-sutured, feeling the paled texture of Hanzo’s scars despite their absence upon his, differently marked derma.

“If I wasn’t willing to accept the gloom and poignant salts of your haggard soul, then I wouldn’t be deserving of its vehemence and devotion. You should be long to know I'm not the man whose love is segregated... However, I will always be stubborn to try and cleanse you of the redundant murk, including my own.”

“This is my own kind of egotism... My own way to make my senses more acute towards the intimacy of entanglement along with hopefulness. I might be implacable towards the cruelty of your own demons, but I value your entrenched darkness as much as the light.”

#✧ 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖… 𝕛𝕒𝕔𝕜 ✧ ║ ic #rp #kathexismania #☯ 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 ☯ ║ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ

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dapperfvck-arc · 7 years ago

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a-z hc game: C-A-S-*-I-D-Y (filmverse)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)John doesn't mind getting messy for one. Granted, he won't sleep in it. He'll usually get up at some point to clean himself off and in the midst of one of their fuckfests might encourage an interlude in the shower to freshen up some. Of course he swallows.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)Though again, at some point he's going to want to clean up, he's initially very warm and loving after sex. He likes to gently pet (and be pet) and quietly, maybe a bit dazedly praise the lovely effort put in to getting him well and solidly off. Sometimes, there's a shade of greed to this if he's been particularly riled up and he might be pushed into the mode of quickly wanting more and to go again.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)John has a lot of stamina when it comes to fucking and rounds. On a good night he can go from dusk til dawn, with a break or two to freshen up and maybe something to eat (likely given how hard they go). Between individual sessions, John tends to last longer while he's topping. He's obsessed with the other person's pleasure (in this case Cass's) and always makes sure they get off first.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) Intimacy is hugely important during sex for him and I mean this more in the sense of physical intimacy. He's not a crotch to hole kinda guy, if you catch my drift. John wants his lover wrapped around him, kissing him, scratching him, biting him, whatever. All of it. In the sense of romantic feelings, he gets more sentimental when he's bottoming. Topping is a bit more of a raw and primal act, not that there's an absence of sentiment, just that he's more focused on the base, animalistic lust it.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)Oh man. I feel like Cass knows most of them. He's been more sexually sincere and depraved with him than anyone else that came before. I think the dirtiest secret really is how very submissive he can get. He really is completely in thrall with him and loves when Cass is in control, treats him like his favourite plaything. I think a good lot of it is because it's less a "do as I say because you're my bitch" vibe and more a "do as I say because it makes me hot and you look so pretty when you beg". There's a generosity to his dominance, which is key for John because he's not the sort to fight his urge to submit. He's not going to play the "make me" game because he can't even pretend he's reluctant to submit because he loves every second of it. Given the amount of sheer willpower he has to hold himself to in his day to day life and how much is involved in working high ritual magic, it's a blessing when he can find space in some aspect, particularly his sex life, that he can give over that control to someone else. He finds contentment there, it's almost meditative.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)This is hard to pin down. I truly believe that for a long while he was putting aside his sexual urges in pursuit of "buying his way into heaven" and was entirely focused on work. When he was sick and dying, sex was the furthest thing from his mind. So yeah, John can shut down his libido to the point that it's nonexistent. However once it's unlocked, he can be damned insatiable. He likes sex. A lot. Partially because he prefers it intense to the point of transcendence. If sex is only ok with someone he's not likely to go back to them for more. He's not going to waste the effort for a sub-par experience, which is part of the reason why he's had some many one off lovers. They did a fine job but nothing worth getting out of bed for. Someone who destroys him in bed, utterly ruins him is going to hold a much higher stock for him on the desirability factor and keep him thirsty and interested for much, much longer.

#n/s/f/w #vamptrampbamf #do you need a light too? ( asks answered )

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infinitammagicae-blog · 8 years ago

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“UNF” ( ;D )

Pin & raw Yumeno // ACCEPTING

SEND “unf” TO PIN MY MUSE AGAINST THE WALL WITH desire

sᴛᴀʀᴅᴜsᴛ ✧┊⊰ To yearn is to live; to live is to LOVE. Yumeno knows that she has MATURED over the YEAR she was out overseas---the magician performing her acts of MAGIC to the world. While she had acquired a large sum of money for her living, but certainly it feels lonesome without her beloved maid by her side. She isn’t sentimental---in fact, she is practically the DEFINITION of the SIN OF SLOTH. Lazy & apathetic, seldom does she put effort in her daily activities aside from her magical studies of witchcraft & other realms of magic.

Her thoughts were lost when she feels the ICY perception from the wall as her back collides with it ( thankfully it wasn’t rough ). Amber red irises flash a symptom of mild PAIN combined with SHOCK. It doesn’t take long for the crimson-haired magician to calm down her ANXIETY ( why was she so ANXIOUS? It’s unlike her ). ❝ Fwah-- !! Kirumi! You-- ❞

Her tongue is bit by her own mouth. Her gaze softens shortly after, though she KNOWS that look in Toujou’s eyes. Heartbeat pounds against her chest, she feels it beat against the white bone of her rib cage. Yumeno finds herself using her hand to caress the blonde maid’s cheek, her pupils staring at her lover. It had only been TWO weeks since she returned back from her year round trip for magic shows & certainly she missed her beyond anything else. ❝ Do I have to punish you for scaring me like that? You know, if you wanted something it would be better than being physical with me. ❞

Nausea hits her gut HARD & Yumeno ends up fixating an ill expression upon her features. She is aware that mint green eyes are staring at her carefully & this results in the older magician to whine softly. ❝ Uhn....Kirumi, don’t worry too much about me. ❞ states softly before pressing herself up against the maid.

No longer being 4′11, she had certainly grown ( thanks to the growth spurt ). Smiling shortly after a moment---to force herself away from her nausea, she immediately plants a small kiss onto Toujou’s cheek. ❝ It’s been only two weeks Kirumi & you act like I’m about to disappear forever. Kakaka~ ❞

#modestaelegantia #✧┊⊰ ɪɴsɪɢʜᴛ // ᴀsᴋ #✧┊⊰ ᴍᴀɴᴀ ʙᴜʀsᴛ // ɪᴄ #▌┊⊰❂ ᴠ; ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ // SPELLBOUND ( Kɪʀᴜᴍɪ x Hɪᴍɪᴋᴏ )#▌┊⊰❂ ᴠ; ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ #( Adult Yumeno tag )

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joneswilliam72 · 6 years ago

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Review: Love Hates What You Become finds Lost Under Heaven seeking to unearth comfort and hope within inevitable deterioration

Within the first few seconds of Lost Under Heaven’s music video for ‘For the Wild,’ the closing track off their latest album titled Love Hates What You Become, a slowly disappearing epigraph reads “I would burn my right hand in a slow fire/ To change the future... I should do so foolishly.” Though the words of eco-poet Robinson Jeffers’ pass through the video in the blink of an eye, it’s underlying message reverberates as the lifeblood through the entirety of LUH’s sophomore release.

Lifted from Jeffers’ 1935 poem titled 'Rearmament', these words reflect upon futility and the inevitable destruction of humanity. Nevertheless, Jeffers seeks to strip futility of inherent failure and ruin, while imbuing it with a sense of virtue and necessity.

Though Jeffers’ vision regarding mankind’s finite potential and destructive nature is rather tragic, his sentiment bears more truth now than when the poet’s’ pen met paper, back in 1934. With Love Hates What You Become, Manchester art rock duo of Ebony Hoorn and Ellery James Roberts repurposes Jeffers’ message and funnels it through the social-political turmoil that bridges Brexit and Trump’s America. While there is a glimmer of hope at the end of it all, Love Hates What You Become is an emotionally explosive project cloaked by a heavy veil of frustration.

Though the duo recorded their latest record in 2017 and has just now seen the light of day. Nevertheless, its content—like Jeffers’ poem—is timeless, preceptive of what’s ahead, and serves as a cathartic time capsule for gen z’ers and millennials to cast their anxieties upon. Compared to their 2016 debut Spiritual Songs for Lovers to Sing, which was composed, clean and far more produced, LUH attempts to capture the prevailing animosity and angst of this moment in history through raw songwriting, immediate emotion and one impassioned chorus after another.

Love Hates What You Become is packed to the brim with intersectional topics and themes—all of which struggle for attention, but lead to two important questions posed by the duo in an interview with The 405 last November: “Are you satisfied?” and “Are you happy with the way in which you are existing on the micro and macro of the community and the planet?”

Keeping these questions and Jeffers’ excerpt in mind, the duo constructs an expansive enough space so listeners may ponder their place within the broader picture of the world, while remaining true to the tumultuous procession and processing of human emotion. Balancing feelings of torment with ecstasy and fury with tranquility, Love Hates What You Become wields the dichotomy of darkness and light—both metaphorically and through the messages each track communicates.

‘Black Sun Rising', which began as an immersive installation art piece, gradually evolved into a foreboding neo-folk burner about our world on the verge of ecological disaster. Not the best song to play around a campfire, but its veil of acoustic despondency certainly make you feel guilty for ever igniting one. In the cathartically enraged single 'Post Millennial Tension', LUH furthers the album’s anxious demeanor and attempts to combat mundanity and apathy, “My generation's burning/ Still we sing our love songs,” with swooning crescendos and anthemic passion, “Everbody singing fuck the world/ Close your eyes, we will be alright/ All the lovers singing this our world/ Do we stand, take up the fight?” Though their war cries are slightly tinged with doubt and caution, there’s no denying the earnestness behind the vocals of both artists.

With the noise-filled ‘Bunny Blues,’ Ebony takes center stage and shines. By way of an alter ego named Bunny Blue, Ebony yearns for women to be heard and understood as she confronts the patriarchy with confidence, charm and a bit of unquenched blood-thirst: “There’s a wolf inside of me/ I feel it clawing at my insides/ Its time for you to leave/ You best start running/ I feel blood lust coming.”

Though quieter on the ears compared to other songs on the album, the title track is an incredibly sad reflection on the theme and desire of wanting to be heard and understood—studied through the lens of an argument between Ellory and Ebony. According to the duo, “I guess it's that sense that you only argue with someone that you love because you want them to understand your point of view.”

It’s not all is doom and gloom for this incredibly insightful and talented duet. Sure, there are heavy, darker and less helpful moments throughout, but there are numerous instances that are life-affirming and searching for hope as well. In fact, the album commences with a bang and skittering dance beats in the form ‘Come’ an infectious, albeit, a slightly cheesy alt-rock number that beckons listeners toward a future that’s greater than the now.

Probably the most important and best track on the entire album, ‘For The Wild’, is an appropriate conclusion to an album that seeks some sense of joy, comfort and acceptance of the destruction around us. There’s a sense of surrender about ‘For The Wild’ that is really hard to pin down. It’s a discomforting notion at first, but it eventually sweeps you off your feet as Ebony joins Ellory on vocals: “Simmer down/ Nothing lasts forever/ Break like waves in the sea/ As the river floods the land/ Can't tame the wild in me.” With colorful synths and billowing percussion coalescing into epiphanic s elation, one cannot help but embrace their insignificance and their carelessness within the grand scheme of things.

The sweeping subject matter LUH croons about may come across as apathetic at first, but eventually, listeners will become overwhelmed by the life-affirming and life-giving cacophony of LUH’s latest record. All this to say, Love Hates What You Become is an endearing album that earnestly cares about our generation and is admirable because of it.

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2R82KtB

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joneswilliam72 · 6 years ago

Text

Review: Love Hates What You Become finds Lost Under Heaven seeking to unearth comfort and hope within inevitable deterioration

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2R82KtB

0 notes