#licentiously

[falseandrealultravival]

Today's Haiku with Picture 713

Without the Lord

Bamboo grass growing

Licentiously

主なく

生える篠竹

放埓に

(2023.06.01)

[headspace-hotel]

i also learnt on Wikipedia that the human head louse and the human body louse evolutionarily diverged from each other when humans started wearing clothes... Why is that so funny to me

[asleepinawell]

having multiple characters in fallen london is great for a lot of reasons, such as being able to try all options and see all results. it's also great when i'm presented with an option where the bold warning text says 'this will kill you' or 'you will die' because then i get to look down at all my guys with love in my heart and be like which of you little bastards am i going to yeet into an angry mob of tigers to get mauled to death today

[t6fs]

Let me know in the tags! I'm curious who we got running around in London! If you have multiple accounts, answer for your main and put the rest in tags.

[merakiui]

preparing the ao3 draft and here are a few fun tags.

[warabola]

on a more specific note, how about this: fractionist licentiates differ from their colleagues in that they don't always kill the entire victim, but rather identify the small part of them that needs killing to eliminate the self or trait that they've been hired to remove.

does your FLPC have a specific person, value, or thing that made them who they are today? what would a licentiate have to kill within them to make them fundamentally a different person? is there any such thing?

[thegreatyin]

february. babe. with all due respect. i love you dearly. but this is cowards talk

[kentocalls]

geto suguru | licentious minors do not interact. nsfw. pretty/baby is used. this is all spice because it's suguru.

he trails a fingernail down the curve of your spine and the only reaction it gets him, is a small huff of air. you’re absolutely resolute in proving him wrong huh?

yet the smile never leaves his face, you’ll give in soon.

you can feel your core shake, you’ve mentally trading strength for stamina and move onto your elbows, body barely separated from the mattress. another shiver as you feel suguru’s fingertips trace over the top of your core, pulling away and spreading sweet nectar across your thighs. he’s so mean when he’s competitive.

but you’re not giving in.

no matter how much his warm hands squeeze and prod. you have to stay focused, deep exhales, no! keep your eyes open, don’t close them. don’t relegate more power to your sense of touch.

his using is nimble thumbs to apply pressure around your core, you like that. you have always liked the gentle, firm pressure, body reacting like it normally does, rewarding him with more wet encouragement but he doesn’t push anything in. doesn’t increase his strength and massage with intent.

goes feather light, again, brushes over your opening, again. making you grow messy and wetter. you open your mouth and claw at the sheets underneath you.

once again, trading strength for stamina, you let your body fall into the softness underneath, letting gravity and the bed support your nearly tired limbs. clawing at the sheets, teeth bitting to keep your lips sealed. you’re not gonna call his name, not going to break.

body arching up, needy, provocative. keep that up and you’ll break him first — suguru notes, his own hands greedy, grippy, groping.

how long has he been at this? it needs to end soon, the ache in him gnawing with full desperation. and he can’t touch himself, not yet, he’d give in too quickly and you’re just about on the edge.

you can feel how hot and sweaty your body when he hovers his own against you, hands caging you in and your body is like live wire, ready to betray your brain for another one of his touches, fuck, don’t give in yet.

“doing alright pretty thing? you got so quiet.” he’s cooing, hiding his own torment. body throbbing to be on you, feel you, hear you.

you don’t trust your words, surely his name will escape like a hushed prayer, so all he gets is an aggressive and rushed thumbs up. has him chuckling but it drops his hips closer and the sinful curve in your spine makes skin to skin contact.

you’re so heated, warm, wet, inviting. his hand moves to your hip and moves you closer. you roll up and back, on your sides now.

keep breathing, don’t close your eyes. don’t focus on the sound of his voice or the tiny growls hidden as laughs. you’re getting to him, his hands evidence of the internal discord. did he really really think you’d yield so easily?

you know how to be nimble, angling your feet to push more of your body into him and oh that earns you a bite on your shoulder, he nips and licks and molds his body around yours.

suguru needs to change his plan of action, has to take a gamble, the faster you give in the quicker he can take and both of you will be rewarded, it’s the end justifying the means. but really, there is no better feel than the palm of his hand dragging down your belly and towards your heat. his deft fingers come in contact with your clit. you twitch instantly and he smirks into the crook of your neck.

he’ll be nice, he’ll be oh so good soon. give in, give in, give in.

he uses his hand to cup the entirety of your sex, pushes up and firm, feels more of honey slip past his fingers and he wants. he wants he wants he wants, just give the fuck in.

and yeah, you’re shaking, body running an alarm through you at promised pleasure, but suguru was the one who called you needy right? said you’d make a huge mess five minutes and last ten minutes?

and you’re unrelenting.

just tiny gasps and barely there whimpers.

perhaps he’s been spoiled, is filled with the need to pull one moan from you.

he’s going to lose this, fingers tracing your soaked lips faster and faster. your hands clenched so tight, eyes shut, don’t think about the sounds he’s making, don’t feel his breathe on your skin. only focus on making him break first.

and so you will your hips to drag forward, away from his body. the relief his brief but enough. suguru is uncompromising has you pulled right back into him, holding his own determination in contention. who is this for again? what are you two working toward? no no no, you’re the opposing party in this right? he needs to work against your pleasure?

wait, that doesn’t make sense.

why would he need to do that?

“you’re being so good, so wet.” his thumb almost pushes in, he almost slips because right, you didn’t say his name. you’re the stubborn one here. all he needs is for you to say please and it’s over, case closed, he’ll give you the sweetest release. “would feel so good, i’d fill you up so nice, yeah?”

oh you’re not giving up now, he’s getting needy, spiraling towards seeking reaffirmation and you’re just gonna need to keep breathing. if you give him nothing, he’ll give you everything.

and your silence? that won’t do. you’re gonna bruise your lips, that’s why he snakes an arm around your neck and kisses you desperate. would never let you hurt yourself, kisses you with force, tongue desperate to hide. fuck, he needs you.

not yet, not yet, he’s got one final plea, one last chance. lifts one of your legs just slightly, slots his throbbing member between your thighs. “you can keep this nice and warm, yeah? good…you’re being so…, fuck, squeeze just like that yeah.”

and this is new, but it brings you back, his kissing you sloppy, hips canting, not full thrusts yet. but that’s what your thighs are for right, push him over the edge. squeeze harder, force those moans out of him. and he starts thrusting, the sounds making you blush.

you’re so wet and the skin on skin with his voice full of lust. “that’s right, that’s right, so good for me, so good for me.”

the way your hand grasps at his around your neck is deliberate, if he’s going to play dirty so are you. using the leverage you have, you stretch your body tight and long against his and that’s it, that’s it, he’s falling unprovoked. “need you, baby—pretty thing, please, need you.”

yes, yes, yes.

still pushing into him, still squeezing tight, you’re driving him insane. he has to hear you, needs to hear you, fuck the soft sucking sounds when his cock brushes past your cunt. his grip is unforgiving. he’s trying to stop himself, trying to ignore how good you feel, you’re so strong and so soft.

if give you time to move a hand unprovoked, greedily grabbing at his length, a firm hold and you put a little strength into the squeeze. you moan in tandem, he’s thrusting into your hand, keep a firm grip. it’s so messy and wet, hold on. he’s falling apart.

suguru needs to hear it, has to hear it. all else is lost, driven purely by the promise of a ‘please’ and his name falling from your lips. driven past hunger, consumed with lust suguru pulls away. your eyes open when you feel his arms cage your face. “please, pretty baby, my good girl, please.” give in.

and he’s so handsome, dark locks falling forward, eyes never leaving your face. lips bruised and cheeks tinted red, your hands feel so cool against his face. your smile soft and eyes so full of affection, want. you bring him close, kiss very softly. too chaste for what you’ve been doing, too soft for what he wants you to do.

dark violet pupils dilated and dialed in.

you push your thumb at his lips, he sucks it in happily, hopelessly. his need is near impossible to deal with on his own. you can feel how he is leaking, drooling desperate on top of you. “please, baby please.”

he’s trailing after your hand when you pull away, more sucking and bruising around your lips. please against your jawline and neck and he’s finally calling your name, rutting his hips against yours, fuck it’s over now, give in.

you can feel yourself dripping down your own folds and thighs. his kissing your name onto the top of your chest, voice heavy, his hips pulling up, his cock twitches against nothing. “need you, yeah? you need me too?”

yeah, you do. so you bend your legs, making his access easier. leaving yourself open, wet, welcoming for him.

only him. “i do, suguru, please?”

he kisses with fervor, haunting, taking, leaving you breathless. as he sinks in slow, the last semblance of control before he’s finally where he belongs, where you need him to be. “good girl, so fucking hot..” and its a mess of praise and depraved promises.

“you win, baby you win, now let me hear you please?” and it slips so easily from your lips his name, the grip on his hair is criminally painful. and he takes it, because it’s you.

“so good, so good to me suguru, yes.”

and if he's going to lose to someone, it's only fair it's the person who calls his name as if it's dripped in honey and gold; you

[coulisses-onirisme]

All my friends who are addicted to cigarettes think in this licentious and free way 

[kathegoose]

very demure and cutesy😋

[josephtrohman]

save me. save me.

[tabellae-rex-in-sui]

18th century men be like "I'm fine with cuddling and making out with you because Rome but the SECOND you get hard, I will tell everyone and call you slurs"

Voltaire.

[thepoisonroom]

cold weather by far the greatest enemy of the modern slut

[imrryr]

doma's a backward place, they don't even name their boobs there

[warabola]

@thunder-threnodies Felt like this definitely deserved its own post. I absolutely agree, and there is some precedent for it in how the Oneirotects help the Great Game spies develop and fortify their "mind palace", presumably referring to the method for memorization through visualization.

Though with the existence of Midnighters and the Great Game canonically using Irrigo and other methods to also alter memories that might otherwise keep their agents from completing their work, I think the two could imply that Silverers could influence more active alterations to the minds of sleepers.

After all, we see the public consensus being swayed in Parabola, when war is being waged. (I don't have the screenshot, but specifically: Provide A Distaction in the Fallen London theater, where the dreams of London's populace are tied to strength in Parabola).

And it especially seems possible when you consider the overlap between different professions, namely the more abstract capabilities of Schismatic Crooked Crosses in particular:

There is quite obviously a manipulable self, and it is definitely tied to Parabola. The Crooked Cross seems to also have some knowledge of this, if not the same scope that Silverers understand Parabola, with even the Beatificator working in the Waswood for their tasks. Meanwhile the Fractionist Licentiate seems to work on the more physical side to manipulate the same.

I love the implications of the self in Fallen London.