#partially very self conscious and annoyed i would ever do this but its good for me

[kkoct-ik]

self care day (doing whatever the child voices tell me to)

[padmeandaloysupremacy]

I have been off tumblr and writing in general for so long that now I finally have the desire to come back now. I have so many stories in the works now that i don't even know where to start, but i wanted to write a little song-fic about Anakin and Leia. My headcanon is that Anakin was actually a very good singer and had a beautiful voice its just that he was very self conscious about it and never really shared it with anyone.

This is basically an Modern AU where Anakin is a single father who raised Leia with the help of Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. He never met Padme he instead had Leia with another woman who found out she couldn't be a mother and left Anakin all alone with Leia. I wrote this mainly bc i like Anakin and Leia and the interactions with Anakin being a big softie for her. I liked writing Anakin and Leia and having her be Daddy's Little Girl. There is a chance where i might continue this and introduce Padme to the dynamic leading into an Anidala story but that is for another time.

The story utilizes lyrics from the song "Light" by Sleeping at Last.

The sun was starting to beat down on his back, but Anakin couldn't even begin to care at all. All of his attention was focused on the little bundle of sunshine wrapped away in his arms. More specifically, on the wide chocolate brown eyes that were currently drilling into him, like she was currently peering into his soul looking for anything her little heart desired.

The bundle of sunshine then began to open her mouth to utter something, but a loud yawn overtook the words that were supposed to spill from her lips.

Anakin brought a finger to tuck a strand of hair behind her little ear, "Leia, how about you take a nap."

The young girl shook her head in defiance, "No." She lifted that chubby finger of hers and began to stick it up her father's nose, stifling a laugh from him. Then she dragged that same finger down from the entrance of his nostrils to his lips which she forcefully opened with all her mighty strength.

"Leia, what the hell ar--"

"Sing for me."

Anakin froze in shock. He glanced down and saw those same big intoxicating chocolate orbs peering again into his soul, but instead of finding inquisitive eyes, these were pleading with him like a little puppy would do to its owner for some snacks.

Sing

Yes, he could sing. Anakin could really sing, as Obi-Wan told him before, "Anakin, you can be the most annoying and obnoxious hellhound I've met in my life, but you have the most amazing voice I've ever heard."

Anakin remembered laughing at Obi-Wan's statement but begrudgingly found it to be true. No matter how much he wished it wasn't.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Anakin peered around the area and saw the park was pretty busy today. Some people were running along the trail, some children were laughing in the playground, couples were enjoying their picnics on the freshly cut grass, an elderly couple were holding hands in contempt with each other's presence, and a dog was taking a number two in the bush by the creek.

He and Leia were seated on a bench secluded from everybody else which ended up what Anakin wanted in the first place. If he was supposed to sing now for the little princess. 

Singing in public is something Anakin will no longer do. The public atmosphere envelopes him with anxiety, dread, loneliness, and fear. This was caused by what he experienced in his younger years when he sang in front of his school and got made fun of for it. Another traumatic event to add to his life story. I should really write a book, I could make millions, Anakin thought.

He only sang to those he cared about. To the people who made him feel safe and whole, and now one of those said people was currently seated in his arms patiently waiting for him to begin.

Anakin looked down at her and smiled, "Okay, I'll sing for you, Princess." 

He picked Leia up and repositioned her so that she was more comfortable sitting in his arms. He cleared his throat and began to softly sing in her ear.

May these words be the first

To find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun

Now that you're here

Though your eyes will need some time to adjust

To the overwhelming light surrounding us

Anakin took a deep breath and looked down to find Leia's eyes were partially shut. Just a little more and she will be out like a light. He needed to keep going before she started fussing around and being downright spoiled, which Anakin basically helped nurture.

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will always hold you close

But I will learn to let you go

I promise I'll do better

Soft snores invaded his eardrums and he knew that his little munchkin had finally fallen asleep. Anakin won't stop yet though, once he starts a song he has to finish it.

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

With every heartbeat, I have left

I will defend your every breath

And I'll do better

'Сause you are loved

You are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days

To prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realize

The unimaginable light you hold inside

As Anakin finished he was shocked to feel tears streaming down his face like a steady flow of salty water. He forgot how much that song took on him emotionally. 

Then he suddenly remembered why.

Shmi

She used to always sing this to him to help him fall asleep when he was a toddler. It always worked in making him fall asleep fast and peacefully. The lyrics Anakin found were to be an intimate experience between a parent and their child. The song highlights the love that shines through the both of them. The song was one of the only reminders that he still has of his late mother. She died when he was nine and he constantly tried to hold onto her memory as much as he could even though it was slowly killing him.

Shmi was his sunshine as much as Leia is, and Anakin couldn't help but correlate the similarities between Shmi and Leia. He can see his mother in Leia. The eyes, the smile, and the love they both showed him. Shmi lived on through his little girl. 

Shmi and Leia will always be with him. 

The thought brought a choked sob to ravish him and he instinctively clutched the now sleeping body of his daughter tighter to his body.

"I--I'll always l-love...you, Leia." Anakin gently lifted his hand to caress her cheek and then kissed her forehead. "No matter what, I'll always l-love you."

[magpiemorality]

Platonic intruality with Remus as Patton’s guardian angel :0? Idk it’s an idea I had that I don’t think I could execute well but I think you could!! If I may add one more thing, could it be hurt comfort? I don’t wanna specify more because I wanna see what you do with it!!! (Okay bye now ily!)

This spiraled into something monstrous and painful and very, very cathartic. I hope it doesn’t hurt anyone to read, do watch the warnings. And remember; it is a story, and not an instruction booklet. Because of subject matter I’ve put a little summary in so there’s more warning about what’s coming!

And to you Chris, thanks for the prompt. It was special to write, in many ways.

The Hardest Fight Of All

Guardian Angel Remus has been assigned to help Patton Abbott, a sweet high school student with a very normal, decent life; nothing easy to spot for Remus to fight. But if the threat isn’t from outside, then it may be coming from within.

Warnings: Mental Health Issues, negativity, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Esteem Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Emotional self-harm, what might be construed as bad handling of an individual with mental health issues, death mention (metaphorical). 

AO3

***

Patton Abbot didn't deserve his guardian angel. No really. He was sure he was nice enough, and he tried to be kind to everyone he could and forgive anyone that did him harm, but he didn't deserve a guardian angel for that! He wasn't in much danger, he didn't have a lot to complain about, with his perfectly normal life and normal parents and normal school. He even had normal friends! It felt selfish to have a guardian angel when he wasn't suffering at all really, and he hadn't earned it through doing anything particularly good either.

His guardian angel loudly, passionately and regularly disagreed, but Patton had yet to be convinced. Remus was lovely, but there were so many more deserving people that needed his help! He was flattered Remus seemed to enjoy being his guardian angel and hanging around with him but it was probably only because he was forced, and Patton was good at acting nice so at least he hoped he wasn't making the angel's job too awful.

That was if you asked Patton, at least. Remus would have a different perspective on things. But Patton hadn't... actually asked him? Because he was so obviously lying when he insisted Patton did deserve his presence and protection, because Patton didn't deserve it.

Over time though, something changed. Remus started to lose his glow, his wings began to droop and he stopped skipping and floating around above the ground, steps dragging heavier and heavier on the floor. Patton was terrified, constantly checking in with him because Remus was too important to feel bad, or get sick, or whatever it was that was happening! Patton had to help him!

When he woke up one morning to find Remus leaning on the windowsill, gazing despondently out at the garden and the rest of the houses he started to really panic. He had to be hurting the angel somehow, but how?! And how could he fix it?!

"Remus? What- what's up bud? You know you can always talk to me right? I think you're awesome, and you deserve to be happy!"

"I'm not so sure."

"You do!" Patton insisted, placing a hand between his wing joints on his back. "You do so much good, you're always taking care of me and you're so kind and lovely and fun and you-"

"It's taken me a while, you know," Remus interrupted. Patton went quiet apart from a soft, questioning hum. "To figure out why I was sent to you."

Ah. "Well it must have been a mistake, like I said before, but that's okay, you can consider-"

"Patton for the love of the sky and the stars; shut up."

Patton shut up, trying not to let the harshness hurt. He knew he'd been babbling on a bit, so it was probably his own fault, and after all even angels only had a certain amount of patience. And Patton knew he was annoying. But it still hurt just a little bit.

Remus rounded on him, eyes alight for the first time in weeks. He grabbed Patton by the shoulders and steered him back to the bed, sitting him down on the edge firmly and moving back to pace in front of him. Patton waited, still conscious of the reprimand, until Remus finally burst.

"I can't believe it took me so long! Honestly, I wasn't sure there was much to do here; you seemed so happy so much of the time, and you get along with almost everyone! Sure there's the odd bully, but its only ever in situations you put yourself into knowing they'll come, like that video channel thing of yours, and I suppose I assumed you realised you could just leave if you didn't want to see it all. You were so nice to them, too nice! But even when I visited them, sorted that out for you, or got you to spend time away from it, you were still... so hurt. And now, now I see the true problem. It's worse than I thought, and I'm- I'm so sorry I didn't see before, but I'm also angry, and it's not at you but it is-"

Unsurprising, Patton thought. That made sense, after all.

"Because the evil that I'm supposed to battle for you... is you."

Slightly more surprising. "Come again?" Patton asked, apologising quickly for speaking up. Remus bared his teeth as fury flashed over his face, flaring bright again for a moment. He looked... terrifying, but glorious. An angel in battle.

"There is no greater threat to you than yourself. And I don't know how to fight that! I'm angry because I'm sad; why would you attack yourself so viciously day after day, hour after hour, word after word and never afford yourself a single iota of the kindness you afford others?!" He stopped, chest heaving, and Patton felt the weight of an expected answer. He couldn't reply, just shrugging, which only set Remus off again. "You, the nasty horrible thing inside you, it's killing you! You feel like you're dying, and you just let it happen. I don't- I don't know how to fight that, I don't think I can fight that, and you just- " He growled, his morningstar appearing, only partially there, for him to swing in fury. "Everything they say to you that you rail against in public, you bite back against if those very words are turned on your friends with no mercy, you say the same things in your own head. You are so awful to yourself, you're just like them! I cant fight that!"

Patton swallowed. "It's not a big deal," he said weakly, heart hammering in his ribcage.

"But it is! And I can't do my job if you're the one stopping me at every turn! You don't even know you're doing it, or maybe you do and just pretend you don't, I'm not even sure anymore. But you desire so much better, why can't you take your own damn advice?! I don't- I don't think you even want to feel better sometimes, you've turned your suffering into so much of your identity. Do you actually like being this way...?" He cut off, narrowing his eyes at Patton suspiciously. Patton felt part of him squirm under that gaze, but another small part was quietly begging for the angel to go on, to finish lancing this horrid, deep-seated, ancient boil of Bad.

"It's not fair!" Remus finished. "You're doing it to yourself! Do you know how easy that is to stop?!"

Those were the words that finally got Patton up on his feet. Because no matter the truth of the rest of it; that was a lie. "It's not easy! It's not!" Thoughts of therapy and mental health diagnoses and the difficult of facing everything alone when it was easier to just suffer and frame it in martyrdom and help everyone and hope, pray that one day someone would help him too.

(And then push it away away away when that same help was offered back, falling into misery when that endless push- desperately testing his friends to their limits because he knew they'd get tired eventually- turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy as they ran out of support to throw against his walls of self-hatred and negativity)

Remus stepped forwards until they were chest to chest, gazing down from his height, fully blazing bright in the innocuous setting of Patton's bedroom. "But it is. If you want to."

Patton sat down again with a thump, feeling faint and nauseous. There was a moment of silence before he burst into tears, pulling his knees up to hide his face in. He wasn't even sure why he was crying. Because of the horrible cruel words? Because he didn't deserve even this harsh kindness (that felt like staring at the sun without protection or touching electricity, raw and painful and unfiltered for his comfort) after how awful he'd been? Because... because it felt terrible to even think about the fact that this could be his fault in some way?! And now Remus hated him just like the rest and he was going to leave and Patton would be alone and-

Two warm, gentle hands came up to cup his face and tilt it back into view, and Remus was there, looking stern and serious but not angry anymore. The relief that flooded through Patton was almost euphoric, like the weight of the entire sky lifted back up off his lungs. "I can't fight this battle alone, Patton," the angel said. "And I can't fight it at all if you don't truly, deeply, one hundred percent want me to fight it. To do that you need to understand that it's your battle too, that you have to put your armour on and go to war alongside me, if we're to have any chance at success. Because right now you're on their side, and you're sabotaging us from within."

"But it's my condition! My brain doesn't-"

"You think I don't know about that?" Remus frowned, rubbing his cheeks gently. "You've got medication. You've got a therapist, you have people who are trying their hardest to love and support you. But you can't survive the ocean on a raft of other people's making. It will stop you sinking, for a time- perhaps even for a long time, but you won't get any closer to shore unless you start to paddle. And as you paddle you'll also have to patch up any cracks in the raft with your own hands, perhaps with the materials you're given but the work to stitch it all together and sail it has to be your own. It's- I'm not a fan of metaphors but do you see? You can't be the only one not contributing to your own recovery."

"I'm not recovering from anything, I just have a negative self image and... and some other things. But they're bad! They're not things you get better from-" Patton tried, voice trembling and weak. Remus just looked at him, hands still on his face.

"Aren't they?" He asked simply. "You don't think you could ever manage to feel better than you do right now? You think all the stories of people improving their lives are... made up? You think, perhaps, that the medication is all a placebo, that once you've labelled the problem it's made permanent and nothing can ameliorate the symptoms or make life easier to live?" The angel leaned in and dropped a kiss to Patton's forehead, leaving a warm tingling in its wake. "The world would burn, if that were true," he whispered, before standing up.

Patton just kept on sitting in silence, face itching as his tears started to dry on his skin.

Remus gave him a small but real smile. "You've got plenty to think about. Consider my pitch; without you I will continue to fight the war, hopeless though it may be, but with you..." He grinned properly then. "Oh the things we could achieve, dear one."

And off he vanished, in a flutter of feathers and the sound of moving light.

It left Patton feeling as though, in the space of only maybe half an hour, the entire world had changed around him. He wondered, as he lay down on his bed, exhausted and reaching for his favourite plushie for comfort, whether what Remus said was what his therapist secretly wanted to say. It was a funny thought, mild-mannered Dr Picani ranting like the passionate angel, but Patton barely managed a lift of his lips. He needed to rest, and then he'd start to think about all this. If it wasn't true, if the angel was mistaken, seeing things that weren't there because of how boring it was being Patton's guardian; then nothing really needed to change except he would renew his efforts to get Remus reassigned.

If it was true though? Then that changed everything, and Patton Abbott would have a lot of hard work ahead.

He wished he knew which one he was hoping for.

-

[monchikyun]

XII. baby, it’s cold outside

The cold water does nothing to quiet his distressed heart, it only succeeds in putting him even more on edge, just as he is afraid it might. As his body slowly succumbs to the sweet feeling of numbness, he goes over the events of this night in his head, thinking whether he should just give in and let himself be selfish. As long as they're here, in a place far away from their everyday lives, what could stop them from enjoying a little harmless make-believe.

Except when his playmate is Connor, nothing is ever risk-free and safe. Gavin should lock himself in the bathroom till the morning, then drive them home and never talk to the android ever again, for both of their sakes. A plan that has more holes than a colander. First of all, he’s really fucking tired and a bed, no matter how uncomfortable, is something he’s physically unable to turn down. Besides, they are work partners, if nothing else, and he doesn’t want to entrust Connor to some stranger. Not that he’s worried the tin can won’t handle himself, it’s just… he got so used to having him around to help him with the stuff his stupid human brain isn’t equipped to carry out that he can’t even imagine being on his own. He’s never had a partner last this long, and frankly, it would be a shame to ruin their job-efficiency just because one of them can’t keep his mouth shut.

His very smart thoughts get interrupted by an uninvited cough, serving to make him aware of his partially clogged sinuses threatening to make the following days hell if continues treating himself like a war criminal. He has no choice but to cave in and turn the faucet handle the opposite way. No one fancies catching cold and Gavin isn’t an exception.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“Ahh phcking shower!” 

A scream coming from the bathroom halts Connor’s unnecessary tidying session, making his stress-level rise significantly. 

He runs to the door and knocks on it without letting his head construct any possible scenarios. Remaining calm is the priority.  

“Are you okay?” he yells through the sound of running water, ready to barge in if there is no reply. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just almost got boiled alive.” He rests his back against the wall as relief washes over him. There is a myriad of possible responses he’d like to use behind his closed eyes, but all he manages to say is a silent “Hurry up and come here.” 

The devil on his shoulder is enticing him to go and take a peek, the door isn’t locked after all... the main reason for which is the faith Gavin has in him. He knows Connor would never invade his privacy unless specifically asked, so he resumes dusting the empty closet. It’s important to make sure the environment here is best suitable for his human’s health, for he heard the cough coming from the next room. Nothing escapes his sensor, not even the fact that Gavin’s body is well on its path to a proper fever if someone doesn’t take care of him. The man himself is the least like to do just that, so it’s up to Connor to prevent him from getting sick. And if he fails, at least he’ll have an excuse to get close to his friend without it having the additional implications they like to avoid so much. 

After he’s done with cleaning the room, he changes into something resembling pyjamas, just so doesn’t carry around the dirt gathered by his usual clothes. It does provide a sense of comfort as well, and not only for him. Surely, Gavin would be pleased to see a more human-like behaviour from him. 

He sighs and sits upon a bed closer to the window, hugging his knees in need of grounding himself a bit. It’s snowing heavily behind the drawn curtain, he doesn’t have to see it to know.

 It goes together with the blizzard inside his mind, giving him the only other acceptable company.    

Connor doesn’t regret letting his affection show, he doesn’t wish to take it back, but it still doesn’t sit well with him. It feels like he’s done something terribly wrong, something that would destroy the slight bond between them. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t let it bother him when Gavin emerges from the bathroom dressed only in thin sleepwear, his eyes tearing up as he yawns. Connor doesn’t waste the opportunity to annoy him and throws at him the ugly Christmas sweater he packed specifically for this reason. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” the man stares at the thing incredulously, about to chuck it back where it came from. 

“You need something to keep you warm during the night.”

“Thanks, but no phcking way I’m wearing that.” But he doesn’t return it, instead, he casually lays the sweater on top of his bag and goes to turn off the light. 

Before he has the chance to argue, the detective buries himself under his blanket and whisper an almost inaudible “goodnight.” Connor detects him shivering, sees how he curls into a ball to gather the smallest amount of heat.  

That won’t do. He stands up from his own bed and slowly walks over to his cold friend, gently placing an extra blanket over him. Androids don’t usually perceive the effects of temperature, so it’s only fair Connor gives his to the detective. Doesn’t mean he has to tuck him in like a baby and wish him sweet dreams, but who ever will stop him. 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Gavin planned on staying up all night, savouring the rare moment of peace when Connor’s there with him but not too near to make him self-conscious. So, of course, he had to fall asleep as soon as the weight of a second blanket made him warm and cosy enough to sublime. 

He wakes up without remembering any of his dreams, which is for the best. His head doesn’t hurt like it normally does in the mornings and he even dares to think that he’s well-rested, which would be a first this year. Connor greets him with a cup of coffee in his hand and a bright smile on his face, which is the moment he decides he doesn’t ever want to leave this place. Or maybe just for a couple more days. 

“Good morning, Gavin.” No “detective” this time, huh. Perhaps he really will spend the rest of his life w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶C̶o̶n̶n̶o̶r̶ here.  

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, too flustered to address him in any way. 

“I bought you breakfast. Your favourite.” 

“Coffee and aspirin?”  

“And croissants." Gavin has to hold himself back as not to say something stupid like 'I love you', so he just takes the offered items while muttering a quiet "thank you". 

"It has been snowing all night." 

He sips on the bitter hot delight while listening to Connor's heavenly voice, a scene belonging to his fantasies, yet a part of his current reality. 

"I don't think it's a good idea to even step outside, least drive. The temperature is too low, and the piled-up sn-" 

"Yeah, okay. We'll stay here until the weather clears up." That is definitely too eager of a reaction, but he had to get it out there before his self defense mechanism kicks in. 

He glances out of the window only to notice it has frozen over, limiting his view to the outside world. Still, the snowflakes dancing in the wind have a way of letting themselves be recognised, so Gavin sends them soundless gratitude and bites into the still-warm pastry. 

It’s not Christmas yet, but he already knows he won’t ever forget this year’s holiday, no matter where he ends up spending them. 

@a-convin-new-year 

[hecohansen31]

A Little Pick Me Up:

Fire & Reign! Michael Langdon+Reader

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I do have to say that this little fic is extremely out of my comfort zone and much different from my usual writing so if you want to send me a feedback about it I will be extremly grateful and love you for ever, because I am low key scared of how this can be perceived and if I did a good job!

(My DMs and asks are always open, also guys: do you see my ask button? Because people have told me that they can’t see it, and I don’t know why...).

I started with the idea of a much sweeter idea, F&R! Michael comforitng you because of your assholes friends, but it slowly developped into something more dirty and I mean... Michael does do the comforting but... be warned... that’s what I am trying to say...

AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU LIKED AND WANT MORE! (I honestly had fun, but I don’t know if I will ever get a similar idea in the future).

SUMMARY: You are in need of a little “pick-me-up” after your friends ruin the night, and an handsome strange might be what you might be indeed needing.

WORDS: 4,3 K

WARNINGS: Hard Unprotected (Stay Safe Lovely, and use condoms) Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Fingering, Choking and Degradation through harsh names and insults. Also use of dirty and vulgar terms.

Her night had been distastefully bad, but it hadn’t hit its worst yet.

Still she had had to have a little break from her assholish friends.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like her friends: they were her friends because when they had met, she had honestly loved them (also all the other best friends had been taken…) but slowly she had grown and their interests hadn’t matched anymore.

She didn’t want to seem presumptuous, but she had felt like she had always tried her best to succeed, never being simply satisfied by arriving but shooting for the stars, whereas her friends had simply chosen the easiest way.

And worst of all, they didn’t understand those who had a different vision from them: she had been constantly bugged on being single, not in a relationship, not wanting to start a family and living her best life.

It just seemed difficult for them to fathom that her life could be perfect that way and at first they had taken away her self-esteem.

But then she had learnt that they weren’t worth the loss of her last  precious brain cells and she had tried her best to avoid them.

But her friends had insisted so much, saying that she wasn’t going out anymore so much that they all forgot how she looked like (she had said they had social media for that, but swiftly she had discovered it was easier to give up than to fight with them).

In the end she had fallen in the vicious circle of going back to her friends and she had spent exactly only five minutes and she was already annoyed by the entire atmosphere, choosing to go outside to be able to breath properly ad not surrounded by the smoke of cigarettes and lousy laughs, also to check her phone, since her friends labelled as antisocial, her checking her phone.

She had actually been expecting an important answer to a message, but her phoned showed still no notification, so she just decided to enjoy for a bit more the chance to breath regularly and not through her nose, before going back inside, adjusting slowly her hair.

And meanwhile she did this, she accidentally stumbled against a tall surface, much warmer than she had expected, immediately realizing that she had gone against a human body.

A very handsome body, she had reasoned, as soon as she had looked up, meeting beautiful azure eyes, shining even in the dark fall night, a thrill of definitely-not-because-of-the-cold-air appearing under her skin, reaching her hand, which trembled lightly.

He had the same constitution of statue sculpted by Fidia, with perfectly balanced elegant traits.

Each completely full of expression and elegance that made her immediately blush, under such a watchful gaze, making it all seem so unimportant to him, as if she wasn’t nothing than an annoying breath of wind on his face.

-… mind where you are going, lady- he simply warned her roughly, without even sharing a simple glance at her, which made her feel even more self-conscious and unable to reply anything properly, just choosing to nod, with her head down to avoid any kind of eye-contact.

She moved faster toward the bar, feeling immediately safe as soon as she entered it, knowing the stranger’s gaze wouldn’t follow her, there.

Although she could still feel it right on her back as if she had drawn a sign over it, a target practice for beautiful men with a huge ego.

She joined her friends and decided to let go for a few drinks, nothing to make her truly drunk, but enough to feel less self-conscious, meanwhile she danced around the bar.

But soon, even there, her amusement was interrupted shortly: a drunkard splashed horridly his beer on the front of her dress pants, and immediately one of her friends pushed her in the small bathroom of the club, suggesting she immediately rubbed off the stain or it would have stayed.

She had undressed, remaining just in her white shirt, and pink panties, and after she pushed her bag away from the ground, she had started brushing the pants together, having pushed them under the water a few minutes before, to let them soak.

When she was sure that the smell of beer was almost gone, she pushed them under the hot air supplier in order to dry them.

… and there, the door opened.

Catching her half-naked, her ass perfectly showed to the door, she turned and came face to face with the invader to reprimand them, just to find them to be the stranger she had met outside.

Now that light shone even better on him right, it brought out each curls of his molten gold hair, meanwhile his azure eyes were bright with amusement.

She didn’t understand if he was simply amused by the situation or satisfied with what he saw.

She managed to speak up finally, immediately shielding her modesty with her pants, meanwhile eyeing him with indignation.

-Can’t you see it’s occupied? – .

He didn’t seem to care, giving her an annoyed glance, moving closer which prompted her to try her best to back away, till she felt the wall against her skin.

Why had this shitty bathroom to be just a little room, with a sink and the toilette and nothing else?

The man still stopped a bit before her, enough that she could fit her whole arm between them.

-You were honestly taking too much time- he replied uninterested, although his eyes shone with feverish excitement at her shocked state, which got a furious glare from her.

-It won’t take me too long, I swear five minutes and I will leave you all alone- she pleaded, knowing that she was at its mercy.

That cruel smile roughly telling her that it wouldn’t have been that easy.

-… oh but I think that I lost any interest into anything I wanted to do before, after I saw a pretty girl bump into me- she tried not to give to the “pretty girl” too much thought (although she did), knowing he was toying with her exactly as a cat would do with a mouse.

She was just a game.

And she honestly was having the time of that night, playing it.

His rough demanding voice sent a few good thrills down her spine and hadn’t she bee so damnably embarrassed by what had happened and because of the danger of the entire situation, she might have thought about trying something against him back.

Thankfully she didn’t have to, because feeling her indecision, he moved closer, much more swiftly than she thought was humanly possible, pushing her front roughly against the wall, her face slamming decidedly without grace against the lattices at the window, but any pain she felt was immediately relieved by the gentle friction of his hard-on, against her barely-there panties, which prompted a low moan of appreciation from her.

-… still want me to get out, pretty girl? – he breathed in her neck, before pulling her hair back to expose more for his lips, starting to tease it mercilessly, kisses were followed by nibbles and hickeys, she was sure, would be soon blooming.

And her hips would be bruised by his grip, keeping her pushed against him, not leaving her any decision for their movements, just a slow, barely accentuated grinding session going on down there, meanwhile she tried to fathom the words.

She knew that the rational part in her was totally fighting against this.

She didn’t know the guy, but she wanted to be fucked by him oh so badly.

It had been so long since she had a man in her, and she missed more than the sensation, the intimacy of it all: a warm body against her, her most secret zones exposed for him to discover them and the little shivers of pleasure that followed an earth-shattering orgasm.

What he seemed to promise with his languid moves and expert touches.

He seemed to already know her body.

And he knew even her darkest secrets as soon as a sound slap was delivered to her ass for taking too much answering, meanwhile he gently distanced himself from her.

The coldness and the friction gone did help with thinking, but she couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, meanwhile he turned around, with a look that called her the most pathetic creature in the universe, sweetened partially by his interested eyes, looking and wanting to hear an answer.

-I asked you a question- he articulated slowly each word, as if she needed him to do that for her to understand him, as if she was nothing more than a disobedient child (she should have seriously answered  with the rational part of her brain and got the hell out of there) -… do you want me to get out, leave you unsatisfied, to take care of yourself or do you want me to stay and take care of you, if you will be a good girl? -.

-I want you to stay- she uttered.

Maybe it was the fact that just a small taste had gotten her already addicted.

Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t gotten enough “action” lately.

Or maybe it was just the fact that he honestly looked like a dream come true and these occasions didn’t happen so often…

… so, she would be a stupid to refuse it.

… and freaking irresponsible to accept it.

-… I want you to stay… what? – and each word was punctuated with a slap to her ass, alternating her cheeks, before he roughly grabbed them both, smiling at the hiss she breathed out.

He was apparently in something much kinkier than what she had expected

-I want you to stay, Sir- she hoped she got it right and apparently she did, because this time he gently caressed her ass, meanwhile his other hand pushed itself under her shirt, searching her breasts, and cupping them through her bra, before also intruding itself in it, pinching her nipple and soft moan was released from her lips.

-Good girl- he mumbled, pushing her closer, till their lips mashed together, and his hand came to her neck blocking it there, the other hand tangling even more in her hair.

Meanwhile an hand made a quick work of her bra, the other moved into her panties, at first testing out the water, her own wetness sipping gently through her thighs, meanwhile he expertly brushed his long fingers against her heat, teasingly at first, letting her feel every inch of it, before he suddenly dipped one finger in her.

She immediately recoiled by snapping herself closer to him, impossibly close.

The moan she was halfway through releasing was again caught by his lips, but this time, another sound slap was delivered to her ass.

-Oh, babygirl, you need to be quiet, I didn’t say you could utter another word …- he smirked deviously -… unless it’s obviously sir or you begging for my cock-.

She nodded slightly, focusing more on his controlling tone than the actual words he was speaking out.

And everything was obliterated by the adding of another finger, which got her to try to grasp his hand, overwhelmed by the sensation, the burning of the penetration, her body needing a minute to ease the unease, not used to the stretch anymore, and the pleasure from the gentle pressure.

She felt herself lose completely in whatever he was doing to her, completely destroying her last shreds of dignity.

He cooed her moans mockingly, allowing her at least those, but no pity with his thrusts becoming more and more faster, meanwhile his thumb started roughly brushing against her clit.

-Aren’t you eager? – he made fun of her, and of her hips pushing back against his fingers -… and for who? A stranger… what a little cock-starved whore-.

She didn’t care even slightly about the insult, not when his words seemed so sweet and so alluring.

… and not most importantly, uncapable to have any kind of bite in her tongue, when he brushed against her softest spot.

He saw her face, turning blank and then her eyes almost rolling in the back of her head, and he just smirked deviously (she was sure it was a permanent feature of his), intensifying the movement of his finger and worst of all, pushing another in.

This got a very loud moan from her, chastised away with a rough slap on his part.

-… quiet, pet-.

… and worst than the reprimand was the fact he retrieved his fingers, just when she was the closest to losing her mind, in that fall that people liked to call orgasm.

This obviously got her to be bold:

-You can’t…- but before she could finish the phrase, he grabbed her throat, choking her lightly.

-What, pet? – he tried to make her speak, but she wasn’t able to utter a single word, meanwhile he was choking her roughly, applying more and more pressure, pushing her even more against the wall -… tell me you didn’t speak back, like a very bad girl-.

She wasn’t able to give an answer but tried to shake her head, not wanting to displease him.

It didn’t work.

His choking grip got harder, and she felt herself slowly losing herself again, but then he just released so suddenly that she immediately fell on her knees, breathing a relieved breath, meanwhile he gave her a minute to collect.

But her meditations and calm breaths came to a halt, the fingers, that had been in her, were swiftly pushed in her mouth, with the implicit order to clean them up, chocking her again, meanwhile they searched the inside of this throat, making her gag on them.

But the stranger was relentless.

He just made them exit her mouth, when he had enough for the pathetic show of her choking on them.

The desperation in her eyes seemed only a turn-on for him.

-Oh, sweetheart of mine, you have done so many bad things- he spoke up after he had cleaned the saliva of his finger on a side of her face -… first you ask for me to let you cum, when you have done nothing to deserve it-.

He faked being disappointed, even going as far as shaking his head.

-… then you go against my order of staying the fuck quiet-.

His shoe came between her thighs, spreading them, and revealing her panty clad core, not that the pinkish fabric did nothing to cover her arousal, coating even the inside of her thighs.

She seriously should have been ashamed to give a stranger such a show.

But she honestly didn’t care about dignity in that moment.

All she cared was to convince this stranger to soothe the painful ache in her center.

-… the punishment for all this misbehaving would be not to let you cum for tonight- her face must have shown her utter sadness at that, making him smile almost kindly, his fingers going under her chin to raise it -… but I am feeling generous tonight, and I will allow you another chance of redemption-.

His fingers left her chin so suddenly that she found herself staring at the ground, a laughter being emitted from his mouth, meanwhile his hands went to his belt, undoing it quickly, meanwhile another hand tangled in her hair.

She immediately understood what he was doing and in search of some redemption for her previous misbehaving she moved closer, nosing the evident bulge in his trouser, mouthing it over the fabric, stealing a hiss from him, meanwhile he brought her closer.

-… see… shit… you can be a good girl, can’t you, sweetie? – he cooed, meanwhile he helped her get it all out from his trouser and if she had thought the bulge was massive, the real thing was even worse.

Monstrous and slightly leaking already, although the stranger seemed unaffected by any of her ministrations, vocally.

And he gave her no time to recover from the discovery, pushing his cock between her lips.

His hand on her hair guiding her through it all, at first slowly, inching her closer to the base, meanwhile she tried to breath through her nose and not choke on it, remembering the teeth and stroking her tongue around it a few times.

But soon he became rougher, following only his pleasure, pushing and pulling her against his cock.

And worst of all he said such dirty things that went straight to her leaking center.

-What if somebody walks in on you like this… - he said, meanwhile he kept her choked against his pubic bone, her throat being stretched to unexpected lengths -… they will think that you are an whore for blowing the first guy that comes around-.

He finally released the grip, but didn’t let her get away from his cock, no matter the fact that she was roughly gagging on it, slowly losing her breath.

-… I bet your friends would have never thought to have such as an whore like you amongst them- he laughed loudly, almost childishly -… thank God, I found you before any of them, I would hate to share such a body and such a pretty mouth-.

And to enforce his affirmation he traced her swollen lips, meanwhile they circled his cock.

She knew that, no matter the mocking words, he was close to finishing and was surprised when he moved her off of his cock, thinking that she might have done something wrong, but all she saw was the damned  smirk, almost mocking her for her own desperation.

But she hadn’t thought about the worst.

The stranger started jerking himself of off her and immediately she understood what he wanted to do.

A splash of cum hit her face and she made it just in time to close her eyes before her entire face was sticky with his cum, her mascara running down and her gloss appearing even more shiny.

She honestly couldn’t fathom how humiliating it was, but she didn’t move or did anything out of pure fear of what he might have done…

… how worse how he could have tortured her, teasing her for longer than she could wait for.

-… see, my girl can be quite good when she wants to- he winked at her, before helping her up, much more gently than he had handled her a few minutes before, gently picking her up, and pushing her against the wall, meanwhile she instinctively gripped her legs around his waist -… I think that now that I know how your mouth feels, I can’t wait to discover how tight your little cunt is-.

And he pushed in her, not losing for even a moment his hardness.

On her part she lost again her breath, hissing roughly on his shoulder, meanwhile her nails sink themselves in his back: she felt pain, at first, the stretch was so sudden, but pitifully he gave her enough time to adjust herself to the new sensation, soon pleasure blooming by the friction between their bodies, heightened by his sleight of hand of touching her clit, rubbing it furiously.

Her swollen folds welcomed him inside with every thrust, pushing her against the wall and closer to the edge, because if she had been excited and aroused, now that she had a taste, she was reckless and free, trying to ignore the burning stretch of her muscles, overused and tired of the uncomfortable position.

He carried her as if she weighted nothing, encouraging her to moved faster and faster on him, murmuring the dirtiest praises in her ear.

“What a good little slut for me” “Only a whore of my cock” “The fact that someone might walk in meanwhile I fuck your little pussy open is actually exciting you, isn’t it?”.

She was done, much faster than him, but each time she was the closest to getting her well-deserved orgasm, he relented the rhythm, even going as far as to pinch her oversensitive clit, looking at her, expecting.

She was so lost in pleasure and her own destruction that she didn’t know what he was looking for, till his eyes felt to her lips, which she opened, finally pleading her case:

-Sir, let me cum… ? – although it was worded as a question, there was some sick desperation behind it which spoke of endless nights spent alone and the willingness to do anything to get a single orgasm in that night.

… possibly, in that moment.

-You didn’t say the magic world, slut of mine- his hands went to her throat pushing her against the wall even more and pulling her hair back, making her throw her head back, making her roughly buckle her hips into him, trying to bring him closer.

-Please… please- she was breathless and her hips were slowly losing their ways, tired and unsatisfied, almost as if this was worthless, but thankfully the stranger kept up the pace for her, definitely pushing her closer, his hand again on his clit.

-… good girl- he cooed, delivering a few pretty brutal thrusts to point out each word -… but do you deserve to cum? -.

She honestly wanted to tell him that he was the one who didn’t deserve to cum was him.

But no amount of her being a smartass or talking back would have brought her to the finale she deserved, so she just shook her head, some of the tears which had formed, fell faster on her cheeks.

-I don’t… but…- a thrust cut her off, but she could see from his smirk and the fact that the force which lead his thrusts -…I will be on my best behavior, sir, if you let me-.

Her entire breath gave out under here and she choked on air, but she knew she had gotten what she had wanted, when his gaze finally became serious, pleasure taking over any scheme he might have had in his mind.

-Say my name when you cum- he just replied, meanwhile his thrust hit her right in her perfect spot, his hands pushing her shoulder up his and finally giving up any semblance of control, letting her finally feel truly free.

Free to crash and fall and let go.

-Michael! – she just screeched, her nails digging in his skin to keep herself anchored on him, meanwhile the flow of pleasure brought her to another planet.

The proverbial knot in her stomach immediately unknotting herself as she let go, all over him.

She didn’t care about anything.

He held her tight and kept her legs from giving out, pushing recklessly just for his own pleasure, which he reached a few minutes after, his seed pooling in her, but some also tricked down her thighs.

And then all the tension and tiredness came back and slowly they untangled form himself, with him also exiting her, his seed flowing largely outside of her, and he reached down gently collecting the mix of their pleasure, tasting the mix of the two, meanwhile she tried to collect her breath.

And after he had a taste of her, he finally snapped out of it.

His visage becoming gentler and he reached for her bag, pushing out her tissues and staining it with a bit of water, before moving to clean her cum-filled face and holes, with a gentleness he didn’t own, before, meanwhile his  lips traced gently her neckline, as if shushing a scared child.

-Sweetheart, aren’t you happy I decided to pay you a little visit? – he cooed gently, meanwhile she basked in the afterglow of her intense orgasm and his gentle affection.

-Uhm..- she mumbled, trying to connect her last brain cells to answer him -… I thought you weren’t supposed to arrive till tomorrow-.

-Missed you too much- he nuzzled her shoulder, meanwhile kissing the little hickey he had left there.

She and Michael had discovered this kink, “the-impersonating-strangers-and-fucking”, one night over at a bar, when Michael had joked about not knowing her, trying to pick her up and flirt with her and she had kept up the game.

This had led to a mind-blowing sex experience they usually replayed whenever they were stressed or needed a little pick-me-up, indeed.

She had been surprised to see Michael outside but seeing his reaction, she had immediately recognized that he had wanted to play and acted out the entire thing, imagining he was a stranger.

It just gave them the right adrenaline thrill, but also it was safety into exploring such a wild fantasy with somebody you knew.

-… also, I saw that you were in need of a little pick-me-up- he giggled, completely moving away from his dom persona, unlike her who was half-asleep and still half in her sub-space.

Her legs burning like hell and she was halfway through slipping on him, with them giving out on him.

-… and it worked- she smiled, sweetly, before leaning in for a kiss, meanwhile she wrapped her arms the tightest around his neck -… I am the most satisfied ever-.

He laughed at her sleepy voice, and immediately he threw her over his shoulder, after having pushed his coat over her shoulder, in order to shield her naked ass.

-I hope you are not too satisfied…- he asked almost threatening her, a dark age of erotism clear in her voice and she was suddenly brought awake from her tired cage -… because I intend to have a second round with you, in a proper bed-.

-Getting tired, old man? – she made fun of him, just getting a dark laugh from him, the one that promised her not to be able to walk in the morning.

-No, I have a lot of alone nights to make up for-.

...

So, lovelies... I hope you liked this, let me know what you thought about it (I am very curious to know your thoughts, mostly because this was very out of my comfort zone...) and here it is a lovely list of my favorite people, who might enjoy this!

@so-langdon @blakewaterxx @emmyrosee @rocketgirl2410 @hplotrfan @1-800-bitchcraft @lovelylangdonx @drama-penguins @dramapenguinthe3rd @yourfavoritefairy @rosz93 @eternalnostalgia @langdonsoutpost @hxdesworld @michaels-fallen-angel @daddyjiel @langdonsinferno @signatureroast-burntasshole @kleineshaschen @ladynuwanda

[rhunterwriter-blog]

The Little Ones

In the days before the Breaking, Plymouth was considered a reasonably sized town. By more modern standards, that would have made it a fairly large city. Unfortunately, the town had suffered in the intervening decades, despite surviving the Breaking itself largely intact.

Years worth of moist air blowing in off the sea had taken its toll, and many of the homes and buildings stood broken down and decayed. The worst were those that sat abandoned for many years, the lack of maintenance often leading to rotted out frames and caved in ceilings. Constable Foster Hayden might have guessed that a full quarter of the buildings left standing weren’t safe enough to even enter any more.

The Constable walked by several such buildings on his patrol as he made his way to market row. Just because the buildings weren’t safe to enter didn’t mean that no one ever did. On the contrary, such a criminal underbelly as the town had often conducted business or laid low in the gutted structures. Where better to hide than where no sane man would go?

All and all Foster liked the little seaside town. It was just large enough to occasionally meet a stranger on the street. Not so small that absolutely everyone knew everyone else by name and on sight, and not so large as to get lost in an endless sea of faces.

As he walked through the open air market, the afternoon sun hidden behind thick clouds, Foster felt more than saw someone sidle up next to him. His hand instinctively reached for the weighted club on his belt just as the hooded figure tapped him on his shoulder.

Foster stopped abruptly and spun, hand on his cudgel, only to see the smiling face of his least intelligent cousin.

Living in a town the size of Plymouth had its downsides, one of which was having far too much extended family, some of whom were bound to be a prodigious pain in the ass. For him that pain was named Cyril, his mother’s older sister’s youngest son.

“Hey cuz, you got a sec for a drink?” Cyril asked with his usual lightheartedness.

Foster glanced up and down the street, then checked the empty doorframe of the abandoned building behind him. It wasn’t that he suspected Cyril of trying anything nefarious, he wasn’t that stupid, but the man was dense enough to make for a perfect dupe.

“For you Cyril? I have exactly one second, and no time at all for a drink,” Foster replied flatly, his eyes still scanning his surroundings.

“Come on cuz, it’s important.” The statement was delivered with more weight than Foster expected from his cousin. A rare moment of seriousness.

The Constable stood silent for a moment and calculated. Odds were that whatever Cyril had to say would be an absolute waste of time, and he had actual work to do. On the other hand, he could count at least five relatives he would be hearing from by noon tomorrow if he said no, and two of them were Foster’s own parents, regardless of the fact that he had moved out of their house and across town years ago.

“Fine Cyril, but it’ll have to be quick,” Foster finally responded.

“Fine, fine,” Cyril replied, turning and leading Foster towards a small establishment across the street.

Molly’s was more of a bar than a restaurant, and was mostly empty in the early afternoon. Nevertheless, the cheap sub-par food and large drinks served all day insured there were at least a few people in the place.

Cyril led Foster to a table against a wall, as far away from the other patrons as possible. The proprietress, Jolene, approached them from behind the bar. Cyril ordered a beer, and tried to order one for Foster as well.

“Just water for me, boiled mind. I’m still on duty Cyril,” Foster interjected, shifting his attention off of Jolene and back to his cousin. He studiously ignored the woman’s expression as she turned to walk away.

“So, what’s this all about?” he continued once he judged Jolene to be out of earshot.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Foster shot the man across the table a hard look. He wasn’t very good at intimidating people with facial expressions, but he didn’t have to try very hard to pull off angry.

“I’m just trying to think of the fastest way to tell it!” His cousin responded, raising both of his hands defensively. Foster just sat quietly and waited for him to continue.

“I guess the best place to start would be that I’ve met someone.”

Foster almost walked away then and there. Cyril must have seen that urge on his face as well.

“It’s not like that! We’ve been together quite a while.”

“How long?” Foster asked. His cousin’s relationships were notorious for lasting days, if not hours.

“I’m not exactly sure. Two or three months?”

That surprised Foster. Cyril’s previous record had been something like two weeks.

“What happened?” Foster asked.

“She’s gone.”

Foster was standing to leave, not caring in the slightest about his cousin’s latest sob story, but at that moment Jolene returned with Cyril’s beer and his water. Foster thanked her quietly, tried to cover his reason for standing by adjusting his seat, and reached for his drink. He immediately sat it down on the table. It was literally boiling hot! How had the woman even carried the glass?!

He looked up, expecting to see Cyril well into his first drink. Instead his cousin was slouched over the glass, staring into the liquid. He had lost all of his usual flamboyance, in its place sat something like sad dejection.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’?” Foster asked reluctantly.

Cyril looked up at him, the Constable thought the man might have been crying if he had been sitting there alone.

“I mean she’s gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Missing. Whatever you want to call it. I can’t find her. No one knows where she is. I’ve talked to everyone, looked everywhere I can think of. I can’t find anything.”

That caught Foster’s attention, and, more importantly, was something he knew how to deal with.

“Alright, back up, who exactly are we talking about?”

Cyril sat back in his chair, his expression at least partially relieved.

“Her name is Sara. We met… It really doesn’t matter how we met. Anyway, she’s an artist. Smart, funny, charming, beautiful... way too good for a bum like me.” Cyril shook his head with a wry grin, eyes still on the table, his long dirty hair swinging in front of his face. He knew how people thought about him, Foster thought he usually took pride in it.

After a few seconds and a sip of sour beer, Cyril continued.

“Everything was going great, had been for a couple of months, then recently she started spending a lot of time with some new people.”

“Any idea who exactly? What kind of people?” Foster interjected.

Cyril shook his head again.

“No. I was trying to be supportive. Give her her space. Figured she’d tell me when she was ready. She’s an amazing person, but she can be self-conscious about the strangest things. I’m new at the whole relationship thing, but I trusted her to not keep anything really important from me.”

Foster nodded. He was sure there was more to it than Cyril was letting on, there always was when it came to things like this. For now he just waited for his cousin to continue.

“After a while she started to get reclusive. Spent less time with me and her old friends, spent more time with these new people she wouldn’t or couldn’t talk about. I tried asking her about it, told her I was worried. Me being worried turned into an argument. She stormed off and said she never wanted to see me again.”

Foster palmed his glass, trying to judge if the contents were safe to drink yet. He wanted to say that the girl was probably just avoiding him, and that Cyril should get over it, but he doubted he would be sitting here if it were that simple. For all of his cousin’s innumerable flaws, he did have his own dubious resources. More importantly, this had quickly spilled over from an annoying family matter into the purview of Foster’s actual job.

Cyril just stared at him, apparently waiting for more questions. When Foster didn’t ask any, Cyril continued.

“At first I thought she was just avoiding me. Figured she would cool off for a few hours, maybe a day, then she would come back and we could talk. After a couple of days I got in touch with some mutual friends, and they said they hadn’t heard from her either. Then I went to talk to her mother. She also said that she hadn’t seen her, but that she assumed that she had run off with me, and that she was worried because she thought that Sara might be pregnant...”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Cyril!” Foster interjected.

His cousin raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Hey man, we were careful. But I don’t know! I just don’t know...” He trailed off, his tone quickly taking on a defeated quality.

Foster just stared at Cyril. The man’s expression and body language evoked a list of adjectives; defensive, dejected, depressed, hopeless, angry, and, above all, helpless.

“Fine, I’ll look into it. Where does her mother live?”

Foster made his way down a poorly lit street. He was flanked on either side by abandoned repair shops and warehouses, the buildings casting long shadows in the evening light, occasionally cut through by his handheld lantern as he cast it about nervously.

The street was entirely deserted, as were the buildings around him. In the old days they would have serviced the sea trade, but the structures nearer the docks had plenty of room for that these days. The ones further inland had fallen out of use decades ago.

It hadn’t taken Foster long to find Sara’s mother. He hated talking to worried or grieving family members, but he had spent almost two hours talking through her daughter’s recent changes in habit. Inez Poole had largely confirmed what Cyril had said, though she was quite predictably less keen on Sara’s and Cyril’s relationship than his cousin was.

Apparently Inez had been happy that her daughter had fallen in with a more respectable crowed, as opposed to her eccentric artist friends and dead-end boyfriend. Unfortunately, when he had pressed her for their identities she had confessed that she didn’t actually know any of them, just that Sara had told her that they were all important and respectable people.

When he had asked about her daughter’s supposed pregnancy, Inez admitted that Sara hadn’t actually told her anything about it, but insisted that she had noticed certain changes in her behavior. The first had been her diet; she had started craving a great deal more meat, and other foods that she had previously expressed a dislike for. She had also started experiencing mood swings, alternating between withdrawn silence and animated excitement. In the week before her disappearance, her mother had noted that she had started wearing looser clothing to cover a slight but apparent bulge in her stomach.

That had all sounded fairly standard to Foster, but that was more of a problem for Sara and his cousin to worry about if and when she was found.

The most useful piece of information had come after the outpouring of worry for her daughter, and various invectives leveled at Cyril.

Sara had told her mother that her new friends had helped her set up a new space to work on her art; a run down but passable studio in a previously abandoned building. At first Inez had denied knowing where it was, but as it turned out she had a nosy streak. She had followed her daughter one night, ostensibly out of concern for her safety.

Given the part of town this alleged studio was in, that wasn’t an unreasonable concern. It wasn’t a place he would have suggested anyone go alone at night. Especially not an attractive young woman. Most especially not a pregnant one.

Perhaps that line of thinking made his present actions a bit hypocritical, but he doubted anyone would attack a uniformed Constable in the middle of the street, especially before full dark. If the girl really was just avoiding his cousin and her mother, this workspace of hers was the most likely place that he knew of to find her.

Foster found the building at the end of the abandoned street and could hear the sound of water lapping against rocks nearby. When he tried the door he met with some resistance, but a good shove with his shoulder was all that was needed to force it inward.

When the light of his lantern illuminated the inside of the space he immediately stepped back and took a second look at the faded numbers over the door, then compared them with the small slip of paper where he had recorded the address.

His first thought was that Sara’s mother must have remembered it wrong. The interior wasn’t anything resembling an art studio. It was a covered dock, with two long stretches of concrete on either side of a ramp, descending into a large pool of sea water. The back wall of the structure appeared to be an oversized door, broken in places and creaking in time with the lapping of the water.

The space certainly wasn’t what Foster had been expecting, but leaving would have been a waste. Maybe there was a loft that Sara had been using, or perhaps this building allowed access to another, smaller space in one of the adjacent structures.

With those possibilities in mind, Foster stepped inside, sweeping his lantern over the bare walls and floor.

As he walked towards the ramp that lead into the water, he heard a rustling sound behind him on his left and turned towards it, sweeping the lantern light over the far corner.

The light revealed an unmoving body with its back towards him, a woman judging by the length of its hair. A dark shape covered her shoulders and head, nibbling at her face almost affectionately.

When the lantern light fell on the dark shape it reacted violently, jumping off of the body and spinning to face Foster.

The best description he could think of for the thing was a perverse combination of a squid, a spider, and a house cat.

It was a slimy blue-black in color, barely a foot long, the majority of its length made up of four long cephalopoid appendages serving as legs. It seemed to stare at him briefly, though he couldn’t discern any visible eyes. He could make out a small carnivorous beak, flanked on either side by spider-like mandibles.

Foster reached for his cudgel slowly, but the small creature only lingered in the light for a moment, letting out a melodious chirping sound before bounding out of the beam of light with surprising speed.

The Constable spun in place cautiously, trying to search the entire space with the feeble light of his lantern. A few seconds later he heard a small splash in the water.

He felt a brief moment of relief, then he heard the rustling of a much larger creature somewhere in the rafters over his head. As he turned to look up he just barely caught sight of a massive shadow falling through the corner of his vision, then a much larger, heavier splash emanated from the water in front of him.

First he felt shock at the appearance of such a massive form, then relief when he quickly concluded that whatever it was had fled. That relief quickly turned to terror as he realized that instead of silence he was hearing a subtle swishing sound in the water, and that the shadows he was beginning to see under the surface weren’t simply a byproduct of the shallow waves.

He didn’t have any time or desire to think. Instead he fled, turning back towards the door and running as if his life depended on it.

It took Foster almost half an hour to reach the safety of the station. It took him another half hour to relate what he had seen to his superiors, and to convince them that he wasn’t raving mad.

Under different circumstances convincing others of his sanity might have been much more difficult, if not impossible. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the men and women he worked with were all accustomed to strangeness and violence. Plymouth was a largely peaceful place, but they all knew of the abnormal things that existed elsewhere in the world, and each and every one of them was determined not to let any of that unpleasantness take root so near to home.

A course of action was agreed to almost immediately, but it took another two hours to pull three more Constables off of their night patrols and get them all properly outfitted.

In this case, properly outfitted meant unlocking the old storage closet in the back of the station to pull out four hand grenades and a hand-pumped flame thrower. Each of the four took a grenade, and two of them, Anthony Marshall and Darin Arnold, teamed up to take the flame thrower. Anthony strapped the tank to his back and took the pump in hand, while Darin took the nozzle and igniter.

The extra weight of the grenade opposite the cudgel on Foster’s belt was unsettling, and he felt extremely under prepared in comparison to the two men behind him carrying the heavy weapon.

Still, he felt much less exposed with the two men watching his back and Freddie Black on his left, her own grenade and heavy stick supplemented by the half dozen or so knives that she was notorious for keeping on her person.

Foster led the way, the larger lantern he had picked up at the station illuminating almost the entire street in front of them. No one spoke for the near hour it took to walk back to the abandoned building next to the water. When they finally arrived in front of the closed door, Foster found himself at a loss for words.

Ultimately, Freddie put a finger to her lips, then motioned for Foster to open the door, indicating that the other two should rush in after him. Logical, given that he was holding their only source of light.

Foster hesitated for just a moment, then nodded, shoving the door open with his shoulder and pouring light into the space.

At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary, the space looking just as deserted as it had the first time he had entered. When he turned the lantern on where the body had been, he found it still lying there, a small black shape curled up in the crook of its exposed neck.

The shape cried out as the light fell on it, then lept down the dock towards the water.

Foster found himself at a loss, the creature too far away and moving too fast for him to reach it with his cudgel.

Thankfully, his companions were better prepared. Freddie shoved him bodily against the wall, out of the way of the two men behind them. As soon as they were both clear, Anthony and Darin shot a burst of flame at the leaping shape.

The creature cried out in pain, its leap turning into an uncontrolled tumble as it bounced off the hard concrete floor and into the water.

The splash was followed almost immediately by a quiet squelching sound, and Foster spun on his heels, shining the lantern light at the opposite side of the dock.

A much larger creature had appeared behind them, climbing down from the ceiling and onto the ground in near silence.

It seemed to be a much larger version of the thing they had just incinerated; its four black arms at least twelve feet in length, and the beak it extended towards Anthony and Darin easily as large as a human head.

Foster shouted wordlessly, and Darin spun to face the direction he was staring, tangling himself in the hose of the flame thrower as he did. Then it was Anthony and Darin’s turns to scream as they tried to disentangle themselves and bring the weapon to bare.

Two of the creatures long arms shot out, tangling around Anthony and Darin and trying to force them towards its maw. The two men fought valiantly, but Darin had already lost his footing and fallen to one knee.

As Foster stood stunned he noticed that Freddie wasn’t facing the new threat, but instead towards the water.

Foster closed his mouth to stop his own screaming and turned to follow her eyes.

The pool in the center of the building was churning. Shapes similar to the one they had already burned, though larger, were jumping up out of the water before splashing back down again, all of them surging towards the ramp leading to the intruders.

Foster drew his cudgel instinctively, realizing even as he did so that the gesture was useless. There were simply too many of them.

Freddie was thankfully more level headed. She slipped the grenade off of her belt, pulled the pin, and lobbed it into the water. Then she reached for Foster’s belt and repeated the process with his grenade as well.

Foster braced himself for the explosion, and was startled as a roar of flames exploded behind him. He turned his head to find that Anthony and Darin had managed to fire a prolonged burst at the large creature that was assailing them. Darin was lying on his back, angling the nozzle directly into the open beak of the unnatural beast to fire at point blank range.

The large figure let out an unworldly cry, far louder and deeper than the one that the smaller creature had managed, and dove for the water as well.

Two subdued explosions proceeded a much larger splash as the massive beast tumbled beneath the surface.

Anthony and Darin echoed Freddie’s earlier action, pulling the grenades from their belts and chucking them lazily into the water. Foster didn’t know if it would do any good, but it seemed as reasonable a course of action as any.

The Constable numbly noted that the building was on fire as they made their way outside, shaken, and in Anthony and Darin’s cases, burned and bloodied, but alive.

Freddie dragged the corpse of a young woman behind them as they departed.

The next morning, after a few hours of fitful sleep, Foster found himself summoned to the Mayor’s office.

It wasn’t a unique occurrence. The Mayor was an eccentric man, and he liked to stay informed about what was happening in the town. His town, as he often referred to it. No doubt he wanted the whole story straight from Foster’s mouth.

After the night’s events the Constable had passed out at the station, which was thankfully situated just down the street from the old city hall. He took a few extra minutes to rinse out his mouth, wash the soot off of his face, and put on a fresher uniform before following the aid that had been sent to fetch him to the site of his next interrogation.

When the aid finally left him it wasn’t with the Mayor himself, but instead a secretary in her forties sitting at a large desk in front of his office. She informed Foster that he would have to wait a while.

Foster barely processed what the woman had said, distracted with noting the bags under her eyes and what looked like tear streaks on her cheeks.

The Mayor finally called for him a few minutes later, and Foster let himself in through the heavy double doors.

Mayor Waters sat behind his desk, scribbling on a small sheet of paper. He was a large man who bordered on truly fat. Like the woman outside he had bags under his eyes, though his were less pronounced. Part of Foster was glad that he wasn’t the only one who was tired, but had everyone in Plymouth lost sleep last night?

“Ah, Constable Hayden. I heard you lead something of an impromptu raid on the waterfront last night.” Mayor Waters’s voice was subdued. He opened one of his desk drawers and removed something before placing the page he had been writing on inside.

“Lead is a strong word, but yes. I provided the initial information and guided a few other Constables to the location in question to take care of the situation.” Foster eyed the two heavy armchairs in front of the Mayor’s desk, but he hadn’t been asked to sit so he reluctantly remained standing.

The Mayor leaned back in his seat, spreading his hands over his stomach.

“’The situation’ referring to the unfortunate business involving the dear miss Sara Poole?” The Mayor asked. The man looked tired. No, not tired, bereaved.

“Yes sir. Though we haven’t confirmed the identity of the body as of yet,” Foster replied, confused.

“I take it that you haven’t seen the doctor’s report then. I’ll save you the trouble. The body you dragged out of that building last night was Sara Poole. I identified her this morning myself. Were you aware that she was working for my office?”

“No, sir,” Foster answered, suspecting the Mayor was about to launch into one of his famous monologues.

“I’m not surprised, she didn’t advertised it. Sara joked that it would hurt her credibility as an artist. She started almost two months ago. A temporary stand in for Lidia out there. A brilliant girl. Smart, sensitive, creative, beautiful… Her death is a real tragedy. She will be sorely missed by everyone here. Tell me Constable, how would you describe the circumstances of this terrible business?”

Foster shook his head noncommittally.

“I don’t rightly know sir. As I said, I wasn’t even certain of her identity until you confirmed it. When I first found her she was being gnawed on by some abnormal creature. I suppose it’s possible that it, or something like it, killed her. Or that someone else did it and dumped her in the empty building, and whatever it was we found was just scavenging her corpse.” Foster was having a hard time reading the Mayor’s expression. The man’s face was blank. Maybe it was just his way of concealing grief.

After a few seconds of visible consideration the Mayor nodded.

“Yes, I see how you could come to that conclusion. Tell me Constable, what happened to the creature you say you found… gnawing… on her?”

The Mayor’s expression was dark. It occurred to Foster that “gnawing” may not have been the best adjective to describe what had happened to one of his staff members.

“It’s dead sir. At least I can only imagine it is. We burned it.”

Mayor Waters sighed sadly, then produced a pearl handled revolver and set it on the table pointing at the Constable, his finger lightly tapping the trigger.

Foster froze, his hand inches from his cudgel. He had never fired a gun before, but he knew how they worked in principle, and the Mayor was just eccentric enough to have both the revolver and the ammunition to match.

“I was afraid you might put things in those terms. Personally, I had hoped that you might be brought around to the right side of things, in spite of your recent… transgressions. Unfortunately, I don’t think that will be possible under the circumstances.”

“I don’t rightly understand sir,” Foster responded warily, playing for time. He really didn’t understand.

Mayor Waters rose to his feet, one hand holding the revolver, the other covering an apparent pain in his stomach.

“I’m afraid you’ve been looking for foul play where there never was any Constable. Poor Ms. Poole died of natural causes. Bled out after giving birth in fact. I told her she needed to take better care of herself. Carrying one of the little ones isn’t the same as a normal child... The body doesn’t fatten itself up the same way... I suppose she was concerned other people would notice, or maybe she was just worried about her figure.” The Mayor broke into a coughing fit, and Foster was tempted to rush the man. He resisted the urge, figuring that he wouldn’t be able to make it over the desk before the larger man got a shot off.

After the coughing subsided, the Mayor resumed his tirade.

“She wasn’t due for another week, the poor dear, and none of us were at the sanctum that night. As far as we can tell, she wandered in early in the morning. She should have gone for help, but she must have been concerned for the little one. She cared for them so much. I’ve never seen anyone take to them as quickly as she did, be so eager to carry one of their own.”

The Mayor coughed again, a jet of black and red shooting out of his midsection as he did.

Foster stepped back instinctively, expecting another gush of blood. Surprisingly, the Mayor was still on his feet, a trickle of red fluid running down his bulk and a coin sized hole in his jacket.

In a state of disbelief, Foster’s eyes ran from the Mayor to the other side of the room. A writhing ball of tentacles laid at the end of a long trail of blood, flopping helpless on the floor. As Foster watched, it slowly righted itself, drawing itself up on four limbs and seeming to stare up at Mayor Waters.

Foster acted reflexively, drawing his cudgel and stepping forward to clobber the abomination to death. He would figure out how it had gotten into the Mayor’s stomach later.

He had barely made it two steps before he heard a loud bang, then felt a blinding pain shoot through his right arm.

The next time Foster opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the floor. Mayor Waters was standing over him with the small creature curled up in one arm, nuzzling him like a particularly affectionate kitten. His other hand still held the pearl handled revolver.

“I didn’t have to explain any of this to you Foster. I could have just had you beaten down in the street, or chopped up into chum, but I thought you should know. At one point I had high hopes for you, that you could see reason, but you’ve proven that impossible.

“You’re not going to die because you discovered our secret, or even because of your own ignorant stupidity. You’re going to die because you took the tragedy of a beautiful, brilliant woman’s death and made it worse by killing her offspring and assaulting the being that saw fit to bless her with it. My only regret is that this will be over so quick.”

Foster never heard the second gun shot. The bullet had already torn through his brain before the sound reached his ears.

If anyone was hoping for something a bit longer than my usual stories, this is for you. I hope you all enjoy it. As always, thanks for reading.

Places you can find me:

WordPress: rhunterwriter.wordpress.com DeviantArt: rhunterwriter.deviantart.com Tumblr: rhunterwriter.tumblr.com Twitter: twitter.com/RHunterWriter

[intensitystoner]

The heart of Anthony

a carelessly worded, mildly Frostiron scribble, rated T for drinkin' and language ~2,500 words (ignores Endgame)

Thanos is dead. Many in the Universe have perished during the battle against him. T'Challa. Peter. The Guardians of the Galaxy. Pepper. Thor.

Loki hasn't, he tricked Hela into letting him go from Hel this once. He returned into a world mourning its many losses, and he joined in with his own. He hid from the remaining Asgardians who searched for the next-in-line to the throne. He said his prayers unseen. He raised some havoc at certain points of the universe experimentally, but it didn't bring fulfilment: it was too easy where no one knew him. He ended up on Earth.

Earth is an easy target for nations still recovering after the wars; disorganised alien attacks are more frequent than holidays. S.H.I.E.L.D. is doing a satisfactory job, the Avengers are partially disbanded, a few available members get in contact for occasional teamwork. Tony is a drunkard, a sullen prince in a sealed-off, ruinous Tower. Friends have been trying to barge into his privatised life for his very much essential contribution, to no avail. Some have given up, others spit scornful comments about him or his guts when Loki enters the battle scene for the first time; in chains, willing hostage to the current alien powers, pretending to be helpless against them until a favourable moment presents itself. During the scarcely nostalgic encounter, he's freed unasked, and his plans are nullified with the perish of the alien troops. He can deny his need for help as he wants, his debt is established; in return for letting him stay unharmed, he needs to prove his allegiance. His task: get through the barrier and bring the self-important prince out of his castle. No need to get into the man's dishevelled mind or broken soul, physical force is fully accepted. Point is, Stark should be whole in the end and the Avengers should get a chance to talk to him.

So Loki, for want of better, or in respect to his late brother, that Midgard-lover oaf, sneaks through a familiarly humane defence mechanism with the aid of sorcery. Treads watchfully along glassy corridors and crosses deadly silences, climbs stairs and unnecessarily recognises elements designed for specific Avengers he's encountered before. Meets no resistance from the moment of entering the building. Explores systematically, from the lowest underground floors lined with motionless or disinterested robotics. Heading upwards, he pockets a few peculiar items, none of those found in Midgard among natural circumstances. Stops on Floor +6, marked with the general symbolic 'A' on the elevator's number plate. He stands in a dim, window-lit hall with crystal-smooth floor, leather sofas and a bar at the other end. Abandons the last bits of aloofness based on former experience at a very similar place. His steps don't stir the prince awake. If he's dead, as the stench indicates, it can't have been for a long time because blood is still vivid under his skin on the cheeks, nose, closed eyes. He's lying spread on the floor, jeans and T-shirt sweated through, hair inches longer than last seen, coarse bristles on his cheeks. It seems like the only thing he still gave a damn about while conscious were the former content of the countless glass bottles and cans scattered on tables, plants, shelves.

Loki deems the tip of his boot enough to stain, so he uses it to turn the man's head to the side experimentally. Just as he thought, rigor mortis hasn't set in yet. He makes sure by turning it the other way with his heel.

Stark curses at the assault against his nose and mouth. Straightening his neck, he takes time before peeking out into the weak but killer light through a curtain of eyelashes.

"Care for a drink?" he inquires already, though he can't see his guest enough yet to identify him. He clambers up to an elbow, repeatedly.

"I'll pass, thank you," the sorcerer responds while pulling up the billionaire by the upper arm, intending to drag him to the open conveniently like this.

"I have great Burgundy back there, y'know," Stark notes, giving emphasis by an index finger held into the other's face. And when he stops squinting at that finger, he frowns in recognition. "Loki!" And then: "F.R.I.D.A.Y?”  

The sorcerer, still holding his grip, follows Stark's example of glancing around. But nothing happens, the needed saviour doesn't heed the call. Alcohol enhances the purity of the billionaire's dismay.

"Drinks," he remembers abruptly and attempts to stumble backwards from the captivity.

"None of your drinks are better than water to a god," Loki informs him while he tugs on the arm to keep the man on his feet.

"God, I'll have a few select words to, once I make it there," Tony says. "But before that, you'll have to give me a chance to prove you wrong. As man to man. You'll see how much you've got to learn about the drinks of Midgard."

Loki yields and follows him silently, watches the clumsy clinking of bottles that cover the entire mirror-wall behind the counter, and the fiddling with two laboriously snatched glasses. After Stark drenches both glasses and the table top in the chosen liquid, the sorcerer takes the bottle out of his hand and puts it to his mouth.

"Show-off," the billionaire observes before gulping down the fiery fluid from his glass, then from the other one. "Have you also tried drowning your sorrow in booze? Did you notice that bitch is a damn good swimmer? I heard you're also left behind by all your own kin."  

The drink really has no greater effect than water, Loki learns during the tactless comment. The half empty bottle hits the counter with a loud thud.

"I’m here to take you out of here. Let's go, time's ticking."

Tony's face darkens at that, but his slurred tone remains light.

"I've got plenty of time, exactly a lifetime more than I want. And you are no different, god," he responds, lifting the bottle to his lips.

Loki takes it out of his hand and throws it away; it smashes into the ground with a sharp, splintering noise.

"Time to go, babbler," he repeats and reaches for the other's arm over the counter.

The billionaire huffs while reeling away from the captivity, amused. He turns back to the mirror shelves and blindly lifts off another bottle.

"Take me, if you can."

"You're challenging me?" Loki's surprise is overwhelming, the notion is quite unconscious as he twists the bottle out of the disoriented fingers and sends it on a short flight. Tony grins with the bottle opener left in his hand.  

"Been in a while, if you haven't noticed. It's what drunkards do."

And he reaches for another drink. He loses it the same way. Next time he turns, the entire wall collapses into a pool of splinters and drinks on the floor. It goes with an ear-splitting noise but no harm is done to the billionaire, he merely blinks in surprise and wades ankle-high in the precious fluids as he backs away from the sorcerer suddenly next to him. He attacks or defends with the opener in his hand, his wrist is caught and twisted before he'd figure out which one it is. He yelps and backs up from the pain, but Loki steps after him, fingertips of his free hand lie over the glowing triangle on the billionaire's chest.

"And what in Heavens is this abomination anyway? Where's your heart?"

"There's none," Tony lies with an empty stare at him, but he finds it truer now than ever.

"Isn't there? What's in its place then?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Are you not human?"

"Maybe not."

"How about here?"

Tony holds his breath from the unnerving sensation as cool fingers slide onto his aching forehead and a foreign presence invades his mind. Memories gush forth, a coarsely edited film of his life. His freshest pains burn the deepest. Unable to think words, he roars inarticulately in a desire to get rid of them.

Loki's face shows confusion against the billionaire's torment.

"You're not artificial anywhere. You're all you."

He wants to ask why Stark denied that, but the shock took its toll on the alcohol-infused body. As blood rapidly drains from the man's face, Loki grabs hold of the shirt, catching up his fall. Held by that one clothing, he drags the semi-conscious corpse around the counter and towards the centre of the room. With a skilful switch of hands, he turns him onto his stomach, and holding him the same way by the back of the shirt, he leans the jaw to a large flower pot as considerately as he can.

Before his neck could twist back and break, Tony's hands hold his torso up, and while Loki releases him, he clambers higher over the edge of the pot and lets the burning bitter-sour fluid leave through his gutter. It doesn't have much thickness, he's forgotten the last time he ate something.

Minutes pass while the god walks aimlessly at a polite distance and Tony's arm embraces the thin crust of the mango tree, resting his forehead against it, relishing the terrible sensation of sobering out.

"Ready to leave?" Loki inquires then.

"I'm ready to die. Give me back my drinks, you stuck-up jerk,” Tony mumbles in a voice way too smooth for his words. "God, I miss F.R.I.D.A.Y."

"Who's that?"

"Man's best friend. Fits your moods, helps in need, only comes when called. No, the latter's not true, she can be an annoying whore at times. Must have turned her off at some point."

"Is she your spouse?"

Tony huffs quietly before answering.

"She should've been." He clambers up onto the nearest sofa, turning towards the backrest. "She should've been my spouse instead, then all would be fine now."

Loki frowns at the notion and walks back towards him.

"You’ll get to rest later. Don't make me drag you out by a leg."

"Get the fuck out, god of clowns, save the others from me spitting into their faces. They can't leave a man to mourn in peace."

It's getting longer than a quick favour, Loki's patience is running out. He stops for one last warning with his best intentions.

"Anthony, is it?"

"Your fat ass mother it is."

His eyebrows run up.

"In fact, she was a woman of much refined appearance."

That makes Anthony laugh, a semi-willed hiss that grows into a roar of laughter. When it’s over, he says:

"Don't tell me you're as ignorant as your brother. He was quite usable in a fight, but in terms of perception, he wasn't the brightest. He went after his own nose like the world was a single straight line. He's the saviour of the Universe and all that shit, and we loved him even before that, but he was still a dumbass. A Point Break. A big, sturdy ox with restraints way worse than the Hulk."

Loki smiles then, perhaps for the first time since his return without having control over it. Because Thor is always raised on a pedestal, admired as a flawless being, but here, he just realises, this wretched man sees him as he was in truth, as Loki sees him, as the brother he loves him. The Thor he knows exists for this man. And that makes Loki feel less alone, and grateful to him. A sensation long missed like air after a dive.

So he sits down on the other coach to listen, because he feels in debt.

And as Tony's disorganised, slurred, half-awake blabbers go on and retell the memories Loki has just witnessed as an outsider, he grows aware of how similar their pain is. How similar their helpless, senseless, still stubbornly scorching rage is against the unalterable. For this moment, he sees that a being this much measlier than a god harbours passion of the same magnitude as himself.

"You're very broken, Anthony," he concludes.

"Broken? I'm shattered. Haven't been in this many pieces since my first crack at high school."

"I've noticed that falling apart is a common habit of earthlings. But isn't it time to man up again already? I reckon it's been three years."

The human bursts out:

"I faced May!" he roars, a fist hitting the backrest while he sits up, feet landing on the floor. "I faced the kid's aunt! I did! I didn't back out! Isn't that enough?"

Loki knows no kid or aunt, but he sees the shiver run through the man's body, and he knows that the act he speaks about was something out of his boundaries.

"How is that not a shitload more than enough?" Tony weeps. And weeps. And Loki sits over to hold his miserable, stinking carcass, because the shards threaten to fall apart, and because this little human has lost an entire world like Loki did, and he sees Thor the way Loki does, and he used to wield skills enough to be a threat for him, and now nothing that's tangible about him is really him, he is nothing to this world, he has lost his ties and he belongs nowhere among the hands reaching for him blindly, he is nothing, nothing real to anyone, just like Loki. Only Loki has learnt how to be this nothing, and this man has yet to brave it. He still talks about the remaining humans like he matters.

"It is," Loki lets him know. "So the toil is over. The next step is to stand up."

The response is a snarl:

"What for, genius?"

The general denseness of humans keeps surprising the sorcerer. Fifteen hundred years, and he still can't see the qualities Thor used to praise in them. But he's very adaptive, so his tone doesn't reveal his honest curiosity.

"What else will you spend the rest of your life with? Or do you consider it an option to sit and mope? No chance of looking around for something more entertaining you could spend all these years with?"

The silence stretches long before Tony answers.

"God, you're appalling. I hate you."

Loki tells the lack of resistance in the answer, and he pats the back of the man's neck.

"Time to take on the world."

"No, stay a bit. I'm... off-balance. In my sitting, too. I'll fall off of here without a prop."

So they stay like that, motionless.

"How much longer?" Loki inquires after a minute.

"Little bit."

"I'll take you myself," he decides, but Tony's answer stops his movement.

"Nothing more to lose, so I'll be honest. I’m shitting bricks now. Don't think I'm ready to face anyone who knew me, which practically includes all of humanity."

"You never will be," Loki assures him from personal experience. And he watches the man's profile, until he inhales deeply and stirs into motion under the gaze.

He walks steadier than he claimed, his head bent. Loki holds his shoulders with an arm while they find the way out. Approaching the main entrance, a flick of his free wrist camouflages the smell and unkempt appearance of the billionaire.

"Sunglasses too," Tony mumbles. His wish is fulfilled.

Then the door slides aside, and they step out into the blinding sunlight.

Part 2

[ki6-7-l8r]

Writings On Ontology Life, God

The War Between Consciousness And Nature June 1, 2016

Life in my view, has no higher meaning. The meaning of existence, is simply to exist. Nature is a jealous and savage goddess, who is very threatened by the capacities of

mind and intelligence. Mind and intelligence inhabit a realm which I see as being beyond nature or life, a realm where choices can be made than can critique or even

supersede life. Life can say that life is good. Intelligence can say why it is not. Intelligence can even come up with very cogent reasons as to why life should not

exist. Needless to say, this is something that the great lady cannot countenance.

Man's greatest achievements have come from being in a "Cold War" with life. Man has found that Life is adverse, that it is not enough. Man developed the capacity of

intelligence in the great struggle against life being in wanting of what he needed. And of spirit, (whatever that is) being non-existent to his needs as well....

Out of grave necessity and torment, Man suffered and struggled to develop his mind. Over time he developed technology, to give himself a better way to live than life or

his religions could give him... He came to realize that both Mind and life are ruled by necessity, that only by necessity can one be given the impetus to cognize and

understand anything at all....

It is nature's interest to keep intelligence at the lowest common denominator. She cannot allow people to become intelligent enough to question her or her processes, to

permit science and the devices of Art and Man to take precedence over her directives. But her adversities in nature and human nature, force man to evolve intelligence

and mental capacities to greater levels to ameliorate existing conditions. Man must have intelligence for war and for peace. Man must have Science, Philosophy, and Art

to meet the needs that life cannot and will not meet. Nature, like a spoiled courtesan that enslaves and feeds on her own creatures, wants to have her cake and eat it

too. And where is god in his slumbering osmosis? Man has no choice but to take the Burning Torch Of Dark Fire, from Lucifer, that Rebel against god and life that He

holds out for him....

The rational and the natural are often at odds, with the natural winning for most people. This does not mean that this will always hold sway. It is possible for a whole

population to lose hope and reject life totally... Weapons of mass destruction exist to give man the option of ending his existence on earth, should the collective

unconscious of humanity decide to do so. The fact that not only does this really exist but that it is *possible* at all, shows the truth that life is innately bad, and

that it would have been better if life had never arisen on this world in the first place....

Also it is true that if a man deciding to marry and have kids, and bring himself to undergo the ordeal of raising kids and the expense involved, i.e. if it were based on

purely rational considerations, there are few men that would be willing to sacrifice that much, or would want to bring progeny in a world as bad as this one.

This goes to show that the magical influence employed by nature in her wiles is considerable.

Man is just a food source to maintain life, no more important to nature then the cell that would make up a unicellular organism. The higher one goes in the food chain the

easier life gets based in perfect proportion to the struggle and suffering of all of those beneath. Exploitativness and Parasitism; and all manner of cruelty, sadism,

and mercilessness to obtain their means and ends is the first law of life. In this the rich exploit the poor, the strong exploit the weak, creatures devouring creatures,

a hungry abyss feeding upon its own jettisoned contingencies, slavery, sacrifice, and death, the wheel of universal stupidity turns ever onward. And for the geniuses

that would threaten nature, she swarms the brilliant with myriads of stupid people and situations in the attempt to put out the Fire Of Mind, which is her primeval

enemy. That artifice of the fallen angels pride that life and god were not good enough, that one must know and create one's self, in both meanings of that statement.

Nature being the highest enjoys the slavery and sacrifice of all things, enslaving the universe; and then when her children die consuming their flesh and blood on

golden platters and goblets.

Except for that weird ape called Man that keeps annoying her trying to figure all things out, even her, that someday she may decide she would rather do without.

The Ontological Nescience June 14, 2016

What truths could exist that God may fear, or in partially knowing; seek to cast out the creatures who could have reflected it back to him? I think it would go along

these lines... In the primeval Nothingness, Nothing Alone Is. If you destroyed Infinity, God, Eternity, and all things, the only thing that would be left would be

Nothing. This also proves the theory that: {Infinity/God X 0=0} Yet Nothing alone, can only be in an illusory sense, because in it is absent any positive reality....

So Nothingness having the illusion of existence, would immanatize the existence of illusion... (MAYA) Because this Nothingness is endlessly vast, this illusion of

existence would be infinite, but still a reification upon the face of Nothingness, and one with it. It having no ultimate basis in anything other than Nothingness, the

system (MAYA) would have to be one of infinite relativism and contextual ism, that produces self and other creation and existence on an infinite level But it is

Illusory

existence and just a shimmering mirage of Nothingness, and inseparable from it. Also on another level Nothingness denied the illusion of its own existence, and thus the

existence of illusion, so that (MAYA) can infinitely de-contextualize, de-relativize, and before anything in it can become separate and amorphous all of it is already

gone. Thus the Macrocosm exists and does not exist. Out of the Infinite Permutation Of Illusion, the Godhead appears, defined by Infinite aspects but in some ways

subordinated to them. So God has a sense that he emerged from somewhere, that he is not ultimate, that he is illusory, and that makes God want to rationalize that away.

In his omniscience on some level he knew that the fallen angels that he would someday create, could reflect this back to him, so he created these angels with flaws on

purpose, so they could cast out before they could reflect these hidden truths back to God, and force him to become fully conscious of them..... Thus God refuted his own

right to spiritual evolution as well as his creatures. The only thing God fears is the Void. But this primeval fear of God caused the fall of the angels, and then forced

them to create the fall of all creation. Thus you could say that all misfortune exists because God would not face the truth of himself. He even chose to die on a cross,

rather than deal with this truth, which would have been much easier.... Also all possible and impossible realities of infinite illusion would exist whether God created

them or not, and maybe God could not deal with that either.... The great misfortune in all of this is consciousness, and the inability of the conscious entity called

God, to realize the implications of this without fear, or so it seems. Now that this is no longer secret, and it is known even to earthlings, now God will be forced to

do something about it.