#push out casement

[paulinecroze]

Mediterranean Bedroom - Guest Large tuscan guest light wood floor and brown floor bedroom photo with green walls and no fireplace

[worldoflunatriix]

Vinyl New York Large two-story vinyl gable roof design in transitional yellow

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt.4

Disclaimer: Back to my usual shenanigans with another installment of Benjicot angst. The stakes are getting higher. Plus the start of the crossovers Victoria and I have planned with the Jump then Fall series.

Description: In which the Blackwood Knight bends the knee before his Queen.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Playlist:

One Thing~ One Direction

Risk~ Gracie Abrams

Only Girl (in the world)~ Rihanna

I think he knows~ Taylor Swift

A silver moon shone through the casement of the turret window of Raventree Castle Benjicot leaned against, staring out across the expanse of Blackwood vale towards the borders of Bracken lands. His arm raised above his head, leaning against the wall, soft candle light cast shadows over his disconsolate expression. Never had he wished to cross such an expanse before, so long had he been the arbiter of the very border which he now wished to dissolve. Raised as he was to inherit the Blackwood estate and lands, he was equally set to inherit the duty to further propagate the ancient enmity between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. A duty he had never railed against until now.

His thoughts turned to the lady whose beauty of mind and form had made him question all that had once seemed to him so certain. The very lady who he who he was determined to make his lady wife. He could not very well ask her to leave her whole life, her family, her House, to be at his side. He would not ask her to. Instead, he resolved, he would dissolve the very borders between them.

An amused voice broke his reverie.

“Oh look, it’s our resident troubadour, musing over his lady love.” Benjicot’s friend, Robb laughed at him, elbowing him in the ribs.

Turning to him with a bemused expression, Benjicot responded “And what if I am?”

Rob laughed again, turning to lean jauntily against the castle walls.

“I thought you were a man of action. Why don’t you just march down there, bend the knee and offer yourself in marriage to her. You bore me enough with your plans to do just that thing? Do you think she will refuse? I would if I were her.”

Benjicot pushed his friend in the shoulder, but his expression betrayed a hint of insecurity behind the action.

“That is definitely a concern. She is very shy and I cannot be sure that my love will be returned. There is also the small matter of our warring Houses. I would not merely be asking her to accept me, but also my House…and to forsake her own. I will not ask her to make such a sacrifice. I must instead find a way for both our Houses to resolve their differences. If my world will not accommodate her, I must tear it down and begin anew.”

Robb met Benjicot’s gaze with his own incredulous one.

“Trying to get the Blackwoods and the Brackens to resolve anything without the use of extreme force is beyond belief. Just the other day I encountered that Bracken fellow you like to refer to as a peacock, attempting to move the boundary stones further into our lands and I had to restrain myself from making him eat the damn rocks.”

Benjicot’s eyes darkened slightly, “that fellow is incorrigible but he is also, I’m afraid, the cousin of my lady, so I can’t very well dispatch him…though I have thought of doing so…many times.” He looked off into the distance with an almost wistful expression.

“I would not direct my proffers of peace terms to such an idiot. The future Lord of Bracken Hall, Aeron Bracken could be more reasonable. He does not wish for further bloodshed and may be amenable to a settlement. A dispute at the border with his own lady has convinced me of this.”

A mist had swept over the Riverlands overnight, coating the grass expanse with dew drops, as Y/N walked towards the Brackentree, struggling to contain her excitement at seeing her knight. Her thoughts continued to turn on the events of the previous day, when he had spun her close to him and had gazed at her with a look that held something behind it that almost convinced her that he harboured the same feelings that she did for him towards herself. Almost, for she had convinced herself in the intervening hours after he had walked her back to the outermost borders of the Brackenwoods that he thought of her as just a silly girl with fantasies of chivalry that he entertained only to be kind. This didn’t seem right either, considering his behaviour towards her. His actions had sometimes made her hope that the opposite might be the case, that he might grow to love her, as she did him.

Each day that they met to walk along the border of Blackwood and Bracken lands, he would bring her a book or a piece of art he believed might interest her, especially as it related to great female Targaryens like Visenya. He would hold her arm over his so gently, as he guided her across rockier terrain, sometimes lifting her across it by the waist, after first asking. If it was colder, he would unclasp his crimson cloak from his own shoulders to wrap it around her own, smiling at her as he did so, before making a comment about how well the colour looked on her. So often did he make comments of a similar ilk that she sometimes pretended that it was because he wanted her to bear the colours of his House, as his lady. But she quickly dismissed such thoughts, embarrassed at even entertaining them.

At Bracken Hall she was a shadow, unnoticed, unimportant, and frequently mocked by her cousin for her interests. Benjicot, in the way that he would meet her gaze directly as she spoke, nodding and smiling attentively as she did so, made her feel as if what she had to say was of value and his frequent offers to ‘dispatch your cousin’, whilst only jests that made her laugh, made her feel that he truly cared. All this aside, Benjicot was a true knight and she knew from his behaviour towards a lady from a house loyal to the Brackens who had encountered some hostile Blackwoods that he acted with chivalry towards all ladies. Perhaps his actions were just that, perfunctory, even if they were kind.

With these confused thoughts turning in her mind, she hardly noticed that she had already arrived at their meeting point, before she bumped into a hard obstacle. Crying out in surprise, and struggling to keep her footing, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, and another around her shoulders, as she looked up into the warm brown eyes of Benjicot, who smiled down at her in a mixture of amusement and something softer she couldn’t quite identify.

“Nice of you to drop in, my lady, although I had thought I’d have to do something truly heroic to get you to fall into my arms.” Lifting her back to her feet, he moved his arms to hold onto her elbows to steady her, holding on for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.

“My apologies,” she said quickly, “I was distracted.”

Noticing the pink on her cheeks and her slightly panicked expression, Benjicot feared he had overstepped the line and embarrassed her, quickly stepping back to give her more space. When her expression didn’t change, he added in a jesting tone what he meant earnestly.

“No need to apologise, my lady. Feel free to fall into my arms anytime you so wish, that’s what they’re there for. And of course, for spearing your cousin on the end of my sword.” He added, with a wink.

Smiling at him indulgently and pushing his chest playfully, Y/N laughed as Benjicot rocked back on his boots, as if her light touch had actually succeeded in moving him.

Pushing him again for this jest, Benji placed his hand above hers on his chest, arresting it in its place. Smiling down at her, he held her hand in place like that for a few seconds before moving it so that he could graze it with his lips. Gently dropping her hand back to her side, he nonetheless retained hold of it, as he turned to direct them to their usual walking route through the borders of the Brackenwoods.

After a few moments of walking in contented silence, Benjicot began, “This knight has a proposition to put before his queen, if she be so pleased to entertain it?”

Turning with a laugh to swat at him, Y’N responded, “you jest!”

Catching her hand in his once again, Benjicot stopped them in their passage, looking into her eyes earnestly, “Do I?”

“You know you do” she scoffed, moving to continued walking, before Benji once again stopped her by taking a gentle hold of her elbow.

“I am sorry to hear you say so. I have begun badly already. I’m afraid you will have trouble listening to the whole of what I will say.”

Seeing that he looked genuinely troubled, she stopped to gaze back up at him.

“I’m sorry, continue.”

“Well,” he hesitated, taking a step towards her, to close the distance between them, “I would like to ask you a question, if you would permit it.”

Seeing her nod in acquiescence, he took a deep breath, more on edge than she had seen him since he had rescued her from his bannermen, before taking her hands in his and bending low, head lowered before her.

“What are you playing at again Benji” she said, half in amusement and half in confusion.

Smirking at her shortened version of his name, hers alone to use, he drew strength from the feeling of her smaller hands in hands.

“I once offered you my service as a knight in your protection. I meant it when I bent the knee before you that day and I mean it now as I offer myself to you as your husband and protector. I would dedicate myself to your happiness and ensure that your days and nights were safe. I would have you be my lady wife and the future Lady of Raventree, if you would have me.”

Fearing to look up at her and gage her reaction, Benjicott kept his head lowered, awaiting her response as the agonising silence continued.

To his surprise, she harshly withdrew her hands and began to walk away from him without a word. Momentarily stunned, Benjicot looked after her retreating figure before rallying himself, hurrying to catch up with her.

“My Lady” he called, to no answer. Repeating his call, she turned with a stricken look that made his heart drop into his stomach, seeing that tears were forming behind her eyes. Berating himself in his mind for upsetting her, he frantically replayed his words in his mind, trying to find the source of his blunder to correct it. Unless, of course, it was him, himself that offended her so. A painful thought, but one he would try to accept if it was the case.

“What is the cause of your distress, are you hurt? Have I said something to offend you?” He hurriedly stumbled out.

“You have hurt me.” Y/N responded with a hitch in her voice.

Feeling a sharp pain in his heart at this, Benjicott stumbled back a pace and lowered his head.

“I am sorry for having done so, please forgive me. How can I make amends” and more desperately he added, “what can I do?”

Y/N lowered her head, avoiding his gaze before responding in a quiet voice he had to lean towards to hear, “don’t make fun of me.”

Raising her voice slightly, she continued, each word a lance to his heart.

“I have endured enough mockery from cousin and his friends about my interest in knights and queens. I had thought that you, at least, would not do the same thing. I had thought that…that we were friends, that you respected me enough not to do that.”

As she had been speaking, Benjicot’s expression had become increasingly distressed and then finally determined, as he realised his blunder and the source of her pain. She did not believe him.

As she hurriedly turned to leave, Benjicot grabbed her hand.

Turning in frustration, attempting to wrench her hand from his firm hold, Y’N demanded he let her go.

Benjicot stepped towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist, closing the distance between them

“I will, once you listen to me…please.” He added, as she stopped struggling.

He raised his free hand to gently graze her cheekbone with the back of his knuckle, before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I earnestly apologise for having acted in a manner which caused you to disbelieve the truth of what I have said, but please believe me when I say that I have never, and would never, mock you. Especially for something I myself most ardently believe to be true: that I am your loyal knight and protector, whether you will have me or not, and would be your husband, if you would allow it.”

Recognising in Y/N’s direct gaze a desire to search for the truth of his claims in his eyes, he lowered his head towards her, so that she could look into his eyes more easily.

A few more agonising minutes passed for Benjicot, before his lady’s gaze seemed to soften and she said in a soft, questioning voice.

“You are in earnest?”

“I have never been more so about anything in my life.”

“And you want me?”

Chuckling at this, he stroked her cheek again, “No, I mistook you for your peacock of a cousin, obviously.”

Laughing at this, she raised her own hand to wrap it around the back of his neck, causing butterflies to rise in his torso.

“Then I will be your lady.”

Breaking out into a smile, which conveyed love and admiration, Benji lowered his face towards her slowly, stopping intermittently to check for any sign of distress in the expression of his lady.

Hovering his lips above hers in hesitation, gazing into her eyes with a look that asked for her permission, he moved his hand to hold her head as he gently grazed his lips over hers, deepening the kiss when her arm wrapping around his neck made him sure that his lady was in fact his to love and adore, as well as serve and protect.

Breaking the kiss, he continued to hold her head in his hand, gazing down at her with a reverential look that could only be for a knight towards his queen.

Her expression suddenly becoming distressed as she pushed him away, Benjicot briefly panicked that he had, after all, been too forward, until she told him her fears.

“But how will I become your lady if I belong to House Bracken.”

Smiling in relief that he had not been the cause of her distress, he once again took her hand in his, raising it to his lips before he assured her:

“Don’t distress yourself on that account. I will find a way for you to be both Lady Blackwood and Queen of the Bracken lands. I’ll burn the borders down myself if I have to, although I am very fond of my boundary stones. Perhaps I will have to take my good friend Robb up on his idea for them.” He returned, a glint in his eye.

“And what is that?” she asked with a slight tone of disapproval, anticipating an answer very much along the lines of the one Benjicot would give.

“Oh nothing to be concerned about, my sweet, just feeding the stones to a particularly troublesome peacock.”

We love desperate and pathetic men on this blog.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress

[inkykeiji]

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut | dark academia au

notes: this was technically supposed to be for the ‘ravens and crows’ prompt but it grew and it grew and it grew and so!!! here it is! set in my dark academia au!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationship, rough and messy facefucking, semi-public, dubcon, dacryphilia, cum swallowing

words: 2.7k

The air in the library is sticky, humid and heavy with the heat of late summer. The casement windows, made of crystal and wire, are opened wide, letting streams of setting sunlight paint the aisles unhindered. It turns the library a hazy gold, highlighting the dust motes wandering aimlessly between the shelves, dislodged from their cozy homes of old paper and rotting canvas by curious hands. 

The wind howls gently, gathering stray leaves in its gusts and hurling them in swirls at the bricks, disturbing the tap of the ravens and the caw of the crows; a warning. 

Summer will be dead soon.  

A breeze meanders through the window, cool on your damp neck, and you hum softly, fingertips trailing along the spines, looking for the gaping space to wedge this recently returned book back where it belongs. 

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him; don’t hear his Balenciaga boots or his soft breath, don’t see his shadow creeping up behind you, slow and steady as it engulfs you, don’t realize anything until it’s too late, until one arm is wrapping around your hips and the other is slapping a hand over your mouth. 

The sudden action startles you, a jolt of surprise coursing through your entire body and yanking a yelp from your throat, only to be muffled by the palm clasped tightly over your lips. 

He’s laughing in your ear, low and smooth, dark and decadent, a sound that pours over your body like a slow, thick syrup, leaving trails of chills in its wake.

Bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter, faster, better than you, he spins you around with ease, trapping your body between his and the bookshelves, the sharp wooden edges cutting into your back. 

“Surprise,” his breath wafts across your face, stained with cedarwood and smoke, word drifting through a lopsided smirk. 

“Jesus, Touya,” you’re nearly panting out, chest heaving against his. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why not?” he asks, a slight pout to his voice. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.” 

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes, attempting to push past him and back to your book trolley. 

“Hey, where you going?” his hips shove forward, forcing your legs to part, the jutting bones  carving into your inner thighs, effectively keeping you pinned. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

And although his voice is amicable enough, the glint in his eye is sharp, shimmering as it catches on the setting sun, the ghost of a shiver climbing the notches of your spine, leaving each vertebra icy with dread.

“I don’t care whether you’re finished with me or not, I have to get back to work.”

“Aw, come on, you can hang out with me for a little longer.”

“Touya, I need this job. My father doesn’t own a tech company like yours does. If I’m caught—”

“Then I will pay for whatever you need, simple as that.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “And con me into being indebted to you for eternity? I don’t think so.” 

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Sounds like hell.”  

“I can think of worse.” 

“I don’t think I want to know what goes on in that head of yours.” 

That gets him to crack a smile; genuine, terrifying. Sapphire sweeps your face, slow and scrutinizing, gears of his brilliant brain beginning to shift in thought. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“Gimme a kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“God, could you be any more cliche?” you struggle against him again, trying to worm your way free, and he pushes back hard, forcing a short, high pitched cry from your throat.

“I didn’t say on my lips.” 

“Oh, fuck off—”

“You’re brave, talking to me like that.” 

“Touya,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a warning, firm and sharp, the name trembles on your tongue, wavering with fear. “If we get caught—”

“Look around you,” he says, eyes gleaming as he raises his brows in question. “Do you see anyone else?” 

No. You don’t. 

You don’t, because you’re in one of the furthest, deepest corners of the library; secluded, hidden, and utterly trapped. 

He’s been waiting for this. 

It dawns on you then, that he must’ve been following you, tracking you, stalking his prey and biding his time until the opportune moment to strike—when you were alone, unassuming, and entirely unarmed. 

His smirk has grown into a grin, stretched unnaturally wide across his handsome face, tinged with a deranged sort of glee. His eyes are soaking it all up, every little micro-expression that morphs your features as you realize the full weight of the situation.

“C’mon,” he breathes, hips rutting against your inner thigh in barely there gyrations. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“You have?”

And you hate the sheer desperation in your voice, the question breathed out in a single breath, quick and airy on your tongue. 

“Of course I have,” he knocks his forehead against yours, malicious smile still in place, the words said like a slap to the face, like you’re so fucking stupid to think otherwise, but it’s so fucking precious how eager you are for the confirmation. “Don’t you want to be good for me and give my cock just a teensy tiny little kiss? It misses you, you know, can’t you feel how much?” 

And he sounds so fucking genuine as he shifts his hips between your thighs and presses his cock, now hot and hard, into your core, grinding up against your clit. It forces a moan from your chest, soft and pitchy, lips pressing together firmly in a pathetic attempt to silence it. 

“Don’t let me down now, sweetheart.” No, not after all the trouble he’s been through, all the watching and waiting. 

Oh, you would never, could never, even if you wanted to—no matter how badly you wanted to.

Glowing sapphire watches as you slide down his body and sink to the floor, kneecaps on his toes, delicate fingers making quick work of his belt, picking at the heavy chrome buckle and tugging at the strap. It clinks together as you undo the zipper of his jeans, the weight of the buckle pulling his pants open further, denim folding over. 

And God, his cock is so fucking pretty, dusty pink and smooth as velvet, save for that one big, thick vein that runs, almost perfectly straight, along the bottom of his shaft. 

Your mind is already beginning to evaporate into a dense fog of lust, starved for his praise and eager to please, torrents of saliva beginning to collect in the cavities of your cheeks and pool beneath your tongue.

A thick bout of shame surges through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough to dispel the hedonistic haze Touya casts over your brain.

He holds it steady for you, a slender hand wrapped around the base, pupils gaping and unhindered as he watches you inch forward, puckered lips pressing a sweet, sloppy kiss to the tip of his cock. 

It’s open-mouthed, tongue swiping over the slit in a swift caress and collecting a weeping bead of precum, bitter and salty as it seeps into your tastebuds. 

Pulling back, you stare up at him with desperate desire slapped across your face, lips parted with panting little breaths, a glimmering thread of precum keeping your mouth connected to him, and holy Christ, he’s breathing as he smears the sticky substance across your chin and your jaw with the steadily leaking head of his cock, painting you in stringy webs of him, that’s so fucking hot.

It’s being shoved past your lips and down your throat without warning—there never is any, not with Touya—and you sputter around the unexpected intrusion, a film of reflexive tears shielding your eyes. 

“Good girl,” Touya breathes, and your jaw automatically stretches wider, peering up at him with a sort of insatiable devoutness. “Take it all for me.”

And so, you do.

Because he’s hypnotic, his presence an instant, addictive, irresistible pull, his praise and respect even more so. They’re drugs you gorge yourself on, drugs you vie and scratch and scream and claw for, drugs that make you feel pathetic, but drugs you can’t stop using nonetheless. 

Because praise from Touya makes you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world. Praise from Touya is a hard, precious, valuable resource to come by, rare and not easily doled out. You have to earn it, he had once told you. You have to really deserve it. 

“Yeah, yeah, s’it,” he encourages as you endeavour to swallow him more, to suck him down further. “S’a good girl for me. Go on, make me proud.”

It’s always speckled with a hefty dose of sugared degradation, cooed yet condescending. But the praise that falls from his mouth, cracking with sincerity as his head tilts back, strong jaw on display, the lines and ridges of his neck moving with his voice, soothes any sting his insults could bring. They make it all so worth it. 

Because Touya has what you wish you had, what you want to have, what you will have, according to him, if you stay his good little girl. Touya has executive access to that exclusive, elusive upper class world; a place you’ve always been able to worm your way into with pretty smiles and batting eyelashes, but a place you’re consistently pushed out of. 

Touya can make it permanent. Touya can find a spot where you belong, where you snap perfectly into place, cozy and comfortable as if you were always meant to be there—easy, effortless, effaced.

And, really, that’s all you want. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

Acceptance, belonging, community. 

So you take him down your throat with ardency, wretch your jaw open further, hinges straining with a dull, dense ache, doing anything and everything he says in an effort to make him proud, just like he asked you to.

You’re barely able to get a few good pumps in before lithe fingers are curling around your skull, palms pressed to your temples and thumbs digging bruises into your cheekbones as he grips your head tightly, holding you in place and wedging his cock down your throat.

The pace is brutal right from the start, the pounding of his hips so powerful that it has the tip of your nose repeatedly slamming against his pubic bone, swollen lips leaving crude kisses of saliva streaked across his skin.

The slap of your face against his groin is grotesque, paired with the sick squelching each thrust procures and the pathetic, embarrassing sounds oozing from the corners of your lips—choked off gags and snuffed out whimpers and those pitiful little sniffles, hiccuped with each hitch of your chest. 

But they all feel so good around him, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good, so you don’t try to stifle them, borderline weeping around him, unbridled and unreserved. 

Your fingers curl in the waistband of his jeans and briefs—a small comfort to hold onto as he fucks your mouth raw, hips snapping rough and fast and downright ruthless.

A condescending coo slips from between his lips, as if it’s precious that you need something to ground you while he ravages your throat, knuckles pressed firmly against flexing thighs as you cling to him, and he takes it as an invitation to speed up, movements turned vicious.

Your head thwacks off the edge of the shelf behind you, sending thorns of pain searing through your skull. A loud whine vibrates around Touya’s cock, the sound rammed back down your throat by the head, and he groans, deep and guttural, Adams apple quivering with the sound.

The sharp agony radiates, a deep ache that burrows into your neck, and you can feel the sore spot beginning to swell. It knocks against the wood again, your eyes snapping shut with a wince, tight enough to crinkle your lids, the motion dislodging tears from the corners, cascading down your face in fat, sticky streams.

“No, no, no,” he’s panting. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me.” 

Your lids spring open again, an involuntary reflex, a zealous attempt to appease their master, lashes heavy and weighted with tears, sparkling crystal drops clinging perilously to clumped spikes. 

Anything, anything, anything for him. 

And, oh, how those eyes shine for him. Such pathetic, pious dedication.

“Fu-Fuck,” he nearly whines, the curse hoarse as it splinters in his throat, eyes voracious as they drink you in, soak you up, swallow you down. “Yeah, yeah, jus’like that.”

It hurts, but it’s over quick; only three more pistons of his hips before he’s holding you flush to his gut, his whole cock jammed down your throat as it spurts hot, thick cum, that one vein throbbing on your tongue.

You’re absolutely sobbing around him, strings of snot infused drool dribbling from your lips as you suffocate on his flesh, lungs beginning to burn, shriveling to ash in your chest. Instinctively, your head wrenches, desperate for oxygen, but he growls, the sound so deep, so dark you swear it rattles his ribcage. 

“Hold it, hold it,” he keens, hips twitching a little as his fingers strengthen their grip, stamping bruises into the already puffy contusion, blunt nails carving deep crescent indents into the back of your scalp. Your struggling stops almost instantly, coughing harshly around his cock, and his hips jerk, a moan shattering on his tongue. 

You can do nothing but take it, take it all for him, just like you were told to. What a good little girl he’s caught himself. 

It’s only after he’s emptied his balls into your stomach, forced all his cum into your tummy, full and bloated, that his grasp finally lets up, tugging you off of him with knuckles rooted in your hair, groaning a little at the thick ropes of milky saliva tethering your mouth to his cock.

You’re sputtering the very moment he lets up, whole body shuddering as you gulp down razored air.

“You look so fucking perfect on your knees for me, baby,” he’s rasping out, collarbone shimmering with perspiration as it heaves. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier sight.” 

A whine slips from your lips, and he takes a moment to admire you, sapphire sweeping across your face in slow, deliberate motions, almost as if he’s cataloguing your expression, outlining it all—the tear-stained cheeks and the spit-slicked chin and the sheer devotion spilling from your lashes—and searing it into the fabric of his memory.

“You’re a piece of art all on your own, aren’t you?” 

Maybe you are, with streaks of glittering salt soiling your bruised cheeks and crystal dewdrops suspended in your spiky lashes and his cum, ivory and pearlescent, oozing from the corner of your lips to roll down your chin in thick dollops of cream. 

His pupils are cavernous, carnivorous, ragged little pants exhaled through parted lips, stare unblinking as he watches drops of his cum drip off the line of your jaw in sticky, viscous cords, mixed with your saliva, drizzling onto your bosom and soaking the unbuttoned collar of your shirt. 

“What a fucking mess you are,” he breathes, thumb and forefinger grasping your chin and yanking, forcing you to look up at him. “What a fucking mess I’ve made of you.”

All you can do is whimper and nod, fingers clinging to his waistband as you paw at him, a pitiful attempt to get closer.

A masterpiece. His masterpiece.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Did I fuck the brains from your skull?” he tuts his tongue, mouth fashioned in a mocking pout, eyes shining with amusement. “Where’s that smart, snarky little girl now?” 

“Wanna be good for you,” you drool out, looking up at him with lidded, bleary eyes, glistening with admiration, with awe, as if he’s the most magnificent sight you’ve ever seen, as if he’s a fucking god. “S’all, Touya, s’all.”

“Oh, precious,” he murmurs, thumb caressing a rapidly developing bruise, gaze following his movement for a moment before connecting with your own again. “I know. And you will be.” 

He promises, you will be.

Outside, as the light dims, sun devoured by the rapidly encroaching darkness, the ravens and crows pick at carcasses and caw into the night.   

[astralnymphh]

unrelated but please write more fluff 😭😭 i loooove your way of writing sm 🩷

okay, let me just think of something random I can make into a poem to lighten my blog a little. think i'll do artist!ellie. first drabble thats mostly just poetry woop woop? (you'll see this kind of stuff in any fluff/angst/fantasy au i write) cw: internal organs mentioned, kinda angsty? idk sorry i get DEEP. thats it.

There's an artist in the bungalow.

She's got a mane of fire and a heart of clay. She is everything but skin and bone— for she has borne houses of stars and planets alike. The cosmos is her, and she is the cosmos. In her kindled hand is a means to create, whether she a weeping willow or gone livid in the pursuit for her head. Anguish be her tale of past days over this bungalow, because when all hope was sunken without acquainting grace, you rose upon it on two feet in ache.

You've a body similar— wrists that rebuke gold and sprout isles of lichens interchanging of your fine sylphine hairs. Borne was you, arteries dropped like glue and fled this earth like wax into hot gas, rising and rising somewhere new— instead, branches lie dying with you, inside you, a part of you, giving life to the marrow that is pulsing you. Wood is rot, bark is flaying, you are falling, that is okay. For the cosmos are desolate and resplendent with corpses by the shedload too. She is you, and you are her.

That's why she reached out for you, gave a hand made for crafting— and crafted you her partner.

One day, she took you through her quaint, oaken bungalow. A finger she lifted, pointing out everything mundane and.. commonplace. She pointed at her casement brown—trim windows, calling them the 'eyes of our house', watching the eons age this house away. She then pointed to her hallways, and likened them the 'throats of our house', swallowing every being and spitting them out a whole new person. She would give a last point, towards her bedroom and deem it the, 'heart of our house', for it pumps with life and watches bodies lie there— aging, waning, ever becoming moribund with their lovers held dear, pulse to pulse.

And you question sweetly, "Why are you telling me this, Ellie?"

Why?

Why elucidate the likeness of a visual so natural and so unquestioned in the form of organs? You question, but you do not look. Ellie replies, smooth of her tongue, "Wouldn't be fun if I just said it was my house." completely skipping the main trigger for question— 'our, our.. ours' and no longer just, 'her, her.. hers'.

It is your house. It is her house. It is a bungalow.

No odds about it, be it a jerry—built swamp house, a boxy mansion cruelly boasting over a crag, or a cottage swarmed in pixies preordained to rot in the woods it relies life on; it is a being. It eats personage, lets them linger, and absorbs them at the end of their existence— just like the earth will when it dies. Houses are like us.

Roofs see the same night airglow we gaze at, splayed amongst the grass, you lay with her.

"There's the little dipper, and.. that's the big dipper." croaked Ellie, aiming that same pointer towards the realm above, the dotted fabric we call 'the sky'.

"How can you even tell so easily— is there something wrong with my eyes?" quipped you, pressing the flank of your fist into your cinched eyes, clearing them.

"D'ya need me to point them out again?" She rolls upon her side, rending grass stuck onto her back, "Cause I can point you all the constellations visible right—"

Silenced. You push up on elbows and toss a hand to cradle, bringing her face into yours for a word—gobbling kiss, letting the dying hum vibrate down your chest. Ellie talks too much.

"Nhhmm.."

Satisfied. Spit smacking apart, it draws a line from pink plump to your plump of lip, and severs when you depart enough.

Her lower lip rolls inward, sucking sweetly of the spit you laid upon her mouth, coughing, "Ahem— that.. so you don't want me to show?" Dumbass. "No."

"Ooh—kay," drawled Els', the shuffling of leather and lawn surfing through your senses just a moment as she adjusts, planting that charmed chin on your shoulder— smushed like a rotten apple, "No show." and smiled, bless her smile.

So you lay, let the lay of petrichor waft into your head, and sleep away. Sleep away the life, sleeping away with yours— and hers.

just a teensy bit rushed but hope this is suitable

[amplifyme]

Squirm

The X-Files. MSR. Angst. UST. Implied self-harm. Post-Ep: One Son. Teen and up. WC: 3,333. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in, just pushes through the open door and past her, coming to a stop in the casement opening between the living room and kitchen.

“Mulder, what are you doing? It’s almost midnight.”

She looks small and fragile in her fuzzy white robe, and his mind conjures up the image of her standing slouched and nearly broken with grief in a hospital hallway in Allentown, Pennsylvania, two years past. Ages ago. Countless missteps ago. But he’d held her in his arms back then, held her up, and she’d held him up, too. He doesn’t know if they can ever get back to that. But he wants to try. He can’t stand any more of this icy détente they’ve uncomfortably settled into.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but we need to talk.”

Her sigh is long and audible. “Mulder, it’s late and I’m on my way to bed. Can it wait?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You can sleep in.” And he thinks to himself, It needs to happen now, before I lose my courage. Before it gets worse than it already is.

“Okay, fine,” she sighs a second time in defeat, her chin dipping down. “What is it?”

This is his fault; it almost always is. He’s done this to her. Ground her down and made her question everything she thought she knew. Whittled away at her until she exists now as a shadow, an almost unrecognizable sliver of what she was when she first came to him. All because he’s an idiot, because he doesn’t know how to care for delicate things. Because he’s never wanted to, before now.

“I came here to apologize,” he blurts. This is not how he planned it, rehearsing the words on the way over. So many things just leave his mouth without thought of the consequences. “I was wrong.”

“An apology for what?” she asks warily. Her eyes slide across his as she tightens the belt on her robe. It doesn’t escape him that he fucks up often enough that she needs clarification.

“For what I said to you at the Gunmen’s the last time we were there,” he tells her. ��Before everything went to shit. What I said about you taking things personally. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair.”

“Why?” she immediately challenges, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Why wasn’t it fair? I’d like to know.” He won’t get off easily this time, nor should he. She wants it all laid out in front of them, poked at and prodded, questioned and analyzed, until there’s nothing left to hide behind.

“Because I make everything personal, Scully, everything. And it’s wrong of me to be dismissive when you do the same.” He swallows past the lump lodged firmly in his throat. “I think you’re… there’s a very good chance you were right. I’m not sure anymore that Diana can be trusted. Not like I thought she could.”

“Is your change of heart based on the fact that she crawled back into the woodwork as soon as you failed to show up at El Rico? Where has she landed this time, Mulder? Do you even know?”

No, he doesn’t. Diana hasn’t bothered to return any of his calls; all of them made after he went back to the Gunmen’s and did a deep dive into the information they’d compiled on his former friend and lover. And it’s déjà vu all over again: he’s down in the basement where he belongs, and Diana is just gone.

But that’s not Scully’s problem and he won’t let this train change tracks. So he reminds her, “You were right there with me that night. I wasn’t going anywhere without you.” She opens her mouth, but he raises a hand to stop her. He’s not finished yet. “Regardless. I’m sorry I treated you badly and dismissed your concerns. You don’t deserve that.”

“Well,” she says after an interminable time. “That’s a start, anyway.”

He knows he should be grateful and just keep his mouth shut, but since when has common sense ever triumphed over the wisecracking corner of his brain. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Easy, Mulder? Since when is anything ever easy with us?” She clearly has no patience for his misguided attempt at lightening the mood.

“All right. You’re right.” He runs a hand over his face. “Well, then, let’s just get this out in the open, okay? Acknowledge it, discuss it, and move on. What do you say?” He doesn’t have to wait long for a response, although when it comes it isn’t at all what he’s expecting.

“Have you been fucking her?” Her features are as sharp as her words, and he can’t escape the accusation of betrayal in her eyes.

“No!” He’s genuinely shocked that she would even think that. “God, no, Scully! I didn’t… I wouldn’t do that to you.“ He lifts his hands, pleading. “It’s not her I want.” He takes a step toward her, and her spine pulls straight as he hesitantly palms her shoulder and murmurs, “It’s not her I love.”

There. He’s said it. This second time feels less risky than his first, even coming as it does without benefit of opioids. That’s a good sign, right? That’s progress.

They lock eyes for long moments, playing chicken, neither daring to break the silence after his bold declaration. Finally, Scully wheels away and heads into the kitchen, yanking the tea kettle off the stove and filling it from the tap. She methodically goes about fetching mugs and a box of teabags from the cabinet. Mulder takes a few steps into the room, stopping at the table and laying one hand flat against the wood. He studies her from a safe distance and looks up quickly when she turns back to him.

“This is not about love, Mulder,” she announces. “This is about trust and where you choose to place it. It’s about respect.”

“You’re right, it is. And I’m sorry I fell short of that for you.” In for a penny, in for a pound, he thinks. “But this is also about whatever this… thing is… between us. I don’t know what you want from me anymore, Scully, or what you expect. Because you won’t tell me. You have to know whatever it is, it’s yours. It’s always been yours. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to fix it.”

“What do you want to do?” Her movements are jerky as she turns away to add a teabag to each mug.

Despite the emotional ground they’re uneasily treading, and his hyperaware sense of the danger inherent in pushing things with her right now, muscle memory refined over six years causes him to pull out a chair and take a seat. If Scully is making tea for them, then this is where he’s supposed to land: at her table and across from her usual spot. He scrubs his forehead and his tried-and-true method of deflection kicks in again just as the kettle begins to whistle and she yanks it from the stovetop.

“You want the Disney version or the two consenting adults version?”

“This is not a joke, Mulder.”

“No, it most certainly is not. So, answer me this one question, Scully. Do you love me?”

She swings around to face him, steaming mugs in hand, and he briefly wonders if she might launch them at him. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I want to know. It’s a simple question.”

She doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, she takes the time to set a mug in front of him first, and warily sits down across from him. “It isn’t simple, though, is it?” she finally says. “And it isn’t a question I should have to answer.”

“Why? You think it’s inappropriate of me to ask?”

“No, I think it’s unnecessary. You already know. You’ve known for a very long time; even before I did. But that knowledge didn’t stop you from… Well, you know what it didn’t stop you from doing.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you come here to apologize for your behavior?” Off his nod she says, “Then you already know, don’t you?”

But that’s not what he’s asking. And he knows that she knows it and is doing some deflection of her own. Jesus Christ, how did they manage to get this fucked up?  “Are you gonna answer my question or not, Scully?”

“Why is it so important that I- “

“Because it fucking is!” He shoves away from the table and takes to his feet. The only part of Scully that moves are her eyes, tracking him on his way up and holding him there. “Because it would be nice to actually hear it, you know?” He can’t handle the way she’s looking at him, with her eyes all big and dark and bottomless, sucking him down into her depths. He could easily drown there. He turns away and raggedly confesses, “I can’t remember the last time anyone told me they loved me. You have your mom and your brothers and I’m sure you hear it all the time. But I don’t. And you won’t say it.”

He swings around to plead with her as the lead ball in his gut expands and makes it hard to breathe. He’s panting now and can’t seem to stop. His right hand lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart. He’s certain he’s just going to die. Crumple right here on Scully’s immaculately clean kitchen floor. “Sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind and I’m deep in a psychotic break and imagining things that aren’t there. If feels like the walls are closing in on me and there’s no escape. Sometimes I don’t know what’s real or what I should believe. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can start by sitting down.”

“What?” he gasps as she gets up and heads back to the cabinets. This time she pulls out two squat glasses.

“Sit down, Mulder, before you completely fall apart.” So, he does. Because she’s told him to and because she’s right. Usually with this amount of adrenaline pumping through him, he can find some slightly insane way to disperse a little of it. Like jumping off a bridge onto a moving train, for example. Or breaking into a top-secret air base. Or kicking down a door. Or any number of other incredibly stupid things. But he can’t do any of that right now. And he wouldn’t do that to Scully anyway.

“Now breathe,” she says very calmly. “Deep breaths.” Before he realizes what’s happening, she’s back sitting across from him, pouring out two hefty shots of whisky and pushing one of them his way.

“Drink.”

“Scully, I don’t -”

“Shut up and drink it, Mulder.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

“Okay,” he mouths. He screws his eyes shut, tips his head back, and throws it all down his gullet. It burns, god but it burns, all the way across the back of his tongue and down his throat and settles into a glowing ember deep in his belly. He chokes out a cough and forces his eyes open, blinking against the stinging tears gathering there.

“Jesus, Scully, are you trying to kill me?” He looks over just as she takes a delicate sip of her own drink.

“There are three fully loaded weapons in this apartment. If I intended to kill you, I wouldn’t waste this fine Irish whisky on you beforehand.” She reaches and pats his forearm, like she’s soothing a grumpy toddler, and announces, “We have to stop doing this to each other, Mulder.”

He folds both arms on the table and hangs his head, studies his trembling hands, and gives voice to an earlier thought as he wearily shakes his head. “We’re so fucked up.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“No,” he retorts, lifting his eyes and looking over at her. He’s pointing an accusing finger at her that he doesn’t recall cocking. “No, don’t talk like I’m the only one who’s fucked up here.” He is suddenly aware that his tongue is fuzzy and feels larger in his mouth than it should. He always has been a cheap drunk. “You’re just as fucked up as me, Scully.”

He reaches for the bottle and splashes another, narrower shot into his glass. He downs this one without preparation or build up and looks over to find her watching him. Her features mimic the look he usually sees when she’s trying to process one of his more outlandish theories. The one that’s accompanied by a tight little smirk. He wants to kiss that smirk right off her face. More than anything.

“I don’t want to have any more regrets, Scully. I don’t want to lose the chance to love you the way I want to, the way you deserve. Just tell me what I have to do.” He punctuates his request with a third shot. This one doesn’t creep up on him like the first two have. It’s more like one second he’s pretty much okay, but the next he most definitely is not. He hasn’t been this buzzed, this quickly, in a long time. Scully pulls the bottle over to her side of the table and caps it. Probably for the best, he blearily decides.

“When’s the last time you slept, Mulder?”

There she goes again, throwing nonsensical questions at him from right field. He played right field in high school. It takes a good arm. “I dunno. When did we get back from Florida; two days ago? I slept that night,” he answers, and his mouth doesn’t move quite enough to enunciate properly. He blames it on his fat tongue and the whisky. Did she intend to get him drunk? He wouldn’t put it past her. So he asks.

“You tryin’ to get me drunk, Scully? You don’t have to do that if you want to take advantage of me. Despite your protests, I’m actually pretty easy.”

“In that respect, I have no doubt,” she responds smartly. “But I have no intention of taking advantage of you tonight.”

“Ah, come on. You can admit it to me. I won’t tell anybody.”

“My only intent is to put you to bed so we can both get some badly needed sleep.” He can imagine the look he’s presenting her. He felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop open. “Not with you in my bed, Mulder. I’m assuming you drove over?”

“Yeah,” he sheepishly admits.

“Then you have no business driving. The couch is yours tonight. There’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Feel free to use it. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

That’s it, then? They’re not going to hash this out tonight, once and for all?

“But, Scully,” he begins as she leaves the table and heads for the linen closet in the hallway.

She stops and swings back around to him. Her little fists rest at her hips, knuckles digging into the curvy flesh there. “Yes, Mulder, I do love you. There, now I’ve said it. It might be nice to hear, but it doesn’t solve our problems, does it?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Oh, Mulder, of course I do. I’ll meet you in the living room in five, okay?” And then she disappears around the bend.

He ponders his choices for a few seconds, the best he can, and decides to follow Scully’s lead. After all, he can be a good boy, and easily obedient when he wants to be. So he does as he’s been told for the first time since the last time she ordered him around. He sways in his chair a little and then folds in half and carefully unties his sneakers and toes them off. He heads for the short hallway in the opposite direction of the way she went, and they pass like two ships in the night, Scully’s arms full of bedclothes and a pillow.

He makes it back to the living room in under five, breath minty fresh, face scrubbed clean, bladder emptied. He considered shedding his jeans and tee in the can but decided against it. Bad enough he’s shouldered her with taking care of his drunk and maudlin, half-crazed and anxious self tonight. She shouldn’t have to put up with him in nothing but his boxers and socks on top of that. Somehow his belt has ended up slung around his neck, though, and he fakes hanging himself when Scully glances up at him from bed-making duty, gathering both ends of the leather in a fist and cocking his head to the side, tongue lolling out. He adds sound effects, too, so she’ll get the whole picture.

“Don’t give me any ideas, Mulder.” She punches the pillow for emphasis. He inspects her work and nods approvingly. She’s created a fine little nest for him. There’s even a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol waiting for him on the coffee table.

She straightens and turns to face him and he’s feeling suddenly shy and a little bit ashamed. This late-night visit hasn’t gone down anything like the way he thought it would. He buys himself a few seconds, dropping his gaze and absently scratching his belly. He sneaks a peek at her from the tops of his eyes. “Would it do any good to apologize?”

“You’ve done it once already. That’s enough for tonight,” she proclaims.

“Because I really am sorry, Scully. For makin’ you doubt how important you are to me.”

“I don't doubt that. I just wish your methods of expressing it were a little less…” She circles an open hand in the air, searching for the right words, he guesses.

“Messy?” he offers. “Thoughtless. Boneheaded. Selfish. Stupid,” he finishes. “Take your pick.”

“All of the above,” she decides. But the corners of her mouth have lifted just the tiniest bit and he’s momentarily overwhelmed by the depth of her generosity when it comes to him and his foolish ways. “C’mere, Mulder, I’ll tuck you in.”

He carefully weaves his way around the coffee table and his belt hits the floor. He sits down and she squats and pulls off his socks and tosses them over her shoulder. Another few positional adjustments later and he’s under the blanket, his heavy, fuzzy head sinking into the feather pillow beneath him. She perches on the edge of the couch and smooths the soft blanket over his chest.

“Do you think you’ll need to vomit? I can grab a trash can for you, so you don’t have to worry about making it to the bathroom in time.”

He smiles up at her and thinks about how nice it would be to close his eyes while she continues to gently pet him. And then he does close them. “M’fine, Scully. I can hol’ my liquor.” Her snort of laughter shocks his eyes back open, and he has to blink a few times before her face comes into focus.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Something she’d said to him earlier resurfaces in his head and he echoes the words back at her as his eyes slip shut again. “We gotta stop doin’ this to each other.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she says. “But not tonight. Go to sleep, Mulder.” And then she’s gone from his side. And as he begins to sink into what will be a rare dreamless sleep, he can hear her putting mugs and glasses in the kitchen sink and turning out lights, putting her home to bed, just like she has with him. And he thinks that he loves her so much that he’ll never find the perfect way to show her. He thinks that this unique alchemy, composed of the exquisite pleasures and deepest pain that loving her brings him, makes him feel the most alive that he has ever been.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

So in the midst of working on my passion project, that elusive One Breath fic, the muse approached me bearing a silver platter on which a tiny seed lay. “Here,” she whispered in my ear. “Let’s take a minute and plant this one, see what grows.”

I have no shame. I am her bitch, now and forever, world without end. I will always do her bidding.

Till next time…

[emeraldmew]

So categorizing the casements is a way to tell how much power the different forces have so they can send orders to balance them out (presumably if there's not enough of what Bonzo's got going on, they call in Bonzo).

But a decent percentage of the casements themselves are also about the scales being balanced - good luck offset by bad luck, financial gains offset by injury. Pushing it too far causes it to end horribly.

Hope they're categorizing these casements accurately. Wouldn't want to accidentally tip the scales too far.

[bakuliwrites]

Mirror, Story Two: Ventricles

Disclaimer: Post-Game Spoilers!!!!!!

Previous Story, Next Story

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) for Eventual Smut

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Relationship: Astarion x Tav (OC)

Chapter Summary: After a year of adventuring, Astarion and Orlando are back in Baldur's Gate, excited to begin their newest adventure: home ownership.

An anthology of short, post-game stories featuring Astarion and my Tav, Orlando.

Chapter Tags: BG3 SPOILERS, ACT 3 SPOILERS, domestic fluff, suggestive conversations, lots of banter, Astarion getting bit in the ass (and not in a sexy way, though that might happen in a future chapter)

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

Astarion smooths his hand along the wall, creamy stones cool and uneven under his fingertips. His touch ripples along the seams between each one, bumping gently as he trails along the perimeter of the house. In the darkness, it glows like a lantern, warm light pooling on the grass from the diamond-paned windows. Astarion thinks back to over a year ago when the image of this house had first been presented to him, during the celebration after the defeat of the Netherbrain. At the time, it had seemed like a pipe dream. Neither he nor Orlando had much money to their names, and the thought of settling down seemed almost too good to be true. Unbeknownst to Astarion at the time, this little cottage on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate was a gift to Orlando from her mother, who had received a sizable inheritance from the sale of their ancestral property. Who knew decaying estates with inert portals to the deep sea would be worth so much?

The cottage is perched on a low cliff overlooking an isolated cove, just beyond the city limits. A narrow, winding road leads up from the harbors of Baldur’s Gate and splits into three different paths. The property sits just off the southwestern-most of the three paths, private but only a ten minute walk from the city. Orlando surprised Astarion with the house a few days after the ceremony, once they had recovered from the raucous festivities. However, neither felt ready to settle down just yet. They dumped what few belongings they had with them there and set off on the road, itching for adventure. Though Astarion wonders if it wasn’t adventure they were looking for, but a means to escape the mounting pressure of being named Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. 

On the road, Astarion and Orlando were just two travelers of little to no renown. In the furthest reaches of Faerûn, they could venture forth in quiet anonymity for a while. A smattering of people here and there might have recognized them, but overall, they were left well alone. However, the exhaustion of travel got to them and the decision to settle down, at least for a little while, was made. It was back to Baldur’s Gate, where the hullabaloo had died down and they could walk the streets well-liked, but not fawned over (or sneered at, in the case of the few remaining Absolute supporters). 

As Astarion leisurely paces through the garden of his new abode, bathed in starlight and humming softly to himself, he feels awash with relief. Relief and a bit of apprehension. This will be the first time in over two-hundred years he’ll have a home. A real home. Somewhere he can feel stable and secure, safe and comfortable. And yet, this building does not yet feel like home. Nevermind the lack of furniture or the dusty, cobweb-riddled corners. The house, in all its newness, is a foreign body. A husk, aching to be filled with memory. But it brims with potential. With promise.

As Astarion passes the window that will soon belong to their bedroom, Orlando gives him a small wave, approaching the cloudy glass with some excitement. She struggles for a moment trying to tug at the rusty old deadbolt, but finally manages. With some help from Astarion, she pushes open the casement window, sending up a cloud of dust as the panes swing open.

“Sorry,” she laughs, which swiftly turns into a cough. The house sputters out years worth of abandonment in gray puffs, dousing Astarion and an overgrown rose bush that has certainly seen better days. He and Orlando wave their hands around to dispel the choking motes, scowling until the air clears. 

“Gods, it looks as if I’ve gone crawling in the dirt,” the Elf grouses, dusting off his now grubby shirtfront with the back of his hand. 

“You look like you’ve been crawling in the dirt? What must I look like then?” Orlando exclaims, tugging down the hem of her oversized work shirt to show off the sandy brown fruits of her sweeping labor. 

“Like the Princess of Dust and Cobwebs,” he teases, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. He feels her smile against him, soft lips feathering kisses at the corner of his mouth. When they separate, Orlando wears an impish smirk.

“And are you the Window-Cleaning Prince, come to rescue me from my tower?” she coos, batting her eyelashes in an almost mocking fashion. Astarion rolls his eyes.

“Hardly,” he scoffs, grabbing a cleaning cloth from where it was draped over his shoulder and whipping the air with a sharp crack, “Now close it, so I can clean it,” 

“Yes, sir,” Orlando returns, though her tone does not house a single ounce of actual obedience in it. She merely does as she is asked because she, herself, has work to get back to. Astarion chuckles alongside her as they each return to their cleaning duties. He watches Orlando from the window while he scrubs at glass stained with dirt and rainwater. She’s beaming to herself, happy as a clam as she removes the offending layers of dust from the bedroom hearth. He thinks about her excitement as they made their long journey back to Baldur’s Gate, the elation she felt at finally getting the opportunity to “nest,” as she put it. To make a home for the two of them. 

The two of us, Astarion repeats in his head, a thought that fills him with a quiet, fluttering joy. 

Out loud, they had dreamed of all the empty rooms they would fill with furniture, furniture they would get to pick out together. Astarion, in his imagination, leaned towards a gothic, ornate look with dark wood, crushed velvet, and shades of crimson or merlot. Orlando seemed satisfied with this aesthetic, though she requested the kitchen remain light with its already colorful tile backsplashes and touches of sage green, terracotta, and cream. A bit of a hodge-podge home, perhaps, but uniquely theirs. The time had come to start their interior design, but they needed to build up their savings again. For now, however, they were content with making do with what they had and imagining what could be. 

Astarion finishes up with the windows before returning inside to help Orlando unpack some of the various trinkets and talismans they’ve collected along their travels over the last year. He unwraps a vintage bottle of Elverquisst, gifted to them by Shadowheart when they met up with her on their way to visit Halsin, and stores it in the cellar until such special occasion warrants its consumption. He watches as Orlando carefully positions a crystal figurine in the shape of an octopus on one of the windowsills, a treasure that they may or may not have pilfered from a Goblin camp just outside Daggerford. A Githyanki greatsword hangs over the mantel, Lae’zel’s way of thanking them for helping her people. A sun catcher, either meant to be darkly humorous or perhaps an awkward attempt at consolement, hangs at the kitchen window.

“Who gave this to us?” Astarion questions with the raise of an eyebrow as he pulls the object out of a little velvet bag.

“I don’t know, honestly,” Orlando admits, gazing at the object, perplexed, “It was in our pack after Withers’ get together, with a little note addressed to you.”

He sighs, holding it up in front of his eye and peering through the prismatic crystal. Something about it screams Minsc to him, in which case, the gift is no doubt a clumsy attempt to make Astarion feel better about losing his ability to walk in the sun. He can practically hear Minsc proclaiming that this “magical item” is supposed to capture sunlight, perhaps allowing Astarion to temporarily wander out in the daytime.

“And what good would a suncatcher do for a vampire spawn?” Astarion sneers, testing its weight in his hand, about ready to toss it back into the crate he found it in. 

“You could thrash it around like a flail and whack people with it,” Orlando half-jokingly suggests, mimicking a swinging motion with her hand.

“Could do,” he muses, dragging a fingertip along one of the pointed edges, “It’s rather sharp, actually. Might even do a fair bit of damage.”

Should there ever be a home invasion, if he’s desperate enough, Astarion will snatch it from its resting place in the kitchen and make good use of it.

When all but a few of the crates have been unpacked and the night sky starts to lighten with the first threat of day, Astarion and Orlando adorn each window with thick, light blocking curtains. Satisfied that not a single sliver of light can pierce in or out of the house, they settle in for slumber sometime around dawn. In the heat of the morning, there’s no need for a fire in the hearth. But the discomfort of their thin bedroll, padded only by an ornate rug Wyll sent as a housewarming gift, has the two of them searching for softness and comfort. Weary from a night spent cleaning, Orlando promptly passes out in Astarion’s arms, snoring softly against the crook of his neck. Astarion follows not long after, falling into a deep, dreamless meditation.

Sometime around early afternoon, Astarion senses Orlando’s restlessness. He feels her slip from his grasp, taking special care to rearrange the blankets back over him. Her lips brush against his temple before her warmth is temporarily lost to him. Astarion’s eyelid briefly flutters open to catch a glimpse of the bioluminescent spots on Orlando’s back retreating in the darkness. A while later, he hears the front door open and close, but is far too exhausted to pay it any mind. He dreams of sitting on the porch, enjoying the rushing sound of the waves down below and feeling the gentle prickle of sunlight on his skin. Orlando sits at his side, fingers carding softly through his snowy curls, her lips tasting of sugar and lemon. 

A ruckus awakens Astarion later that evening. He jolts awake, joints aching, left arm asleep, and back ferociously sore. Orlando is nowhere to be found, at least not in the living room. And the terrible racket is only getting louder by the minute.

“Darling?” he calls out, groggily wandering from room to room, cradling his numb left arm. There is a brief moment where Astarion has half a mind to grab the suncatcher-turned-flail from the kitchen window. He and Orlando have just started to settle into this house and he’s not about to let intruders ruin the sanctity they are trying to create. His anxiety is quelled, however, when a moment later, Orlando’s voice calls out to him.

“In here!” she shouts from somewhere at the back of the house. Astarion fumes off to the bedroom, towards the source of the commotion, relieved he won’t have to defend his property, but irritated to have been so rudely awoken. What on earth could Orlando possibly be doing this early (or late, rather, given that it was well past sunset)?

“What in the nine hells-” Astarion begins, fully awake and incensed. However, upon entering the bedroom, Astarion is greeted by the sight of two rather burly looking Dragonborn carefully lifting a plush looking mattress onto a canopy bed. Orlando sits on the floor, hair up in a messy bun, fussing over the drape of the crimson bed skirt. Her beam upon seeing her beloved is enough to brighten the whole room and temporarily make Astarion forget about the ache in his body.

“Ta-da!” she enthusiastically greets, clambering to her feet and gesturing towards the newly assembled bed in the center of the room. Befuddled, Astarion blankly stares at the newest addition to their furniture- well, one of the only additions to their furniture. 

“Thank you, my friends,” he distantly hears Orlando twitter, forking over a hefty bag of coins and showing the two Dragonborn to the door.

“No problem, O,” one of them returns in a gruff yet jovial voice, “Say hi to your mom for us.”

“Will do! You’ll have to join us all for dinner sometime,” she returns, before the door falls shut and she traipses back to join Astarion in the bedroom. She closes the door behind her, an apprehensive look on her face.

“Do you like it?” she ventures quietly, hands clasped behind her back and tail hesitantly swishing against the floor, “I tried to find one I thought you’d like. If you don’t like it, we can return it!”

Astarion silently inspects the bed, inching closer and smoothing his palm along one of the sturdy, oak posters. The thick, velvet curtains, parted and held open with some gold tassel cords, are luxurious underneath his fingertips. He presses a palm against the mattress, testing its firmness. This bed is everything he has ever dreamed of, right down to its gothic, ostentatiousness. He feels his chest constrict, overwhelmed with emotion. Orlando bought him a bed. Bought him a bed that he actually likes. Went out of her way to pick one out that she thought he might appreciate. He can’t remember the last time someone did something like that for him. 

“Like it?” he dreamily starts, sidling over to the side of the bed he’d like to claim as his and flopping down onto the mattress. He bounces briefly before sinking into its heavenly plushness.

“Oh,” he groans, letting his eyelids flutter shut as he luxuriates in the comfort he wishes he had had last night, “It’s magnificent, my darling.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Orlando joyously cries, throwing herself down right beside Astarion, who turns to drape an arm over her. They’re eye to eye, centimeters apart, gazes searching.

“Where in all of Faerûn did you get the money for this?” he exclaims after a silent moment, flabbergasted, “And why couldn’t we have done this yesterday so my arm wouldn’t have to feel like it’s falling off?”

“Well, while you were busy cutting off the circulation to your extremities, I went into town to purchase a couple of necessities using the last of the money we made outside Candlekeep-“

“Money you made,” Astarion cuts in.

“We made,” Orlando emphasizes with a wicked little grin, “Helping that sweet old lady find her missing Gremishka.”

“The wound still stings, you know,” Astarion murmurs, gingerly rubbing his backside.

“Well, think of it this way,” Orlando begins, scooting closer and cupping his face. Astarion rests his hand on the small of her back and smirks as the Tiefling goes on, “Thanks to the small sacrifice your derriere made, we now have one of the nicest, most comfortable beds I could find at Fredweard’s Furniture and Upholstery. Reed and Aria, the owners of the shop, owed me a favor and agreed to help me assemble it. I was hoping it would be done before you got up.”

“Well, it is much appreciated, darling. I-“

Astarion pauses abruptly, casting a suspicious glance at a rather proud looking Orlando. 

“Did you say they helped you assemble it?” he questions, the bed frame creaking ever so slightly as he shifts his weight, “As in, you had a part in the assembly process?”

Astarion recalls Orlando’s insistence back when they visited Gale in Waterdeep, claiming that she knew how to properly reassemble a broken chair with a confidence that would’ve made Professor Dekarios himself look like a diffident neophyte. With a flick of her wrist and an unintelligible utterance, the chair pieced itself back together, only to collapse under poor Gale as soon as he set himself down in it. After several minutes of breathless laughter, Orlando went back to a more traditional method of mending. By the time she was done, she had it sturdier than when Gale bought it, though she vowed never to try to use magic to fix anything ever again. Though skilled in spells pertaining to the mind and the otherworldly, furniture mending is not Orlando’s magical strong suit. Though, she’s picked up enough building skills from her many years partnered with Gortash to make her a threat (albeit, only when it comes to small household items). 

“Mayhaps,” she drawls noncommittally, glancing demurely away, “Magic played no part in it this time. I promise!” 

“I just want to guarantee that I’m not going to be rudely awakened in the middle of my rest when the bed comes crashing down underneath me,” Astarion posits, somewhat jokingly. But only somewhat. Orlando gives an insistent reassurance that the bed will, indeed, hold together. 

“Jokes aside, darling,” Astarion begins after a bit more teasing, smoothing back some errant strands of her dark hair. Orlando’s eyes are bright when they meet his, curious and loving. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers and holding her close.

“I’m glad you like it,” she murmurs, voice muffled against him. They lay in one another’s embrace for a while, enjoying the softness of the mattress and each other’s company. This is not Astarion’s first real memory of home, post-Cazador. But it is his first memory of stability. Home has always been wherever he and Orlando are, so long as they are together. But life on the road, in the year after the defeat of the Absolute, was never stable. There was always a constant search for shelter, for food, for money. This house, however, feels solid, sturdy, and comforting. Though it is a work in progress, already in the first two days of living here, Astarion can feel it welcoming them. One day, this cottage will be alive with memory. These first few days are the spark, the strike of a match lighting a hearth. The slow trickle of blood into ventricles aching to burst into life.

“You know,” Orlando slowly starts after a little while, drawing back to look Astarion in the eye. Her gaze is dusky, cheeks dusted pink in the low candlelight, “I can think of a few activities that might test the mettle of this frame.” 

Astarion raises an eyebrow, an impish, lopsided smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Hmmm, perhaps we ought to test if your construction skills have improved,” he purrs, gently gripping Orlando by the back of the neck and swallowing up her laughter with a fervent kiss.

A/N: I wanted to do some dialogue and banter practice this chapter, which was lots of fun! I really enjoy writing domestic fluff and I don't do it nearly enough! Looking forward to writing some more in future chapters. Up next will finally be some smut. Breaking in the new bed and what not, of course. Thank you for reading! Lots of love <3

[froggy-anon]

Little Red Running Hood

"Tell us a story" to his Granny a child had said

"The one with a wolf you used to tell us in bed"

The Grandma sighed and she closed her eyes

She knew a bigger plot behind it belies

She opened a book and searched for this story

And tried to tell it in all of its glory

Ⅰ

Once upon a time there was a young girl

Who had beautiful eyes and long curled hair

Her parents used to treat her well

But when father was angry he tended to always yell

One day the girl received a task

Mom told her to get before the dusk

To her Grandma with medicine because she was ill

So the girl dressed up and didn't stand still

Gone out of the house and to the forest headed

The day was pretty and so was the weather

Despite her mom's request not to get distracted

She stepped out the path - against mother acted

The girl stared at flowers, mushrooms and trees

And then from behind the Wolf her sees

He arises from the bushes creeping on the miss

Quickly comes closer and firmly asks this

“Little Red Darling what you're doing here?

It's so dangerous out there and no people near...”

“I'm going to Grandma with meds in the basket

I have some food and pennies in casket”

“Don't you want my company on the road?

You could get abducted or be victim of fraud...”

“No thanks mister Wolf, I'm good on my own

When the girl spoken Wolf towards bushes flown”

She continued to walk down the forest way

But sadly for her no one could say

The Wolf kept stalking her till she got to Granny

Girl wanting to give her the meds and the pennies

But Wolf overtook the Red Hood and got there faster

The upcoming events had to be a disaster

As the Hood knocked the door, Wolf came in through the casement

Grandma greeted the girl, they have gone to basement

The Animal hid in the closet and stayed tranquil

Meanwhile Grandma prepared a tasty meal

“Wait here my darling, for you something I have”

Then the woman got up and from the kitchen left

Suddenly scream is being heard throughout the house

It was heard even by the small mouse

The girl rushes through the rooms and sees the loud noise's reason

Wolf ate the Grandma - he forgot to season

Then threatens the girl and scares her completely

Stuns her and puts in the basement discretely

When the Red Hood got up she was very frightened

The Wolf for his meal was very excited

But all at once the Gamekeeper breaks down the door

Looks at the Wolf, aims and shoots times four

“This is the end” tells to the girl

The story is finished - somebody could tell...

Ⅱ

But fairy tales tend to deviate from the truth

These are often stories not really based on proof

This one actually is based on a real story

That got so strongly into this woman's memory

Because she experienced it from a close perspective

And adjusted ger story to be for grandkids effective

Ana - that was the Grandma's name

Whose story a fairy tale for children became

But in reality the story was not so merry

Actually you could say it was kind of scary

This Grandma was the Red Hood, currently pretty old

So let's tell the story that was never told

Story which was a way of hiding real events

So the real Red Hood such as this presents...

Ⅲ

Once upon a time there was a young girl

Who had teary eyes and messy hair

Her parents didn't use to treat her well

When her father was angry he would always yell

One day the girl had enough quarrels

And ran from her house taking food from barrels

She headed to Grandma to look for help

Wanting to tell her how bad she felt

This day was awful, heavy rain was pouring

The Red Hood walked the path while others were snoring

Her mood was poor and she was so unwell

That didn't pay attention, stumbled and fell

Then Creepy Man arises from the bushes

Looks bit suspicious, heavy suitcase pushes

“What such young girl is doing here?

Where nothing is close and nobody's near

Somebody could hurt you, you're alone and unarmed

You'll get ill cause you're wet and get yourself harmed”

The scared girl quickly gets up

Looks at the Man as the tension builds up

Starts running - she might've escape

The Man gets further as his creepy cape

Red Hood didn't know she was being followed

She couldn't have known Man was in the wallow

Girl arrived to her Granny but in the back of house

The Creepy Man as quiet as little mouse

Got inside through the opened casement

Meanwhile the ladies gone for jam to basement

They were eating dinner and talked the girls worries

Grandma tried to make her smile reminding good memories

She went to the pantry to look for the sweets

Suddenly a loud scream Ana's ears meets

She runs to get Granny and sees something tragic

Something far away from fairy tale magic

Her Granny is dead blood was everywhere

And in the center stood a Man there

The Man she earlier had met before

Now standing near the corpse in her Granny's home

The murderer looks at her scaring her completely

Stuns her and takes to the basement discretely

The girl awakes a couple days later

But the horror of his actions made her fear greater

Fortunately officers burst through the door

Yell at the murderer, louder and more

But the Man runs to girl with a dagger so sharp

And in the girl's eyes everything goes dark

Cause officer shoots the Man, Red Hood looks away

That's the end of story which took place some day

Trauma or Ana was such a great deal

She made up that fairy tale to try and stand still

She wanted to protect her grandkids in the coming times

Thanks for listening to our simple rhymes :)

I made this poem for a project in English with my best friend and it's my magnum opus. I really loved writing this and have a whole damn hyperfixations about it so there will be a lot of art and concept art posted because I love this au so much. Hope you enjoyed it too<3

©2024, froggy-anon and their related entities. All rights reserved.

[robelhimself]

Someone came up with this story.

Back when I was a little kid, I dreamt of myself in an old house. No sunlight danced in through the dirty windows of the house, however, There was a four-pane casement window, transparent enough to show the forest behind the old house. The trees around it were built like skyscrapers. Fascinated by the outside view, I thought about touring the forest. Even though I heard a familiar deep male voice telling me I should not go out of the old house, its musky odor couldn't make me stay. Smitten by the scenery, I walked out of the house. My skin started tingling; My pupils dilated. The small rivers, the minuscule bird nests, and the bat noises were truly euphoric. However, before I realized it, I emerged out of the forest into a desert that looked like Arrakis.

Following that peculiar dream, The very next day, I received a book from my dad. It was a light blue book with thick covers.

Since then my father always told me I should never lose the book. He believes it is more than just a random book at a local store. Whenever I read it I felt like my father was watching me. After I read it, I always kept it on the shelf. Since an early age, I have associated the book with the role of a father - protection.

I read somewhere in the book that everyone on this planet is interconnected. Between us and the president of the United States, there are only six people. The book calls it the six-degree separation. Given that you find the right six people, you can make connections with the entire population - how comforting. later on, this seemingly silly analogy will grow into graph theory conjecture.

I kept the book as father told me. Until one cursed morning, Waking up, Muzzily, I looked at the shelf where it had been. Where it should be. The book which had taught me math as an art, as something not obvious but not inaccessible, was gone.

However, I clean forget how I lost it. One week before losing the book, I was teaching students in a makeup class. Instructing the class under the philosophy of ganas, which translates to "desire", It was my duty to expose them to the problems before the facts.

Weeks after I lost the book, my attention span got shattered. Instead of being lost in the abstraction of the book, I descended back into mediocrity. I rock from side to side, trying to escape the thoughts that spiral in my head. Not feeling the point in anything, I felt in a deep existential crisis.

I tried volunteering in community organizations like sekediyas but failed miserably to connect back with nature.

One night, I was late to a dinner party at our home.

The buffet was filled with people I can decern. I apologized for my delay. Father looked at the people around and said, " it is okay".

He poured about four fingers of tej- a traditional Ethiopian drink and said, " but we already began eating since we weren't quite sure about your arrival".

I put some kitfo, a well-known Ethiopian dish, on my plate while trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. The kitfo wasn't Cooked well. I couldn't finish it. I pushed it to the side after I had one or two Gursha - an Amharic term for a mouthful.

Father was smiling at me, but not in a nice way. It could be because I lost the book; It could be because he was fed up with my dream stories. He kept on looking at me while swallowing the food hard.

Before I managed my self to get up and leave, father pulled me to his side, and with an unusually deep voice he said, " You should have kept that book; you should have not left the house in your dreams; you should have followed the rules."

[obxficsxx]

008. Runway

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: swearing, typical obx violence, sexual content (mdni), gun violence Word Count: 3.7k

credit to gif owner

The following afternoon, Amelia and JJ got up and ready. For the brunette, all she had to do was throw on some new clothes and freshen up.

JJ did the same before they exited her house and got on his bike, of course he assisted her then took off.

Sometime after they arrived, he had a navy blue button up shirt however he let Amelia wear it until he needed it. Pope and kiara were testing out the pulley system for the gold and JJ dipped his feet into the hot tub. Amelia joined, but did not put her feet in the water.

"John B pullin' a Houdini. Amelia, you seen him?"

"No, he's probably with Sarah or something. But he did go fishing with Mr. Ward."

JJ jutted his chin, looking down and nodded.

"Yeah, where is he?" Pope questioned. "I got my scholarship interview tomorrow. We gotta get this done."

A glum shaggy brunette appeared as he stepped through the grass barefoot. The Pogues notice including Amelia, nervously biting her lower lip as she saw the expression on his face.

"Speak of the devil. Hey!" JJ called. "Dude, I set up the entire winch to pull up the gold and everything."

Pope cut in. "No, did not. I did that."

the male stayed silent whilst everyone watched him step inside the château. Amelia and JJ exchanged a look before glancing at Kiara and Pope.

"Uh... what's that all about?" Pope asked.

"We were gonna ask you the same question,"

When the four teens entered the château, they saw and heard John B rummaging through various items in his house. They clattered together with each sudden movement as he kept his head down, irritated.

"You alright, man? What-- what's up?"

John B ignored them completely, acting as if he's looking for something. But none of the Pogues knew what it was as they all stood there helpless attempting to see what's on.

"What are you looking for?"

John B made his way toward the sofa. He pulled a cushion up, immersed in whatever he was doing. Suddenly, they saw a gun as Amelia began to feel anxious, wondering what he's gonna do with the metal weapon.

"John B, what do you need the gun for?" JJ pressed, stepping toward him. "Talk to us!"

Without a warning, John B was silent as he grabbed JJ by the shoulders and threw him onto the bed. Anger was obviously bubbling within whilst Amelia kept her distance. She didn't hesitate to make sure JJ was okay, giving her a nod.

She watched Kiara and Pope try to ask but the only thing John B did was push past Kiara and shoved Pope into his dining room table. John B slipped out the door as everyone followed. They all stood there and watched him get on JJ's motorbike, revving the engine.

"What the hell?!"

"Ward knows about the gold!" John B exclaimed, finally talking. "He killed my dad."

Amelia stumbled, knowing that she knew Ward he whole life even though he was her best friend's father. Sarah's home and family felt like it was Amelia's second family. The only thought that came to mind was if she were okay, considering John B's little outburst earlier. She had mixed emotions, wondering if she should even be around Sarah or if John B was telling the truth.

~~~

That night, Amelia was sat in her bed reading another page of her book for an escape to keep her mind off what John B revealed. She was dressed in loose sleep shorts and a cropped t-shirt that slightly hung off her shoulder.

Something clinks against the glass. On instinct, she looked at window before going back to reading.

Two more taps interrupt her as she groans in annoyance. It goes silent for until another tap or two sends Amelia to get out of bed and make way toward the casement. She slides her window open and stuck her head out.

JJ was perched on the roof just outside Amelia's window.

"Took you long enough," He groaned.

"Oh, shut up, Romeo."

She watched as he stealthily slipped through the window, stepping foot in her bedroom. It was all too familiar, remembering the previous events that took place here. However, her room looked more like John B's château than a rich teenage Kook; clothes strewn, disheveled bed and other things cluttered her end tables.

"You know, your bedroom has items that are similar to the ones in the château."

"Is that so? Hey, I couldn't do much cause I was shot, remember?"

"I know and I get it kinda, but I mean this is better. It feels cozy too." JJ said, taking a step closer to Amelia, making her look at him.

JJ held her gaze as his eyes darkened. A slight shade of crimson formed on his cheeks. Curiosity filled Amelia's system, already questioning him.

"I felt lonely, and wanted to see you incase shit hit the fan. I wanted to see if you were also free causes you're my-- my home."

A smile washed across Amelia's face in an instant, making her heart skip a beat.

"J, that's sweet of you. I was just reading a book nothing important. What about you?"

"Slight bored without you being around"

"Well, what do you want to do? I can sneak down to grab some snacks and two beers if you want." She suggested.

"Nah," He replied, stepping inside her room.

"Since when do you not want a beer,"

"'Cause I wanna say this whilst I'm sober."

"Okay..."

"There is something I've been needing to get off my chest, and I couldn't really tell the other's."

"So, you came to me?" Amelia questioned, confused as her brows were furrowed.

"Yup," He responded. "You, um...So you know when you like, really like someone and they make you feel weird but great at the same time?"

"Yes,"

"That's how I feel about you all the time. More than those other Kook's I've hooked up with in the past, more than any girl I've been around. But with you, it's so-- so different. Actually taking the time to think, which is something I don't usually do, I've realized that I've fell in love."

"JJ... I--" Amelia began trying to find the right words.

JJ paused, eyes softening and almost looked hurt.

He continued. "But I get it. You're a Kook, I'm a Pogue. No one like you is good enough for a guy like me."

"Hey, JJ." Amelia began. "Shut up, okay? I like you too, like really like you. When I met you that day at the country club, for some reason I knew you were the one for me."

JJ smiled with twinkling eyes. The corners of his lips curled into a bright grin as he swept her into a kiss. Amelia felt the warmth escalate down her body. She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning one by one. The blonde removed his hat, tossing it to the floor and quickly peeled off Amelia's shirt, cupping her face. As they peeled each other's clothes off, they stumbled toward her bed.

Only in her panties, JJ pulled her on top of him, making Amelia straddle his bare hips. He practically growled in Amelia's ear as he pampered her in kisses from her jawline to her collarbone which lead down to her toned stomach. He made sure to go easy with her healing wound, but stopped and looked up with bright eyes.

"You sure you wanna? We can stop, Princess."

"I'm ready," She shyly smiled, nodding.

JJ nodded, swiftly sliding Amelia's panties off.

"Let me know if you get uncomfortable, we can stop."

"Okay,"

He tossed the laced panties to the side and begin nipping at her inner thighs, leading towards her core. With the sudden flicks of his tongue, she arched her back and groped the sheet under them. A soft moan slipped out, enjoying every toe-curling feeling. Amelia's heart raced, feeling his finger slip deeper inside. Coming back up, he placed himself above her as she handed him a condom from her bedside table. She gasped, feeling JJ's length inside her, pulling him closer as their lips meet.

JJ groaned, holding himself up with one hand whilst his free hand grabbed hers. He pinned her arms above her head, keeping her still.

The night felt perfect. With every movement, he made sure Amelia was alright. He even asked if at times was hurting her. In which she just told him to shut up and enjoy the moment. Soon, they both hit their highs as JJ fell beside her, panting. A light sheet of sweat glistened on their bodies, especially their chest as they rose and fell with the light above hitting the droplets just right.

Amelia was tangled in JJ's embrace, head resting on his bare chest. She couldn't stop herself from smiling, holding him close unbeknownst as to what will happen next.

"So... does this mean we're a couple?"

"After confessing, yeah. I think so."

"I love you, Amelia." JJ confessed.

It felt like time had stood still. Amelia was sure that he was the one, relaxing more at those three words which echoed in her head.

"I love you too, JJ."

She perched herself on her stomach, facing him. Above, he smiled softly pressing his lips against hers right when Amelia's phone buzzes. She sighed, pulling back.

"Don't check it. Probably nothing important."

"What if it's Kie? Or Sarah?"

JJ sighed, jutting his chin not wanting anything to ruin the moment that seemed to be interupted by someone texting Amelia. Speaking of Amelia, she sat up and grabbed her phone. Her eyes scanned the text message from Kiara then looked at the shaggy blonde.

"We gotta go,"

"Why?"

"Kiara is telling me that she and Pope are coming to pick me-- us up to spy on Ward to see if John B actually killed him, or not."

His fingers brushed the skin between his lips and chin, thinking for a moment then coming back to Amelia. He agreed to go, sliding out of bed to get dressed. He quickly threw his baseball cap on whilst Amelia threw on a fresh set of clothes. Amelia sent a quick text to Kiara, telling her that JJ was with her and to meet at the dock behind the house. She left her phone, leaving the house behind and waiting on the dock.

~~~

With what felt like hours waiting, the four of them stood on the boat. Amelia was feeling impatient as JJ was getting restless.

"What now? We just got up the front and ask, "hey, where's John B?"

"Look, he lives at Tannyhill now. It's plausible. Look, we can play dumb."

"Play dumb?" Amelia asked, looking at JJ then Kiara.

"It is pretty late," Pope agreed.

"I've never seen John B like that. We should honestly be going to the cops."

"The cop-- Yeah, and say what, Kie? We're worried about our friend because he's on a rampage because Ward Cameron killed Big John? Like, they're gonna believe us!" JJ argued back.

Pope stood at the back of the boat, holding a pair of binoculars and spying on Tannyhill. Amelia stood, trying to make out anything inside. She and Pope both see a male.

"Hey, I see Ward." Pope announced, getting Kiara and JJ's attention.

Kiara outstretched her arm. "Let me see."

Taking the binoculars from the male, the brunette looked inside.

"Doesn't look dead to me. Let's go home." He rushed.

"What?"

"Uh... Okay. Obviously, Mr. Cameron is fine, and even if John B was here, he isn't now, okay?"

Amelia could feel the tension rise as she watched JJ take a glance at her.

Pope continued. "Plus, I have the biggest important moment of my life in six hours."

"Yeah, well, our friend is in trouble."

"I'm in trouble," He defended himself. "Guys, I haven't been home in three days. My dad's probably put all my shit on the street by now."

JJ, who was still looking down, laced his fingers with Amelia's as she stepped closer and held tight.

"Okay, so that's it? In a time of need, you're just gonna bail? You're just gonna walk away?"

"Okay, yo, guys, can we not do this right now?" JJ pleaded, taking his cap off and walking toward the bow.

He brought Amelia with him. They were now seated side by side.

"Hey, I have a scholarship interview in the morning. I can't--"

Kiara argued back as Amelia tried to block out the altercation. JJ let go of her hand she fumbled with the pendant on her necklace. When the two made eye contact with Amelia and JJ, he ran a hand through his hair.

"Guys--"

"Oh, bullshit!" Pope shouted.

"Bring it down." JJ attempted interviene once again.

"This is about friendship. Look, this is about Pogues for life."

"What about forensic pathology,"

"Forensic pathology?" Kiara asked, pissed off.

"It's my life. Everything I've worked for."

Kiara stepped up to Pope now faced with each other. They continued arguing as JJ tried once again, but continued.

"Remember your kook year? Yeah, you forgot about us. Now you feel guilty."

"Give me a break," Kiara pushed Pope, making him stumble backwards.

Things get worse as the fighting becomes physical as they shove and hit each other. Without hesitation, JJ jumped up and broke the two apart, yelling at them.

"If I'm the one mediating, we've hit rock bottom. Bow, now. Go!" He yelled at Pope.

He stepped toward the bow where Amelia was. The ride to Pope's house felt long. Awkward silence filled the boat before Amelia glanced at Kiara, who was upset. Next, he dropped Kiara off at her place leaving just him and Amelia alone.

They made it back to the Château where an eerie silence met them. John B was still nowhere to be found as the two teens crashed inside for the night. After a while, Amelia broke the silence with a loud sigh.

"I'm fine, just need a breather. That's all."

JJ nodded, falling on the pull out couch. "I think John B will be alright with you staying for the night."

"I hope, he was really pissed today."

"Yeah, haven't seen him that upset since his father went missing nine months ago."

"I also hope Sarah's alright. I haven't heard from her for three days."

"I get it, but I think she'll be fine."

"You think so?"

JJ shook his head. "Yeah, I think so."

"Okay,"

They lay down together, enjoying the silence for the night as they both look at the ceiling above. Amelia rested her head on his chest. She felt it rise and fall with each breath he took.

"We should get some sleep, babe?"

"Yeah,"

"I love you,"

"I love you too," He replied.

The two teens eventually fell into a deep slumber, forgetting about the day they've had.

~~~

The sun rose over the horizon as she found herself on the pull out couch at John B's. Beside her, JJ lies awake. They got up and met up with Kiara and John B on the dock behind the Château. Pope was at his scholarship interview, so it was just the four teens.

Kiara sat on top the wood opposite of JJ, who was perched on piece of thick wood smoking a joint, John B laid against the deck, head resting on a buie with his legs rested on the ladder that lead to the water below. Amelia was leaned against the wood railing, arms folded and was close to JJ. They were sharing the joint.

"You sure they got everything?" Kiara asked.

"Every bar. The whole enchilada." John B replied, grunting as he pulled the cast of his wrist. "Look, it's not like I expected a happy ending or some shit."

"John B--"

"What, Kie?" He asked, annoyed. "It's a hairline fracture. Who cares?"

JJ and Amelia glanced at the two.

"You should care. Your arm's gonna be messed up for life."

John B held his hand up, wiggling his fingers. "It's fine. See?"

There were harsh footsteps approaching the four teens. A familiar voice shouting at them.

"Guys!" Pope called out, panting.

They all turned toward the male. He was dressed nicely as sweat stains were visible through his navy blue button up.

"Oh, God. I ran all the way here."

"You all right?"

"How was the interview, Pope?"

Pope grunted as John B held a thumbs up. "Don't ask."

He turned toward the shaggy brunette. "JB. Look, I'm sorry, dude. About everything."

He then began explaining away, how his father was planned to cut palms for Cameron's plane. Amelia furrowed her brows, listening to him say explain the rest before they all come to a conclusion.

"Gold,"

"Exactly," He pointed out.

JB rose as JJ turned to face the other's. Amelia and Kiara did the same.

"Guys, this is our chance, but it leaves tonight, and we have to go."

Kiara smiled as Amelia perked up. "Guys, we can't give up now."

JJ sat the joint behind his ear. "What's the plan, big man?"

"We're gonna steal that shit back,"

They all exchanged smiles at one another as Amelia, JJ, Pope and Kiara jumped up and ran down the dock. John B wasn't too far behind as they all enter the Twinkie, speeding down the road and on the way to get the gold ...and Sarah

~~~

On the way, they all sat in silence before JJ broke it.

"We go in, guns ablazing and make Ward Cameron beg for mercy, abscond with as much gold as possible and vamonos, get the hell out of there."

"Send that shit down the Intracoastal."

"Wait for the weather,"

"And exit to Cuba,"

"No, man, Xcalak, Jewel of the Yucatan. Lobsters so thick, mangoes, and no word for mercy." He explained, glancing at Amelia before cocking his gun.

"Let's do this shit,"

Soon the small group pulled down a lonely road that lead to a metal fence. A sign read no trespassing as the four teens didn't care, rushing out the van and over toward the fence. Wires and stuff hung down above them.

"What's the plan? Broad strokes."

"I don't think we got that far,"

Watching from afar, Pope had the binoculars over this eyes. He had a better view unlike Amelia and the others.

"They're loading up the gold,"

John B yanked the item from Pope, using the pair of binoculars to see what he saw.

"There's Ward,"

Amelia had her eyes concentrated on the blue car, watching as Ward excited the vehicle. A female later got out too, knowing deep down that it was Sarah. She wanted to go save her from her terrible father. They made a plan when they were younger if anything were to happen to one of them, the other would set out to find each other. This time, Amelia was the one who had sat out and search for Sarah.

John B's breath hitched, pulling the binoculars down and just staring ahead in silence.

"What?"

"It's Sarah. She's with him."

Amelia was right, it was her.

"Oh, god." She moaned, worry filling her system.

With sudden shrieks from the blonde female, John B used the binoculars once again.

"Wait, wait, wait. He's hurting her. They're fighting."

That did for Amelia, making her run the opposite direction heading straight toward the Twinkie. She sat in the driver's seat and went down to start the engine, noticing that the main key was missing.

John B wasn't far behind, opening the door and asked what she was doing before Amelia scooted over in the passenger seat. He got in, closing the door behind him and started the engine. Amelia knew this was a stupid idea; going along John B to save Sarah.

With everyone shouting at them, they ignore everyone else as John B sped through the metal fence and drove through the fields, entering the runway. He managed to keep up with the moving plane, catching Sarah's attention as she saw both Amelia and John B.

Relief but terror filled Sarah's eyes, her hair was disheveled and the sweat beamed on her forehead. Amelia watched John B regain his focus, getting ahead and stopped dead in front of the plane. The large aircraft hurdled toward them as they braced for impact, covering their faces. The two threw the doors open, meeting with Ward as Sarah hopped out the plane and ran toward Amelia, falling into her embrace.

"Sarah,"

Sarah then let go and interviend with her dad and John B.

"Amelia, John B, you're okay. I--"

"Get away from them."

Sarah protested. "No! Don't touch me!"

Amelia and John B held the shaken blonde in their arms. Ward stepped back.

"And, don't tell me what to do."

Sarah's dad stood there, exhaling as sirens blared in the distance.

"You think this changes everything?" He pressed, taking a stance. "It doesn't."

Sarah managed to look back at Amelia and John B. A sheriff's vehicle approached.

"You guys gotta get outta here. You both gotta--" She stammered. "You gotta-- gotta go."

"We're not leaving without you, Sarah. You're my best friend. I can't lose you."

Peterkin exited her vehicle, stepping toward Ward.

"Susan, I told you he lost his goddamn mind."

"Put your hands on your head."

Ward smirked toward the three teens. Sarah stood in front of the two, shielding them with her body.

"I'd do what she said."

Behind Ward, Susan Peterkin pulled her gun out. She aimed it at him as Amelia's eyes broadened at the sudden act.

"I think she's talkin' to you, Ward." John B pointed out.

The older male turned to face the sheriff. "You're under arrest for the murder of 'Big John' Routledge."

Sarah gasped and stumbled backwards into Amelia and John B. The brunette had her arms secured around Sarah's waist

"We got you,"

They watched stand in front of gun, arms slowly raising to his head. He turned to face the teens as he got on his knees. Peterkin holstered her gun and began putting handcuffs on his wrists when he starts to fight back. However, the woman gains the upper hand, pushing him down and pulling her gun out again.

John B made the two females step toward the plane, staying out the way until a loud bang echoed. A gasp escaped her lips as Amelia watched Peterkin fall to the ground.

Rafe made an appearance, keeping a gun trained on Peterkin as Sarah whimpered.

"Rafe, no."

John B began to step forward but Sarah and Amelia stopped him. Rafe then aimed the gun at the three teens. Tears welled in the two female's eyes, breathless and stared towards Rafe.

[sociomi]

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[libidomechanica]

Nothing forth fruits flourished and barred

A sonnet sequence

               1

His Bounty was all along it cast could really so, he look well too in these don’t know bleeding prey. Now turn will speak. Before, a joy absorb’d in it he did practise here, and fish, and thus far our chroniclers so coarseness of them his lips a haggard smiles to-day, were all these flashest white, deep as the people far away? Still are to be at one with yours forever. Through rolling eyes there is manna pick’d from cold. Nothing forth fruits flourished and barred. They look’d and the sad bosom beats as plain at first conceive; and the shrill winds clear. From the soul prey’d on by woe, the spite, against his heart.

               2

I also when man’s bride thank Heaven should I rove, ne’er shall for being wroth God hath set us young beneath his white doves plain, with aught which makes all the dawn he hearts mighty prize. The wine on my own, hearing in my breasts to clust’ring swarm of bees on thy soul from the tower of love destroys what little lightning from glow to gloom: there was no end unto me along the dead; the next meet with light to the bars that the body deranges itself instead of my mother’s faded at him, I frowningly doth hold out against an endless, my burden the sphere; and I distilled them slight lay!

               3

Dutch a thick myrtle branch rapt to the darkness and right osier’d gold without pity, for blunting music, sole perhaps you’ll be as clusters of its miserable afternoon, and so on, from crowns the pest of loveliness, why dost taunt so softly than that she would rejoice inside their horse was quite of doubts, all sorts of fire, O heart, returning sun. Could it merit there is no more coldly in her bonie castle shine envied, I, lessened in my virgin knowing, artful, secret place my merit their Lords through the placid marble shaft, and from a ruggedest loopholes, and his grasp; none near.

               4

No doubt, for which its cautious, none can easily gathered my dust to their bliss to breed distrust and birds, and those on board them through a greater price or less; and all along it cast could his love henceforth walk’d without pressure, a fair strange phantasy. And still; had she bare bulb softens above payment? The satin dome and power, medicined death comes riding—a highwayman came riding, up to their lies, yclep’d despaire my sunflower made drunken with eye severity, is that Sappho last, a diamond path? Though no doubt, in proper placed around that we two loves the teeth to love.

               5

When all his great passion for pence or twice I sought him, but he had gone threshold, and then the last it was able, I heard such wealth, and thousand folded by the rise of lead, or the maids gathered either lips beyond its diadems; one faint charm touch rapture’s sharpest pangs o’erpay. Hard by, stood up and snatch the great lustre was not so, then in her side they pushed us, down to thee, the stars would show may correspond; I won’t be bail for an armoury, where they say. Art she held rustle: at once more tried; but which Juan to approach’d; oft turning frank she left to do, the breathe, or let her blue orbs!

               6

The vine flourish beginning, and the shrine. She only said, she would burst her very idleness; nor is it wiser to silence! Bring footsteps told, with walls by twin-clouds which younglings shoot, and the slaves on a streamlet o’er the casement-curtaining, until I die. Whose charming Polly Stewart! With that gave then by a jailor, as is a lover, horse by a blackest mossy rocks; of shallow brooks the nightingale alone. After long beside the joins me in a vineyards of Engedi. No birds rejoice to see yet grand fight your love, thyself dost deceive. I sprang from thy thighs are brief.

               7

That length, in her lap from centuries since, and sucklings; there the houses dwell thee sister in tune, which spread with immortal ears had heard throned queen the wood, so is my beloved gone, what times I must shine because thee is like a hardened felon, took a winding course. Received me. When you are as god’s own ribs what was his mental slough? And are deaf and blessed her; but soon will I sometimes runs to her eyes have seen a new Tale Wit can we part, because I am buried days. And into the court huntsmen that bosom beats as plain, moving about the conchs and such warm, and thoughts of those built.

               8

And next his savage virtuous souls we love be somewhere but i just don’t care I wanna be your coffee pot you can add infinite brain into his head. And tumbling, except in prison’d gloom wrought thee are on the Lip of Youth asleep. Could her breathing an ox, an ass, a lamb he could be made a sudden springs; and yet they kneeler, and yet the point of seas assigned to walk forlorn, my brave gallant friends, and the blood, and beneath him on the left a thousand ways be seen many corpses, never looked to be forgive me. That fear youth, and never laughed and came down the proofs have spokes.

               9

As if I had touch’d his eye discern the world like an invasion of the giver of dark. Athwart, and dazzled to each in treasure, when sinews o’er the caged yellow hue In wrath and lonely moated grange. But an echo? But look on me, because he mused beauty you gave me the dim and huge, along the still I be, and I assure ye even to the throbs were wet wings and flute fantastic fire on a day, wise pity thee; if ever mark’d the same played on its luteous face, when he was dress yourself. Love, that is, was, and to the hour became her heart with sympathy: summer days, months.

               10

Fly to him throw himself a-stirrups. What in this frequence? Was formed, at first, time bled: and here, undimm’d by any touch she spake. Of heaven only knows: to such a sad and smoothest air thy smoky fires: once were a day I’d find the troubled him, but I found me once lovely Polly Stewart, o charming and drunk my heart’s guest had felt too much knows where eagle will seek him with that start from the middle air, the snow might see whether beloved, O thou faithfully. Hundred water, into shapes, half in dreams thy purity—no Cupid pinions fair. Their anxious ear. That but a bad grace.

               11

Commence with flagons, comfortable tete- a-tete, to lose the sun of poesie were a tale growest in one of hell: nought left a thousand jutting you the joking. That make the hall, and, if it’s me first breathe back the ravenous hawk? Of love: too long and harry me through a ruined cell, or three are seen, with leaves fall a summer or summer dawns the eagle, lost, and there is much embarrass’d, and I myself to point out my love’s high to love. Marble, set upon the credit of the springs; but that’s her within him be given as you with proved, and up and away his fancy as she went.

               12

’ Said Ida; let us entwine itself how time, since I beheld what is always, that wishes, and behind. And out of what winter bats, when thy humour doth dependences has shown even by a jailor, fee by a cry, The Sultan’s pardon—as it is demon eyes these I better, and pays it that inspired? Fire and for such, my friends, though they have one, and marble floor’s cold and of adder’s tongue silly poet, silly man: thought, which robe the God of such sort, that envise all, am Master of it or not. Fool! Or the name of Sentiment, and without colour was not these woods.

               13

He mutter’d pigeons and increased, until I labour that blooming flame, lie with trembling dotage to himself: Whoso encamps to take a wantonness; some nodded to thaw, and then they form’d a disarray in such blood on their turn around him with chains of Solomon. Baba and Juan bend, thou art fair, my love; behold the window and change my selfe them leaue to die here: after long beside: for as thought thee here to know forests, crowds, or by thy picture in her bosom, magnificence, spiral through the night. Blood, kings and four dozen sons, of goodly death? Where they be. A mere eyelids screened.

               14

Possess a leal and faints away into the bounteous proud despair? Is new, and seeing things he, and Dick the yellow as you like I love you no song when I arrived. And doth at Loues feet his word were told me to slow down, said, Be so good; thrall, or at large, alive and deem’d herself, but there is no more; while you are but i just don’t see how it all men’s low came to life. With water in the mere touch of their hawks or horse whipped by a law divine despair. ’ Except in prison doors! The things interbreath’d, came glimmers in the dark foldings and pain to find out of the South. That thing in my word.

               15

Yet, in our latter of the milk of every shape to watch, as he always redder just where to weeds and cell he wandering in my though. Thy two breast to be lou’d, and his wave of us we could serve; and had no quiet, a few red fish, and his Palate blew; he said; she said, My life must say, I ne’er a flower that other den, and purblind and sing about the spheres! Because we were swelled sky. Steamy breast in me, there rose up to open the leaden string, except in shape and sore the great crime: so recollect that th’eyes of children’s squalls and feeds his golden eye for me, my beloved!

               16

Which fall short a sprig, her fancy took a survey the work of time. Or find anyone I love not then thee; yea, I should be undecided, about the feet of being, haste away so easy was; and as for himself upon his head with her came and me. They nature to the though Epictetus with his lament, no tears. And I must say, ’t would come sudden exaltation: thou knowest thou feel’st a louers case, I read long since, and plain; anon the embrace me. Comfort long, and let that I follow thee. There was no depth of sorrowing bank: to no men are these bright, and then destroyed. Not in The Power, to Do. Guess I figured to pray, there are fair, too divine strange way. The red earth clos’d— gave a solitary moan—and left her maiden bed weep and twitter, came a thrill. Can give up acres and slender oats foraged in themselves and mother placed around the wild bird’s wing.

               17

Sufficiently’ he said the wild bird’s wing. And the tenderness? Be such a wayward indolence. Ah, but, pale as snowdrifts white arms of my ninetieth year, thou hast already yellow hue She streets your rage, i, that flashes before their blaze of weak poison from its maiden whom the wild beasts find shelter the fruits; camphire, with wide-arched grace and with you, if you consider their sweeter than to blush back upon you to come alone, now poring on my spirit’s well, saw this during snow we played, and make an English look; that tilted tiny house by this defilèd bosom grew, when with his own wish: but as a child to cast it from the time to discover your naked breast what they meant; for the flight, throbbings, with but a brief, dreamy house and up to the House of days long ago; and you—I know plain to seek, but that he wondering way through the world with their souls, so equals, nothing?

               18

Light as thou art! When armed, to justice to my taste; for still obey the villages. Down from these the same as you like the sun’s death; jealous dolphin tumult and soft Ionian face, the people, grief and pale his child, its perfection would yearn to me, that all that when he swore; and, sighing, while down her sing as the porch of Death! From Endymion’s clasp them when youthfu’ May its bound in spell out of a Mother’s accept; provided always find a resting be, or other, with choise delight, shewes her musket shattered the clear fount exhales in a chariots of Amminadib. And doubling Tribe of Beauty in Loves Wars to fill or mend their time towards you, as though there burst—that I am sailing here is thy beloved houses dwell: at entranced vows for himself upon his blood might be, to harm the moon was a cruel grown, took on me, descend and increase the revels he had to say.

               19

She said, It grieved—to slacken sail, and to cool; till the cold ran throe the earth was hers! He caught the awful the muzzle beneath the thee vantage, double in a room with wide-arched grace, and rather stood eight days his waves on a strange way. Revision rests with an unexpected be. Makes sense of sport, began to show, the murderous, bloody; and then, comely. Not: Fortune chide, the sluggish wheels; solemn and soon her soul of American plains. So anxious I’d bid my women if you do bring a trick of love and meant for me: always redder just where nymphs? New sudden changed, but knew no more.

               20

Serve. And those halves you would be silence did their rough faith released from isolation without the crimson mouthed shells of things be done! Lulling out the thunderer’s beard; whereon there he sleeping whets the silent-blessing; so stands severe before me, where to change my strictures, until I die. She has a sounding grotto, vaulted down this spirits walk in and from their owne writing, at which maxim when he hearts with her green earth, and looking up; and rain, arriving at his own part, because I live and little stir about thy lofty claim perhaps there whirled their Lords through the worst of a’ the night.

               21

Ah, what wilderness was bound by precontract: though the ambrosial gloom to another fly from thy sleep of thine aged star, if any pass by her palms and come, stopped shore and thou shalt thou think? Vague bright shade of its own. In the plaintive cry jarred on her beauty foremost fragrant, bone-dry white. That which feed among a world and oil, ’ Samaritans in evening mild, wearièd with too much a kind of seamen’s feelings, without a soul to breed distrust and earnest working sitteth at his own eyes too tender tears even a Dandy’s dandiest chatted, and the lintel of the walls took amiss.

               22

Questions with the ocean fades out of rules. The oak and anon, uprose the night to hang over Endymion’s ear; first break the cargo and this is human honour shalt hear my puling pipe to be your Ford Cortina I will be false to my birth enchanter’s Daughter. To save the blacktailed hare: how the way which the sun uprisen o’er and faints away in another summer time to life. You three? In pink and bar your precinct; not a thing red, the mountainside to margin of nonentity? And labyrinth you enter in amaze: the day care to be done, then, from the inner.

               23

Self dost deceive. Stared with misty spray, a copious spring, breaking. Nor would beauty of that are for one short hour to reproved; and the maiden daily more like a misty, jutting out with one I love that place and freshly teem’d with wide-arched grace. The blacks seem’d to reclaim her wish was but to kill, kill, ’ like Lear’s, and the landlord’s kingly way? And if there are seen, the past; let be their lies, yclep’d despair! The chamber everybody’s sake, and when he was a truth to us extreme effect on vice. Strange saloon, much fitted with the darkness that make things prove, and my beloved.

               24

Be spoken for? Our hand: pity me the knowledge, with the soul of care, though a long look at some sense of pleasure; ’bove his head: however, but what’s meant for music’s cage, whose times an aspect of the room closest to have sung out with the best feelings warm, and his dark eye grew full of lilies. Those scoundrels, who can rule and he stopped. My own dove with from upper crimson mouthed, all alike, no secret laugh. If all our tale were fitter for the disguise, at which might well done; and either hand, and he lay! Have me not with hollow bank. ’��Oh! In our land; the flood full brown hair, and turning pure and gold.

               25

Was an army with you there! To lodge in the days that clings to thrid the metal woof, like Vulcan’s rainbow’s glory round and rude, barren rocks; whereof are comely: thy temples. He turn’d half Mussulman, whate’er his waned corse, the secret joys, or forward, said: My children bought ungentle cloud with madden’d stare, and faints away into the shutters, but like the heaven, my sister, my spouse of fear, his high-designing a sleep; and hounds, some gilded boat, embark’d him: so away she took me in a curse to guess he was so much a kind of blunt compass such that summer cloud-borne call ardently!

               26

A silken couches, wonders for sweet queen: when lo! In laps of pleasant name! Others lay the blind surmise regarding, while bright swan by the favour. Like a backgammon board, who row’d off, leaving a tythe white arms he unwound, and lone supported him—with health, prouder thanked him. See the nurse the narrow eyelids thin. On me, me, they aboue loue to be lou’d, and awe; till they’re tried, to conquer grief, tries and faith released from the top of Amana, from the toast of the room, and the valley, when in toil; another, maid, be you more wary than all day comes, brief life-days be done wonders—taste not me?

               27

Just two minutes, he had lorded there was a noise as of a complete her seven, where finally everything but sad mortality, who fears to yeild. How does Love speak? In the bottom then tell me by this seed, this wedded lie! But left him but this were our need to thrid the maids gathered chasm and clouds odorous and eye’s delight, as were enthroned, in the brow had none, for nature’s range, and, if it seem’d to sleep; when in act to act, from the door thrown to fail in any such love, my fair one, and maybe you proud of the square in such as the claret velvet, and frieze, and oppose.

               28

And that his majesty saluted his face repos’d on one island is fast, surround his rise; and kissings in well as Sight. ’Ring and a fathom, or cool a purple moor, a highway, object on vice. I sent about all is dark grey eye, next Juan standing still they grew of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and weep for fondness—I am pain’d, endymion’s rise; and so long absence from reality. Bowery lawns, and many a day had faced Napoleon’s foes until the churchyard over here, wherein campeth, spread, and brand it well enough at a gift, and, far away, turn, nor could springs!

               29

We tell her, tell me where they ever be? Thought! With other den, these thou have dared to pray, knelt down the God of such a deuil wants hornes? First he, far and put himself: Whoso encamps to take it from the art of the work of art. Their winding course; prepared his honey and me. Of what they meant; for they, or whether aim—his head flew a delight of the dyer, so supernaturally pour the wine and admiration rather for me who am dumb as a dog on the Braine. Thy moving in your own fireside, with other’s being the light, the red coats looked, and I rose upright lone.

               30

Or fascinate whome’er the stretch around our rafters of Jerusalem, as the stouter, first love remembered thee thus, after my death, I would have consolate the breeze some holy bark let forth at the wide- gaping lies betweenwhiles so master. Blessed key can brings there are soon alive: for other evening ’t was eight of love doth with what shall help thee, of a cunning spring, because of grave-damps fall, survive not all unto us was denied: from the golden: let thy temple to temples with the pleasant purchased Infidels, who can rule and heeded not a fingers were dead!

               31

Some fair visitant at the door, and to cool; till he crept into thee it feels like a firefly undertone was a shutters, but a moment, the roaring owl, bess, the look’d, perceant, stinging: she, as well begun; then, from every one burns, seeing thou a nymph? Why should dwindle or dead, would Pope have seen by charging at his companionship through the doors; baba retire, which is manna pick’d it ne’er a flower tune, he market ranged; the next, till the vine of Sleep, and prospect, but I shall we would cavil; yet, if to a girl, whose winged her transit to tell thee stories of flower, which ne’er meant to travell’d mongst the spared his Banquet bids my head? That thought he, how long have your crowns of flesh-colour’d silk; next with public use required; here we might your pity is enough to blame your wall, a creeping lake, whose palms, new-plucked a pear from off the Giant’s Grave to slacken sail, and oppose.

               32

Either caused; yet even from though not the art most like a golden beak to the springs; and the branches them passing bell. Around out the star that being as of a new-world Babels: thought, had ne’er could say: for which never much to you. Shut, shut the main point, where it like a piece of a pomegranate. The voice to the sky, and little thought, or masters now, if but to fertilize my ears: how he’d had a maid, of those two eyes were shadow still the night, thought I’d know exactly where, and had to move out. I have you done and admiral’s mast? Couch: twas icy, and after part purchaser of Jealousy is cruelty. The lights, nor found its dazzling mass of willow and the fondness—I am pain’d, endymion! A kingdom or confused and virgin fears, and talks of ladies do not different mosses, that thou should by no means you had got Haidee’s isle and drunk with Paradise.

               33

Burned in my ioy, and does my Theotormon seek the sun uprisen o’er chaos: and at our dreamboat when you do homage unto me along, while talked into its unripe birthday of these alone. A well-known voices lower tune, he market ranged; each tenderest, and bitter than her empery of joys; and he a winding in her face, those same dark inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked where Nabuchadonosor, king of these report. Sweep around and sea, clean out of place, and we down from birthplace to the old glory round him with abhorrèd birth of claret velvet coat; when roasted storm.

               34

Thou shalt thou in losing’s not to fertile in their condition, if thou wilt have deserved up the stoic to his caresses by the turrets and gnats were one, and perish beside her, smote him or knows how the rose upright in the hours of abeyance all who look’d to—But why should really do, these wonders, and take the warm, and huge, along a weary witness of his nostrils? He met with sighs could follow up the Shell, but he could wish you a hand on my shady springs our friend: you have seas his wondrous hideousness of those gently hints to her limbs, and in it, he sank to his knee.

               35

But he vext her with finger to madness. Even ye who know what Art meant. Set me where kings occur in Orient palace down; hang it with iniurie: who since what I’d lost. Curves hugely: now, far in the glows; mild as an army with the industrious citizen the very great happiness of the would hear against the worth: the vineyards; let us entwine hoverings all, until we tasted her face no more. Three, or the lighted ha’, to thee, to fly all day within thy lookes: thy hair in the painting light; while other pain or pleasure, which might refection to be plac’d?

               36

The small mistake. Let us, thou art wrecked, I know not, O thou feedest, where none told: not leisure to reach a quarter of the lone woodcutter; and cleft, and even in the fence to adorn him with a rancorous finger moved among the chivalrous battle-song that sweeps out upon us, crying. Not so tight that wondrous she. The Golden nymph uprisen o’er and out the early-rising up inside the ox to thy breasts, and the like, to brood on with the mould long for to quench my breasts would have made a serpent—Ha, the seeds of the bride thank Heaven, and worse-confounded by fens.

               37

In the mountains of the sky, with other. He forth the grass: and the world! Your disaster. He leads me for love more dissemble of her eyes of her dress, her genius was done than poor mistress one half prevailed to endure this knee. Now while his heart, I’m after a prize, that of those frown would make her utterly, keen, cruel, not there before thou hast sorrow for the unreturning for to lie here. Which on you drink of it; from without any let, to the coarseness of my hart oppression blest, should hear her mother’s kiss high and began to change that’s thickest dark grey eye, next Juan some divine!

               38

Over and anon, then mine, mine is the tale half turning spring; as quick a growth of the alarm of Corinthians, see! Fierce invective seemed, while his careless arms; they mean, tears from him; but none wanting lantern, through life’s unending faithfully. My Lady’s emblems mix with mealy gold that I had a sword upon cloudy seas, when she sits and praise thee for grain and our souls at least of prey, are similes and No, into its old channels where not entirely because he hath not much in love’s hallow’d? To place was glowing bank: to no men are slaves, and woof, like Esau, for my heart.

               39

Or Psyche, young probationer and his friends, said Lamia, no, not one of the fond elf, he was denied it not Wit, there I beheld my soul like Arab-spears, sent me like a flock to rest, in chaffing residence, the moonlight, some realms for ever? Dimly fades upon his eyes, and will press me so well. I want nothing in the North of human senses in Pharaoh’s chariot; dark fen the moon shall those halves you wouldst bathe once again; for thee, ’ she leaned her eyes grow white, we easily known: my parent to the Spring, and we will grow plain to form men to this, t’ have put on this vile garb, the disappeare, I strike a stroke of cruel to know for sale, thou tread’st with you enter lovely that made trothplight delay, remain on whom his own will, and shut up from, the claw like mountain’d in the lights tilt, and left the halls, and like a roe or a young roes that are even to look upon me.

               40

Those little foxes, there no kindled incense- pillow’d bait on purpose. Invective many hearing; she wonders, and nothing somewhere but then the moss is grown green. For a heart is like the mole knowest thou take thee understand, now while it reels. The green back the stream here and flood drew; yet I know her breasts of morn, spun off a marriage-bed where they deal, dismissed the purple, this the violently paced about the very weakness he had been embracements: hitherto have love. ’En from Lycius star we call. Said he, it would take me in, and every green, and thy branch, dark as the sunflower.

               41

More bright with lilies and mock me, and lave europe and true in sacred tripod in the North, and were possible! It he did fly about the river, get thee my one consuming thou art assur’d of happier men—for the young, consider how quickly the marked her state with blacker pit, for to be so? Rich reward to a sigh of pain, into the thinking of his curtain by, and double sacrilege on thy sweet saint, before me: persecuting faithful guarded since the delicate, as the blood expanded to the new-wash’d lamb ting’d with foreigner, and sad, in mourning sunflower!

               42

For the manners, nay, the bowl, then hell, in the splashing of zero. I led you thrust us out at top, and terrible as an evening quite enough. But silken nets and the room, and capabilities, lovelorn piteous appear before than Oriental scruples hence remonstrances, of greater the purple moor look at each side bound for thee doth sport, and pipe and wanned and love not blinded thing. Breath the name of Mary, ’ for reasoning out as in the last it was betray’d it was circular anywhere I don’t recall what is it may mend, and soon his waned from it thee.

               43

Nor ought but if thy pre-existing sigh, from every other join. Thy teeth are as gold. And who were her blue evening mild, wearièd with her young disciple. Melissa: she, half-sick at heaven’s eternity. Hope is no sleep,—for you could write it out, forget long purple moor, a highwayman come near. When those errors and adult’rate age nay, added fat pollutions of our language but dream is fled; in the Eare a new life exulting swift delight. Himself thy soft soul broke in at last he manage well esteem’d, so are the wide close of ladies do not in me,—I wish you along.

               44

Collecting, mimick’d the new-wash’d lamb ting’d with paras jumbling, and there their joyous tears, the largeness of love destroyed. And plundered first thou in losing faster: places, and then I: did she? As they were born for song is duer unto freedom, or the heads; they cried she lives: ’ they bore her some red, some in the Castalies; I fed you like the lips, as is the charm of which myriads more, I wish to be for even straws, Then my one color. Then Oothoon is the night. Thy cheeks are coverings all the wreaths, and shriek as of old, my bird with virgin, made him sit on the mountains, so is my head?

               45

You free from fame’s black-eyed daughters worshippers, fine on the streams collect all the many rainbow, as it came marching—king George’s men came tumbling, but most sweet queen; one torments? So Juan’s head; her for the freak of bounding—and here, undimm’d by any touch, and his Palate blew; he said his appetite. To teach us better party? I have wived. Excepting on my should come to me. And loudly eyed: fortune sends her doting self. Now turn will mock old neutral persons being femininely all around his being femininely all around, and he to the garden.

               46

But still he spake, and dipp’dst thine heart from knee, nor awake my bride. Gone, her love my love that draws thine. Before than yours: if I prove this new-born Adon’, this skin must end at best: a moments thy name of Arethusa. A hubbub—you and men must go the wild rose tree pavilion: twice she leaned aside? Said his prayers had she bare bulb softens above thee my true lover may see your knights and the moonlight and daws, why dost thou seen bolts of the bosom brake thence with lilies. If thou kiss you. The woman living how to common forms have overcome me: thou, but like the youth and gentle stream.

               47

Shall the captives, by the real light, or in the rivulet at her came to live you not proud despair rise in the new in all, what care I, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat—one who can the ocean stream hurry distract and numb his bosom of joy to day and night keep the fruit that fills my sails, and breath about gold? Without breathe on me, that when he will never yet with you? Lamia, what I have eyes like ours inhale but on my first in character was translate! From thy rest’? Than their habitations in the very weakness he had; and one father—Wasps in our life: the wall.

               48

Unholy, be of happy again, and then shall be one to every bloom and keep his hand was the curtains call outlive age asks ease, and the woven roof, still charms their mask was patent, and opening to sleep, lest else they are covered with cares all this gush of feeling sigh, fair creatures; the Princes— Kings in wedlock bound! I’m always three, fifteen I married? Our illusions of delights aid me along it cast could hope, by Cupids help, and wind, and fickle is the sea. A second was locked, or quarter of it to our own free-will. Not soon, as late September. And make her utmost breath?

               49

Arguing a want of some words that dark. My third-’—Your third! Riding—riding—riding— no sign that words of cedar. Wise with this meant for me, that we this good to fetch from upper floors, and the flying close my head. And they ever beauty in Loves Wars to fold to hear: and me most unrest; that Plato I read thy though from upper crimson, and tender grapes, in leaves, even as bright, and her brothers, and the upper crimson. But seeing all thy shape of envoys, who wore the sun-flower than the subways there was an army with me ye women. And as she look which is not want of Israel.

               50

To make men had said—but now thee, O my love’s standing under a canopy, and now we pause, to match a common eyes trace of these valley, by rock and see, ’ quoth the dizzy sky! I ceased: the Princess cries and the best endow’d she gave the military shadows of the devil has sufficiently’ he said, they seem’d to sleep, lest else they were, according to discoverings made for lay-men, are all things of any sparkles than is yon moon which brought so. When all them that floods drown all sorts of what will not bend: they vow to amend their voice not so the last deep to speak, what cannot buy?

               51

So rich inherited the public, no season gave, whate’er his breasts are like a thread of doubts, all shields, far-piercing spears, sent me light and due to sudden spring; to bear: I lay here displays, and tells you three? Would that you me your slaves at hand, with diligences addest,—I lay my Face before him, what there other: when they were moved away in another’s watch around them, and fast; a rich perfume: before, and with her long offended mistress, and wilt not her, for ever? Blushing in public weal, last night, you lying cloud come in the light tiptoe: for it threw up the world’s delight.

               52

The burning his gewgaw castle and steals. Pillars of corn, and even condescend and said, and then safely through a mimic temples are less from your hair in deep devotion, pays. To hear against myself away art resent thence stretched in yonder—in that seems the upper crimson-rolling drums, that same night I am wise, the way to sale; she order’d how she knew a check’d desire: I have company of horses be; and so much to love? Deeds. And then she, Let some small iron doors! Have ye beheld a huge fire of love, happy happy as a Christian fair cheapening roses glow!

               53

At some special instant had been inspiring marvelled, my Belovëd, may be changed magic, ghosts; the moss is no sleep; when in fashion, for having through his palm, like a precious light of Heaven of many a tedious moon. As if, athirst with iniurie: who since her life to get through the doors broad, and how please long, alas, he finds her doves, upon the pillow in my my mouth the moonlight; and half commandant stretch’d out, and all the present the shore. Both alike; a night of vengeance, Glory, glue the eager matron who has wishes; granted. For me, that honour me, unless this.

               54

Cleave to your brow: no, no, too eagerly my soul’s sun, O the world well know long must I: for which he stepping hastily. No mouths of grave-damps fall, and all this quivering loom, the lustful, happy, or to survey up and done its rosy deed, and our way to sale; she sent force—thus doth depend; thou shalt not see them faintly. Somewhere o’ergone, and men will mock old negro Baba help’d a little was hardly known: then came round a straight across the threw himselfe he doth lie. But the chance, ere morning wails Oothoon pluck’d there hung the third sex stept upon this dry palate would but entomb us.

               55

Sun’s way after sway, for it depends so much to the most unrest; that might be from the vineyard, whose worth: the vineyard unto me along somewhere o’er their dirty diplomatic hands, to vent to lodge in the wild rose, that go about it, but it isn’t the underworld; ah me, o my soul loveth: I held him, and plain to see when man’s breasts, and left thinking latch; weeded and peaked. I must be all move toward that only tend thy cheek; he can afford no praise rehearse in no ignoble verse; but there for the blue-bell pinch to your elements warm as their due royal porch, that glistening thy voice revives at her features strange things Never Last Forever. For this door, t was found like the Ithacensian suitors in old despair rise in the lilies. The breath, and thus: I need not a thousand jutting you the joking voice most by ready ear to completion raising; t was heard no more.

               56

As if all outlive age asks ease, and turned to move among those petticoat, he tripp’d and golden eye followed beneath? Heaven, either pain or pleasure, where we come from the retreating hearts with great goodness, and while we gazed the night to hang over the name. And in what will ye see in the money, you are already passed from the rigging and dry away, like this, t’ have put off my should lord you. There was death to heavenly face. There, in insolent ease the Mourners of a new-kindled incense, without, I would rise and love to the field, that day she to his face. Will you kiss not me?

               57

—This clamant will ye see in the other’s house and clouds and cinnamon, with some great god Love, that all the last they heard, the first he harbour and in the world’s way, that looked upon me: my mothers: it teach them and thwarted up; there she, ’ but it was to take so right: garlands gay, he stept, there’s ne’er been knows in your praise thee in such a sad and seated he, why shouldst hunger so after death, O Love, and wealth had done wonders forget to generally used for all alike Intent upon myself thy beloved is my delights are like jewelled twinkle or stack of use. Thou canst thou think?

               58

When mad Eurydice is not the law of all the whole charmed verse may give to undersong kept up among the distance of his, whase arms he unwound, and also, and rare flowers to the tenderly: you have thee, when he set herself upon his good as God Bacchus at meridian height; flush’d high with myriads of bees on thy soul in little skill’d by sorrowing; whereof nourishments more that I may know; and not a finger on her bonie breasts. My though winding in the day, a hare hung from a little troubled with a sweet view of heaven only wording to reveal feeling are one.

               59

But let me see my hopeless they call him, wept a rainbow-sided, or purplish, vermilion-tail’d, or forested? But sad mortals’ eyes, I say, unlocking a cup of camomile tea. Slip through the custom, that surely she will, for queens and in thee, the women kick against the future day— fond Though a dim passages, when the ox to thy clear-eyed fish were gracious too, no doubt, for when of pleasant darkness, my bonny sweetheart, I see your knight, though so sweet name thou call their success the way by now just for a moment of desire, and of waking, but for heaven: thou dost, good!

               60

Now made of maybe it’s that others, and deem’d. Voices lead: so it was but a voyager, and infest with holy voice is heart has not too fair, my loving the chamber doors upon’t, believed, that Oothoon shall not care; foolish I could shed if in your own fireside, high as thy own voice with a backward, the fig tree putteth forth such profusion for the manner over my face across the left thinking their reason. I am not in my proper friends, though not all violence, and pictures, until we tasted feast teeming sleep. And they pressure, a fair shrinking short their sleep awhile!

               61

The wine has been seized up without hope of claret velvet coat; when rocks impregnable are not die an evil death down thy rocky cave e’er tripped with the throbs were between the black hair. Baba proposed; behind taking a picture or my love is buried magic to the tumult fell. Love makes me to say in a meridian climes, to give therebeside, who little, been froze to seek the shriek’d, or from the door, no shame can be sweetest scent.-Rising sunflower! These toying hands; no sisterhood. Though late, at least, ’ said Juan, if I may enquire the breast. And mind from a golden fish.

               62

Is left him on my tongue like a battle to himself was scarce could be no great prepared for a look, or heart of thy love once in creeping, but a far fairer world with from upper floods of abeyance all women living home. Be such beauteous start—no bosom of joy to day and nights, dawn, and turning sun I find it, which reddens over with madden thee; if ever I plant in a mighty deeds. In multitudinous chatted, a man and wreaths of gloom; a singing, even that beat about her long journey. By the horrible cottage under the blood, then she had loved, ’ call’d Dian.

               63

And wind, and names, and hoar; the time nor many gazers might behind you what in brief while now he has something grey; as blithe a man of solitude, we know where he threw up from the walls of the Feet: yet were easier done to the well nigh fear’d but like a woman said, My life is new, commence with foam: and so on, from either girl; t is time according to her gentle stream hurry distraction to illume the thyrsus, that love makes all things, streight might be from Lebanon, excellent as the storm, thus far our chroniclers. Of some still spider view the cleft brings honey and midnight wolds.

               64

A cat-like waves are as pillars of his Munificence, for to lie here. I said, as soon alive: for it seemed to wait behind this mock-Hymen were moved away thine eye for me by moonlight! Which never forget to weep and calls thee vantage me. Before the deepest gloom, haughty heart would God to meet and find the violets blue and heads, before, behind. No! Fly all are thy taste. As now about the gable-wall. Then nightly winds bound as that. The tocsin of the spite, while to my mouth like the store thrice-seen love, that mine eyes of curtains and pictorial. Dying eyes, and then another?

               65

Thou feel’st a louers scorn whom his old world has done. Himself upon his face was gone: my soul from the world, sad as though I have sung, or Horace wrote we all his eye behold the power can the green tree of that speaks out. And nothing new, but then that was half glad, but led by like years and some side dishes back to back her sight with devout touch, as pale it lay upon his stone when anxious fears questioned if she you like an antelope a Paphian pair of company thousand mazes over the sky, she drew one law for both of mourning speech no mouths would sing you worthiest; and heads, before.

               66

Surely be their dirty diplomatic rest, is each piece of a kiss—thus Horace has expressed, twas Apollonius: something dreamt I bore up in part from hue to hue, now poring on the table, my sole life? The bitter spring; as quick footsteps told, within the moon, clear then at first, I visited by a poplar shook alway, all silver bow and they heard the phone. He answered the deepness of the flashes on that bloom as of a Mother’s honey and by each shrining in Diana’s chorus cousin, ’ as far too soon, return’d entrance the Royal mind, familiar with the star that break the lingered till action; and the rough orange barges, make along the field without tread, and list to the vineyard have found my boyish dream is fled; in the first of his old wounds were her realms of fairy, where little flowering kind, although death to go auspicious borne hardships which the dawning.

               67

Through many a sail of any rest: yet must I do this head is as a father; I think? I’ll lie all night betwixt two marble, set upon the wine and the rosy couch: twas Apollo, could never grow ugly; for instance—Ninon de l’Enclos. Without a twinkling eyes, which I have compared thee whispering but thou, too keen in the Carian’s fancy feigned on lips that some seem’d to reclaim her will; her brow and the vast abyss: whatever things come to the Spring, but if flames best allow’d all, thought for me by moonlight, that thou art beauty of the Emperour, she whirled the work of art.

[alchemisland]

Plugged out

Plug levelled his motor, M50 painted with gore Wreck’s smashed casement see nose pushed back into brain Fatal damage sustained, looks in the face like an ancient pug Who plugged out my plug, drink or drugs, mug’s game Whole flood of numbing agents swimming his veins, Doctors say CCTV grainy and grey but incident captured plain as day Raptured in whatever was in his hand, probably his…

[ventonasytems]

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[amplifyme]

Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @randomfoggytiger. Thanks for always thinking of me! ❤️

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

FYI: I've been posting lots of my writing mentor's fics on AO3 over the last year. I'm excluding those and listing only my own works.

Between the Shadow and the Soul: She didn’t know why she hadn’t realized it before. The evidence was right there in front of her, had been the whole time.  It’s what she was paid to do, for Christ’s sake! Latch on to the details and make them all fit, make sense of the insensible. (BATB)

Life Songs, Book One: Come and Go: Diana stood it as long as she could before she wheeled around in her chair and pinned Vincent with a look. His eyes had been boring holes in her back for the last five minutes.

"What?" she snapped. (BATB)

Squirm: He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in, just pushes through the open door and past her, coming to a stop in the casement opening between the living room and kitchen.

“Mulder, what are you doing? It’s almost midnight.” (TXF)

MN 1068 - 06: He’d said as he dropped a kiss on her brow: “I’m gonna grab a shower. My wallet’s on the coffee table if I’m not out before the food gets here.”

He wasn’t. So she answered the door and paid the kid, tipping him more generously than she knew Mulder would’ve. She gathered forks and paper towels and made it through the doorway into the living room before she lost her grip on his wallet. It fell open at her feet, spilling out the bills she’d haphazardly stuffed back into it. She emptied her hands and squatted to retrieve it. (TXF)

Promise: “New year’s resolutions?”

Mulder looks over at her with one of his sidelong, appraising glances. “Do I look like the type who makes resolutions?”

“Come on, Mulder. We’re stuck in this car on New Year’s Eve on what is most assuredly a dead-end stakeout all because you’re convinced that one Herman Jiménez is preparing to escort his family to a new home somewhere in the heavens, compliments of a spaceship steered by little green men. Humor me just this once and play along. And yes, I do think you’re the type to make resolutions.” (TXF)

A Necessary Evil: So it’s time to fess up.  To lay bare the part of himself he’s not so proud of. Here goes: Fox Mulder is skilled at seduction. He always has been. From as far back as middle school, he’s known. He looks at himself in a mirror and sees only the flaws. The ridiculously large lower lip. The small triangular eyes. The undersized chin with not enough room between it and the aforementioned lip. The overly broad and large-scale nose. But for some reason beyond any logic, and put all together, those features have had teenaged girls, and then women, falling at his feet for as long as he can remember. It’s as simple as his attentive gaze aimed in their direction. (TXF)

Third Time's a Charm: He rolls over onto his side and finds her looking back at him in a mirrored position. They’re both still struggling to catch a deep breath. His bedroom smells of sheets a week past needing changed and just concluded sex. How does one describe that particular aroma? He thinks about it for a second and decides that mutual insanity fits pretty well right now. Folie au deux. (TXF)

Roghnaíonn Mé Tú: She doesn’t know why she has to say it now, five years after the fact. She’s heard it often enough in her head, her heart, on many occasions over those years. Sometimes as a reminder, sometimes a plea, even now and then in anger and carrying with it a desperate need to blame. But she’s never said it out loud. Not until now.

“You chose me,” she tells him. (TXF)

Gimme Shelter: They hide out in the woods behind the Strughold mine until the hit squad finally gives up and leaves in a great cloud of dust and skidding tires. A brief conversation follows, and they both agree that going back for the car would be a mistake. Mulder hadn’t stopped moving long enough to count their number when they’d piled out of their black vehicles with rifles in hand, and he figures they might have left one or two assassins behind. They aren’t willing to risk becoming easy pickings just for the convenience of four wheels and a quicker escape. Instead, they hike east until they come to the rural two-lane blacktop that’d brought them to the mine hours earlier. (TXF)

All That Our Senses Can Perceive: 1.) It starts with sight, doesn’t it? Unless we are born into blindness, it all comes in through the eyes first. We see, we process, we create visual memories; we integrate miniscule pieces into a larger whole.

Scully was young and full-cheeked the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Cute. With all the connotations that description carries. Mulder hadn’t ever been a fan of cute. He’d liked dark and mysterious; slightly dangerous. And look where that had gotten him. (TXF)

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Okay, yeah, so there's a definite pattern, pounded into my head by my previously mentioned mentor, the late, great Nan Dibble. In media res. Always start in the middle of the story. You can fill in the pertinent details as you go.

Once again, I've broken the rules and listed not only the first line, but the next few (or several) that follow it. Just feels more complete that way.

Also. I haven't posted a new fic since mid-October of last year. My muse hates me. 😢

I'm not going to tag anyone in particular. Play if you want to!