#she warned and censured about the direction it seemed to be going

[fideidefenswhore]

'AB should have stayed on cromwell's good side and supported his policy, which she believed unduly favoured those of the realm who were already wealthy and would disadvantage the poor'...........you are not serious people.

[newstfionline]

Monday, January 18, 2021

Post Trump, Republicans Are Headed for a Bitter Internal Showdown (NYT) As President Trump prepares to leave office with his party in disarray, Republican leaders including Senator Mitch McConnell are maneuvering to thwart his grip on the G.O.P. in future elections, while forces aligned with Mr. Trump are looking to punish Republican lawmakers and governors who have broken with him. The friction is already escalating in several key swing states. They include Arizona, where Trump-aligned activists are seeking to censure the Republican governor they deem insufficiently loyal to the president, and Georgia, where a hard-right faction wants to defeat the current governor in a primary election.

The wrong ID (Washington Post) As a violent mob stormed the U.S. Capitol, retired Chicago firefighter David Quintavalle was about 700 miles away, shopping at an Aldi grocery store for the final ingredients for his wife’s birthday dinner. The 63-year-old’s mind was on the menu—filet mignon and lobster—and not insurrection. But a man resembling Quintavalle with salt-and-pepper hair and a “CFD”-labeled beanie was among the rioters. In a video, the man pelted police with a fire extinguisher, striking at least one officer. In the days following the attack, Internet sleuths who have hunted down those who participated in the Jan. 6 riot mistook the man for Quintavalle. Soon, people were calling Quintavalle’s cell and home phone, harassing his son, a Chicago police officer with the same name, and lurking outside Quintavalle’s home. Online amateur investigators have identified and shared information on social media about people in photos and videos at the Capitol, leading to a portion of the more than 100,000 tips submitted to the FBI. The hurried pace of new information has also increased the dissemination of incorrect names and targeting the wrong people. The victims of such false accusations include martial artist and actor Chuck Norris. A photo circulated online of his doppelganger among those storming the Capitol. The baseless speculation was shot down by his manager. Federal authorities allege the man who threw the fire extinguisher is Robert Lee Sanford Jr., 55, a recently retired firefighter from Chester, Pa. But Quintavalle still receives hateful calls and messages calling him a “murder” and “terrorist.” A police officer is stationed outside Quintavalle’s home for his safety.

Pre-inauguration jitters (Washington Post) The nation is holding its breath as state capitals around the country brace for possible violence in the coming days. State officials are activating National Guard troops and closing off Capitol grounds in response to F.B.I. warnings that armed protesters and far-right groups are preparing to act in the days leading up to President-elect Joe Biden’s inauguration on Wednesday. Law enforcement officials are vetting hundreds of potential airplane passengers and beefing up airport security. Federal officials say a militarized “green zone” in downtown Washington is necessary to prevent an attack from domestic extremists. Because of security concerns and the pandemic, Inauguration Day will be more subdued than usual.

U.S. pundits keep comparing Washington to a war zone. People who know war disagree. (Washington Post) A massive security operation is underway in Washington ahead of President-elect Biden’s inauguration on Wednesday, two weeks after a pro-Trump mob stormed the Capitol. As images of National Guard troops circulate online, some in the United States have compared the capital to a war zone. The commentary has drawn pushback from people who have lived or worked in areas actually beset by conflict, who say such remarks are misleading and trivializes the reality of war. “It’s extremely degrading to people who have actually lived through war and foreign occupation and have actually seen tanks rolling down their streets and foreign soldiers occupying their land or their own soldiers deployed against them,” said Jasmine el-Gamal, a former Pentagon adviser who worked in Iraq as a translator following the U.S. invasion in 2003. “That’s a conflict situation. That’s a war zone.” Faysal Itani, an adjunct professor of Middle East politics at George Washington University, called conditions in Washington “qualitatively different” from conflicts in places like Lebanon, where he is from, and elsewhere in the Middle East. Americans, Itani said, often view their country in one of two modes: “It’s either a pristine place … that somehow functions according to different rules” than the rest of the world, “or it turns out it’s imperfect and we’re back in Baghdad.”

Biden Seeks Quick Start With Executive Actions and Aggressive Legislation (NYT) President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr., inheriting a collection of crises unlike any in generations, plans to open his administration with dozens of executive directives on top of expansive legislative proposals in a 10-day blitz. Mr. Biden’s team has developed a raft of decrees that he can issue on his own authority after the inauguration on Wednesday to begin reversing some of President Trump’s most hotly disputed policies. On his first day in office alone, Mr. Biden intends a flurry of executive orders that will be partly substantive and partly symbolic. They include rescinding the travel ban on several predominantly Muslim countries, rejoining the Paris climate change accord, extending pandemic-related limits on evictions and student loan payments, issuing a mask mandate for federal property and interstate travel and ordering agencies to figure out how to reunite children separated from families after crossing the border. The blueprint of executive action comes after Mr. Biden announced that he will push Congress to pass a $1.9 trillion package of economic stimulus and pandemic relief, signaling a willingness to be aggressive on policy issues.

Leaders in Mexico and Poland look to curb power of social media giants after Trump bans (Washington Post) In the aftermath of President Trump’s banishment from social media platforms, including Facebook and Twitter, a handful of world leaders have expressed alarm over the power of private companies to decide if and when to ban elected leaders from key parts of the public arena. At least two ruling governments—on the left wing in Mexico and the right in Poland—have since suggested pursuing policies to prevent what happened to Trump. In Mexico, President Andrés Manuel López Obrador said Thursday in a daily briefing shared on social media that his government would reach out to other G-20 nations to seek a joint proposal on such bans, which he compared to the “Spanish Inquisition.” In Poland, meanwhile, the conservative-led government is pushing a draft “Freedom of Speech” law, first announced last month, that would regulate speech restrictions on social media. Without mentioning Trump, Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki likened the power of the social media companies to state control in the country during the Communist era. Sebastian Kaleta, Poland’s deputy minister of justice, said in an interview this week that the Trump bans “could even be called censorship.”

Mexico’s female vigilantes (NY Post) The Michoacan area of Mexico has gotten so lawless, a band of female vigilantes are taking it upon themselves to protect their friends and family. The state, which is the world’s largest supplier of avocados and limes, has recently been overrun by the violent Jalisco drug cartel that hail from the neighboring state and so the women are fighting back, according to The Associated Press. The women carry assault rifles and post roadblocks, often while pregnant or carrying small children with them, to combat the growing homicide levels, which have skyrocketed since 2013. The majority of the women have lost family members to the cartel, like Blanco Nava who told the AP her son Freddy Barrios, a 29-year old lime picker, was kidnapped by presumed Jalisco cartel gunmen in pickup trucks; she has never heard from him since. “We are going to defend those we have left, the children we have left, with our lives. We women are tired of seeing our children, our families disappear. They take our sons, they take our daughters, our relatives, our husbands.” It is left to the women to fight as most men are being carted away to work for the cartels (willingly or not). The vigilantes say they have to resort to these tactics as the government and police fail to do so.

Guatemala cracks down on migrant caravan bound for United States (Reuters) Guatemalan authorities on Saturday escalated efforts to stop thousands of Hondurans, many of them families with children, traveling in a migrant caravan bound for the United States just as a new administration is about to enter the White House. Between 7,000 and 8,000 migrants have entered Guatemala since Friday, according to Guatemala’s immigration authority, fleeing poverty and violence in a region battered by the pandemic and back-to-back hurricanes in November. Videos seen by Reuters showed Guatemalan security forces clashing with a group of hundreds of migrants who managed to break through a police blockade at the village of Vado Hondo, near Chiquimula in eastern Guatemala. Between Friday and Saturday, Guatemala had sent back almost 1,000 migrants entering from Honduras, the government said, as the caravan moved towards Mexico.

England Isn’t Listening to Johnson’s Lockdown Orders Any More (Bloomberg) People across England are about to be hit with a deluge of new government adverts on television, radio and social media containing one blunt demand: Stay at home. It’s a familiar message—and that may be why the public seems to be shrugging it off. The data shows Britons are far more active during the current third national lockdown than when the first emergency “stay at home” order was given last spring. There’s more traffic on the roads, more people on trains and more shoppers making trips out. The picture is not unique to the U.K. Elsewhere in Europe, people have grown tired of wave after wave of restrictions. What makes England different is that even from the start, the messaging was mixed from a government that was reluctant to curb people’s liberties. In Spain and Italy, which imposed harsh lockdowns from the beginning, entire families became accustomed to living with life-altering restrictions. In Madrid and Milan, everyone wears a mask outside, and children must wear them at school. In London, face coverings outdoors are still optional. But in recent surveys people insist they are still following the rules. Stephen Reicher, a U.K. government adviser and professor of social psychology at the University of St Andrews, dismissed the concept of lockdown “fatigue” as a way for the authorities to shift the blame onto the public.

Switzerland to Hold Referendum on Covid-19 Lockdown (WSJ) Switzerland’s system of direct democracy will be put to the test again later this year, this time with a referendum on whether to roll back the government’s powers to impose lockdowns and other measures to slow the Covid-19 pandemic. The landlocked Alpine nation of 8.5 million people is unusual in providing its people a say on important policy moves by offering referendums if enough people sign a petition for a vote. Last year, Swiss voted on increasing the stock of low-cost housing, tax allowances for children and hunting wolves. The idea is to provide citizens a check on the power of the federal government, and it is a throwback to the fiercely independent patchwork of cantons, or districts, that were meshed in the medieval period. Now, the country is set for a referendum on whether to remove the government’s legal authority to order lockdowns and other pandemic restrictions after campaigners submitted a petition of some 86,000 signatures this week—higher than the 50,000 required—triggering a nationwide vote to repeal last year’s Covid-19 Act. The ballot could come as soon as June, and it appears set to mirror disputes in the U.S. and elsewhere over how far governments should go to limit social interactions in a pandemic—or whether to lock down at all.

Gunmen kill two female Supreme Court judges in Afghanistan (Reuters) Unidentified gunmen killed two female judges from Afghanistan’s Supreme Court on Sunday morning, police said, adding to a wave of assassinations in Kabul and other cities while government and Taliban representatives have been holding peace talks in Qatar. Government officials, journalists, and activists have been targeted in recent months, stoking fear particularly in the capital Kabul. The Taliban has denied involvement in some of the attacks, but has said its fighters would continue to “eliminate” important government figures, though not journalists or civil society members.

Israel OKs hundreds of settlement homes in last-minute push (AP) Israeli authorities on Sunday advanced plans to build an additional 780 homes in West Bank settlements, an anti-settlement monitoring group said, in a last-minute surge of approvals before the friendly Trump administration leaves office later this week. Peace Now said that over 90% of the homes lay deep inside the West Bank, which the Palestinians seek as the heartland of a future independent state, and over 200 homes were located in unauthorized outposts that the government had decided to legalize. Israel has stepped up settlement construction during President Donald Trump’s term. According to Peace Now, Israel approved or advanced construction of over 12,000 settlement homes in 2020, the highest number in a single year since it began recording statistics in 2012.

Starvation haunts Ethiopia’s Tigray (AP) From “emaciated” refugees to crops burned on the brink of harvest, starvation threatens the survivors of more than two months of fighting in Ethiopia’s Tigray region. The first humanitarian workers to arrive after pleading with the Ethiopian government for access describe weakened children dying from diarrhea after drinking from rivers. Shops were looted or depleted weeks ago. A local official told a Jan. 1 crisis meeting of government and aid workers that hungry people had asked for “a single biscuit.” More than 4.5 million people, nearly the region’s entire population, need emergency food, participants say. At their next meeting on Jan. 8, a Tigray administrator warned that without aid, “hundreds of thousands might starve to death” and some already had, according to minutes obtained by The Associated Press. “There is an extreme urgent need—I don’t know what more words in English to use—to rapidly scale up the humanitarian response because the population is dying every day as we speak,” Mari Carmen Vinoles, head of the emergency unit for Doctors Without Borders, told the AP.

Children’s Screen Time Has Soared in the Pandemic, Alarming Parents and Researchers (NYT) Nearly a year into the coronavirus pandemic, parents across the country—and the world—are watching their children slide down an increasingly slippery path into an all-consuming digital life. When the outbreak hit, many parents relaxed restrictions on screens as a stopgap way to keep frustrated, restless children entertained and engaged. But, often, remaining limits have vaporized as computers, tablets and phones became the centerpiece of school and social life, and weeks of stay-at-home rules bled into nearly a year. The situation is alarming parents, and scientists too. “There will be a period of epic withdrawal,” said Keith Humphreys, a professor of psychology at Stanford University, an addiction expert and a former senior adviser to President Barack Obama on drug policy. It will, he said, require young people to “sustain attention in normal interactions without getting a reward hit every few seconds.” Scientists say that children’s brains, well through adolescence, are considered “plastic,” meaning they can adapt and shift to changing circumstances. That could help younger people again find satisfaction in an offline world but it becomes harder the longer they immerse in rapid-fire digital stimulation.

[ghostofviperwrites]

Dessert

Requested by: @littlemissvillanous

Pairing:  Marty Scurll/FC/Adam Page

Category:  Smut

Warnings:  Threesome; language

67.          I’m not saying I want a threesome, but I’m not opposed to it

Marty Scurll.  It still sent a thrill through you to think his name.   To think that he was yours. It always brought a goofy smile to your face.  You watched him laughing and talking with the Being the Elite cast while lacing up your boots.  Your eyes drifted over to Adam Page who was standing next to Marty, just in time for Marty to catch you making him shake his head and smile at you as you shrugged.  Marty was well aware of your infatuation with Adam Page.  Or at least with his looks.  Personality wise you and he didn’t mesh very well, but damn if he wasn’t nice to look at.  The light to Marty’s dark.   It wasn’t like the two of you didn’t like each other, but you were never going to be best friends.  You got along and that was all that mattered to Marty. 

A month passed by.  Your relationship with Marty was going very well and the two of you had started discussing the possibility of moving in together.  It made sense you were either at your place or his every night anyways.   Why pay rent for two places when one would suffice? 

Having just finished a show for the night the entire group was trying to decide where to stop for food.  Of course Matt and Nick immediately voted for Cracker Barrel with Cody and Brandi quickly agreeing.   You exchanged a look with Marty before declaring you couldn’t possibly stomach another Cracker Barrel meal for at least a week.  That seemed to be the only place they would ever eat and honestly you were tired of it. 

Adam ended up coming along with you and Marty opting out of Cracker Barrel as well.  The three of you ended up in a little corner diner across the street from your hotel.  The three of you sat talking long after your plates were empty, you leaning back against Marty’s chest as he rested in the corner of the booth.   Shifting in the seat your skirt rode up your thighs, dangerously closely to revealing your panties and you caught Adam looking. 

“Like what you see cowboy?”  You asked with a smirk, making him blush and quickly look away.

“Sorry,” he muttered looking everywhere but at you and Marty. 

“Quit teasing the poor lad, Y/N.”  Marty chuckled giving you a poke in the ribs.  “You’re turning him all red.” 

You gave an unrepentant shrug smiling cheekily.

“I’d say I’m sorry but I’m really not. He’s just so cute when he’s all red and flustered.”   You giggled.  It was all fun and games, but you couldn’t help but nonchalantly spread your legs just a bit while looking innocently at the dessert menu sure you were giving Adam a nice eyeful of your red lacy panties.  

The three of you walked back to the hotel room your head resting on Marty’s chest with his arm over your shoulders.   All three of your sleep schedules were all messed up due to time zone changes so none of you were tired.  Marty suggested Adam come up to your room for a movie.  He agreed stopping off in his hotel room for a shower and to change while you and Marty continued up to your floor.

“So you’ve got a bit of a thing for Page do ya?”  Marty asked as he stripped off his clothes and changed into a pair of athletic shorts.

“What?” You asked spinning quickly to face him. “I do not.  What are you talking about?”  You could feel your cheeks turning red as your boyfriend told you how he had definitely noticed your teasing of Adam.

“Bet he loved those littles panties of yours.” Marty said with a smirk.  “I know I do.”  

“I was just playing Marty, I’m sorry.”  You said feeling bad now that you realized your boyfriend had seen your antics. 

“It’s alright love.  I don’t mind ya flirtin’ with him.”  He said turning away and digging in his suitcase.  “Is….uh… a threesome something you want?”   You could see Marty was blushing as well, the red flush creeping up the back of his neck as he pretended to search for something in his bag.

“I don’t know.”  You mumbled pulling your cami nightgown over your head.  “Do you?”  You peeked a glance over your shoulder seeing Marty shrug.

“I’m not saying I want a threesome, but I’m not opposed to it,” Marty said.  “I mean if you wanted to have a go with me and Adam I think that could be fun.” 

You sat down on the edge of the bed giving it real thought for the first time.  Sure you had flirted with him, but you hadn’t really thought there was a possibility of anything happening.  You had to admit that having the attentions of two gorgeous men on you did sound very tempting.  

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it either.”  You said glancing up to meet Marty’s eyes, grateful to see no censure in his gaze.  In fact he looked rather excited.  

“So I guess if Adam is into it, we go for it?”  Marty asked and you nodded a smile coming to your face. 

When Adam arrived you plopped yourself in the middle of the bed, patting either side of you for the boys to sit as you settled in to watch the movie.   It was only a few minutes in when Marty’s hand settled on your bare thigh, his fingers drumming and playing with the hem of your nightie.  When he dipped it in between your thighs you couldn’t help but hum in pleasure catching Adam’s attention.  His eyes widened as he saw Marty’s hand between your thighs and he quickly shifted his attention back to the TV screen. 

You definitely weren’t expecting Marty to go all in so fast, so when his fingers pushed right under your panties and inside your pussy you couldn’t contain your moan.  Adam shifted beside you and you couldn’t stop from looking at his groin seeing a telltale bulge starting to form beneath his sweats.

“Yeah, I should…I should probably go.”  Adam said. “You two look like you want to be alone.”  He started to slide off the bed, stopping when your hand landed on his thigh. 

“You don’t have to go Adam.”  You said looking into his eyes.  “You could stay and play with me.” 

Adam quickly jerked his eyes to Marty who hadn’t stopped fingering you.  Marty met his friend’s questioning eyes with a nod. 

“Do you want to help me fuck her?”  Marty asked pushing your nightgown up and revealing the red panties you had been wearing earlier.  “I know she was teasing you with these earlier.  You can get some payback.” 

Adam reached out a hesitant hand, brushing his fingers over the red lace just above Marty’s fingers. 

“She was being a damn tease.”  Adam said his eyes meeting yours and you smiled giving a small shrug of your shoulders. 

“I am a bit of a tease.”  You admitted.  “But I always make up for it in the end, don’t I Marty?”  Marty responded in the affirmative pulling his fingers from your pussy much to your disappointment before he directed you to get undressed. 

In seconds the three of you were naked and you took your time to admire Adam’s body, running your fingertips over his chest and down the tip of his cock which jumped under your touch.

“All fours love.  I’m gonna eat your pussy while you suck Adam.”  Marty said and you quickly got in position kneeling above Marty’s face as Adam moved to stand at the end of the bed.  

It was hard to focus on Adam with Marty’s tongue licking your slit, but you did the best you could sucking him into your mouth and caressing him with your tongue as you bobbed up and down his length with Adam’s fingers holding onto your hair.  

Soon he took over your movements, bucking his hips against your lips and using your throat fast and hard as Marty buried his tongue inside you making you cum with a scream around Adam’s cock.  Then you were pulled off Adam, flipped around to suck Marty as Adam lined his cock up with your pussy.  You clenched around him as he entered, taking Marty into your mouth and sucking him hard as Adam thrust into you. 

Sweat slicked your skin as the two men used you, your hips bouncing back at Adam as Marty fucked your mouth, before long both of them came with loud grunts, your sated bodies collapsing together on the bed. 

“Well that was fun.” You said after a few minutes of silence filled with heavy breathing. 

“Definitely have to do that again.” Marty agreed chuckling as Adam nodded, not moving from where his head had come to rest on the small of your back while your head lay on Marty’s thigh. 

“Next time warn a guy before you spring a threesome on him.” Adam mumbled making the three of you laugh.   “Almost gave me a heart attack.”

[werewolves-are-real]

Hello! if it isn't too much to ask, can you share a short snippet of whatever you're currently working on? I am particularly fond of your Temeraire fic, but anything would be good - I am enjoying your latest immensely, although Star Trek is not my fandom.

:) Thank you! It’s always nice to hear people enjoy the writing.

I’m having a lot of fun writing more Star Trek - it’s nice to write something different. It seems like I only talk about Temeraire these days, ha, so I included excerpts from a Temeraire fic *and* a Star Trek fic below

The Temeraire snippet is from a fic where things... escalate at the start of book 2, The Star Trek fic is from an old, old WIP I never posted, where I wanted to address the way the crew (and especially McCoy) tend to criticize Spock’s heritage. It’s old and.. not so great, but I like pieces of it, so I’m considering rewriting it (once I’m done with other fics, hopefully)

(Temeraire)

Laurencewakens slowly after the battle. The last thing he remembers is thefighting; Temeraire was flying, the boarders had been repelled, andthen a Petit Chevalier was falling upon them...

“Sir,”says Mr. Allen. “Are you awake? Do not try to rise, please.”

Ignoringthis, Laurence levers himself up with an elbow. He looks around;Digby and Allen are crouched around him, each holding a hand over thehilts of their swords. The three of them are behind the bend ofTemeraire's leg, and in the distance Laurence can hear an argument.

“Iswear to you,” Admiral Barham's voice rings out, “If CaptainLaurence resists we will use force...”

“Goodgod, man, shut up,” Granby snaps. Laurence winces in mortification;the lieutenant will get himself booted from the service, using thatkind of language against an admiral. “Captain Laurence is injured,and you must wait to see him.”

ButBarham's threat has already roused Temeraire. Above them theCelestial lowers his head, snarling. His ruff is blood-streaked andgory from the battle; with his teeth bared he looks savage.

Barhamroars, “You will control that beast, Lieutenant! All of you willstand down, or we will take action - “

“No,Sir,” Granby snaps. “No farther, not one damned step. Temeraire,if these men make ready you may knock them down.”

Thatis too far. Laurence struggles to his feet, ignoring Digby's objects.“Help me up,” he snaps, when Allen insists on waiting for thesurgeon. “I must speak with the admiral.'

Reluctantly,they support him from under the protective shadow of Temeraire's leg.Barham scowls tremendously as soon as he appears.

“Thereyou are,” he says. Granby looks furious. “Did you think you couldhide here like a coward? You are under arrest, and if you prevaricateany more than by god I will have the Sergeant shoot you.” Hegestures to a nearby officer, who reluctantly levels a gun inLaurence's direction, flinching under the weight of Temeraire'sgrowl. “And stand down that animal, at once!”

“Iwill not stand down,” Temeraire says. “And you are not comingnear Laurence, not at all.”

Temeraireraises a claw. At the same moment Granby makes a quick gesture.Immediately the nearest aviators jump behind Granby, forming a line.They start to raise their rifles.

Ashot rings out.

Laurenceslides to the ground, startled. Granby shouts. More gunshots.Temeraire roars – loud enough to rattle his bones – and above thetreeline, at the edge of the clearing, Maximus suddenly looms up. Hepeers over with alarm, alerted by the commotion. All over the covertother dragons rise to look their way too.

“CaptainLaurence!” Digby cries. His hands are covered in blood, and hepushes futilely at Laurence's side. Laurence stares at him, thenlooks down. His jacket is soaked and red.

Laurencerealizes that Allen is holding him by the shoulders, bearing all hisweight.

He'sbeen shot.

“Oh,hell,” Laurence says aloud, and knows nothing more.

______________________________

It'snight when Laurence awakens. He looks up at the star-studded sky,trying in vain to remember the name for the little cluster of lightsabove his head. He's lying atop Temeraire and recognizes the scalesbeneath himself without any issue; maybe this is why it takes him toolong to remember the shooting, and Barham's yells, and the screams.

Laurencetries to stand.

“Oh,there you are,” says Mr. Allen. “Please do not get up, Sir, notagain. Roland, can you tell the lieutenant he's awake?”

Emilyscuttles away. Looking around, Laurence sees that for some reasonhe's resting in a a jumble of blankets and medical-supplies atopTemeraire's back. He becomes aware of people speaking in thedistance; then they cut off, abruptly, and under him Temeraire jolts.“Laurence!” the dragon cries. “Are you well?”

“Yes,my dear,” Laurence lies. His leg is throbbing in time with hisheart, and Laurence doesn't think he could stand,even if Allen let him try; the wound in his side makes him feelqueerly like he could snap in half if he made any wrong movement.“What has happened?”

“Well,I killed that awful admiral,” Temeraire explains. “So now we areall rebelling, but everyone is arguing about how to do it, eventhough I'm not sure how anyone would fight us.”

Laurencestares at him helplessly for a moment. Then he manages to prophimself on one elbow, looking around.

Thereare other dragons crowded into Temeraire clearing; more have sweptaway the trees to combine their space with that of Maximus. There aredragons coiled atop one another, heavy-weights on the bottom withclusters of Yellow-Reapers and Longwings and Bright Coppers clingingto their backs. And in between the dragons are the crews, andservants from all over, with a group of men and women wearingcaptain's-bars standing in a semi-circle before Temeraire.

Andeveryone is craning to look at Laurence.

Laurencedoes not immediately give speech to his dawning horror; Granbyscrambles up Temeraire's side, looking profoundly relieved. There's astreak of blood across his forehead; he doesn't seem to notice. “Sir.I'm glad you're awake – should we call the surgeon?”

“Forgetthe damn doctor,” says Laurence. “What the devil happened?”

(Star Trek)

McCoy has now been aboard for fourteen days, or two Terran weeks.Spock is well aware that his own interactions with the doctor couldbe interpreted as increasingly hostile. He feels no need to censurehimself. If he cannot risk reporting the doctor or properlyreprimanding him, he at least refuses to meekly submit to the man'sslurs. He has survived worse, and he will not give this human thepleasure of victory.

To this end he continues to verbally spar with the man, but howevermuch he makes the doctor sputter and grumble the man always comesback. And however efficiently and logically Spock can cut him down,humans do not much appreciate logic. Officers who watch theirarguments continually express amusement, and this rankles worse thanthe man himself.

After one too many incidents of open disrespect that leave hisscience department highly amused at his expense, Spock resolves tofinally reprimand the irrepressible doctor when he next acts in a wayunfitting a Starfleet officer. Public humiliation is never pleasant,but he is long past the point of having to tolerate racism. McCoyshows every sign of staying aboard for a long while, and Spock willnot let this situation continue.

Then the captain develops Vegan Choriomeningitis.

There is little warning when it happens. The bridge is quiet andcalm, officers moving with easy efficiency. It's only the second hourafter the shift's beginning - late enough for the officers to haveproperly woken, and early enough that everyone is still energized.Except, unusually enough, for the captain.

Spock notices the captain's blinking eyes and the quick, painedgestures he makes to his head. A headache, obviously, but these arefairly frequent among humans. Not a matter of much concern, howeverunpleasant. The captain seems tired as well, but he assumes this is aside-effect.

When Yeoman Tracey hands the captain a requisitions form, though,the man just seems puzzled. Instead of skimming and signing thedocument, he stares at it blankly for some two minutes, Traceystanding awkwardly by his side.

No one else seems to notice, but Spock keeps his attention on theentirety of the bridge. So he hears Tracey hesitantly ask, “Issomething the matter, Sir?” and turns just in time to see thecaptain crumple to the floor.

“Send for a medical team,” Spock snaps efficiently before Uhuracan even turn to see the source of the noise. Jumping, she quicklycomplies.

Spockwaves off the frantic yeoman impatiently, checking the captain'scondition with quick, careful fingers. His skin is significantlyhotter than normal for a human - 39ºC (102.2ºF)- but he seems not to have injured his head in the fall, which isgood. The man's pulse is a rapid flutter, but weak. Spock tilts hishead. The captain must have realized he was sick, and ignored it, tohave come to this state. Illogical.

The door slides open, and in a whiskof blue uniforms and terse orders McCoy takes Kirk straight toSickbay.

______________________________

The whole ship gains a certain tensionwhen the captain is in sickbay. Spock also finds, unpleasantly, thatmore eyes watch him. People want assurance that they are underadequate leadership. Spock wonders if people are comforted by hisdirection. He doubts it.

When the immediate crisis will likelybe over, and the doctor thus free to speak, Spock hands the con toSulu and makes for the infirmary.

“Took you long enough,” McCoysnaps at the sight of him.

Spock doesn't bother with a rebuttal.“Report on the captain's condition.”

Face darkening, a scowl on his face,McCoy complies. “It's not good. Vegan Choriomeningitis. Damn thinghas a high enough fatality rate as is, and Jim, the idiot, has let itgo on much longer than advisable.”

Spock nods. “To my understanding,Vegan choriomeningitis is fatal if left untreated within 24 hours.”

“I can't tell when he picked it up -the incubation period is unpredictable. All we can do at this pointis treat him and hope for the best.”

Spock considers the situation, andsays honestly, “Given the captain's nature, it is quite possible hehas been suffering for far longer than twenty-four hours. Death islikely.”

From what he knows of the captain'snature this is true. Indeed, had Kirk not collapsed on the bridge helikely would have struggled through the entire shift, though Spockknows that this particular disease causes extreme pain in the musclesand extremities. He is an admirably determined man - but, in thiscase, sadly misguided. His death will be... truly regrettable.

But McCoy seems suddenly angry.

“Damn it, man, do have a heart atall?” He bursts.

Spock blinks, wondering at thenon-sequitur. “I fail to see how my physiology is relevant to thepresent situation,” he says, honestly puzzled.  McCoy's sole focusshould be on the captain.

The doctor seems, if anything, evenmore furious. “I'm not in the mood for your damn logic, and I don'tknow what Jim sees in you. A computer has more feelings than aVulcan!”

This being said, McCoy dramaticallystomps into his office, leaving Spock blinking and perplexed in themain portion of Sickbay.

So, with little else to do, Spockleaves.

_______________________________

Later, this is what Spock learns;

Kirk goes into a critical state. Hisbody starts to overheat from the disease, and inflammation to thebrain causes him to have a seizure. After he is stabilized, McCoythrows caution to the wind and tries an experimental drug regimen -dangerous, untried, and wholly inadvisable by every tenet of logic.

It also works.

Quickly, asa matter of fact. The nurses and some biologists talk about theincredible benefit this will bring to the medical community; everyoneelse is just glad to hear that the captain is awake and talking lessthan a day after his collapse.

He is, of course,also tired. Spock assesses the captain's condition when he visits himin Sickbay. Kirk seems to have grown more pale during his shortillness. His face shines with sweat, his hair limp and lifeless. Hismovements are slow and fatigued, made only with great effort. But heseems relieved.

“It was close.And not a pleasant experience.”

“As you nearlydied, I would not expect it to be.”

Kirk smilesweakly. “Oh, not just the pain. Though that wasn't fun. I gotdelirious at the end.”

“That is acommon symptom of the disease,” Spock consoles.

“Whichisn't much of a comfort when you've rambled out all your secrets.”Kirk gives an embarrassed laugh. “I'm just glad it wasBones,” he says. “I trust him, you know? The things I said...”He shakes his head. “Anyway, he said to stop by sickbayimmediately, in the future,if I'm feeling off. What a pain; do you know how often this job givesme a headache?” He shakes his head. “But, I can deal with it forBones. Only for him! I'm not typically a fan of doctors - I'm glad Iconvinced him to come aboard.”

“It is indeedfortunate,” Spock murmurs, trying not to imagine this man dead.

Soon afterwardKirk drifts into sleep. And Spock, reluctantly, resigns himself totolerating Leonard McCoy for so long as he can safeguard thecaptain's health.

[quote-bomber]

Introduction to the Book of Job

by G.K. Chesterton

The book of Job is among the other Old Testament books both a philosophical riddle and a historical riddle. It is the philosophical riddle that concerns us in such an introduction as this; so we may dismiss first the few words of general explanation or warning which should be said about the historical aspect. Controversy has long raged about which parts of this epic belong to its original scheme and which are interpolations of considerably later date. The doctors disagree, as it is the business of doctors to do; but upon the whole the trend of investigation has always been in the direction of maintaining that the parts interpolated, if any, were the prose prologue and epilogue, and possibly the speech of the young man who comes in with an apology at the end. I do not profess to be competent to decide such questions.

But whatever decision the reader may come to concerning them, there is a general truth to be remembered in this connection. When you deal with any ancient artistic creation, do not suppose that it is anything against it that it grew gradually. The book of Job may have grown gradually just as Westminster Abbey grew gradually. But the people who made the old folk poetry, like the people who made Westminster Abbey, did not attach that importance to the actual date and the actual author, that importance which is entirely the creation of the almost insane individualism of modern times. We may put aside the case of Job, as one complicated with religious difficulties, and take any other, say the case of the Iliad. Many people have maintained the characteristic formula of modern skepticism, that Homer was not written by Homer, but by another person of the same name. Just in the same way many have maintained that Moses was not Moses but another person called Moses. But the thing really to be remembered in the matter of the Iliad is that if other people did interpolate the passages, the thing did not create the same sense of shock as would be created by such proceedings in these individualistic times. The creation of the tribal epic was to some extent regarded as a tribal work, like the building of the tribal temple. Believe then, if you will, that the prologue of Job and the epilogue and the speech of Elihu are things inserted after the original work was composed. But do not suppose that such insertions have that obvious and spurious character which would belong to any insertions in a modern, individualistic book . . .

Without going into questions of unity as understood by the scholars, we may say of the scholarly riddle that the book has unity in the sense that all great traditional creations have unity; in the sense that Canterbury Cathedral has unity. And the same is broadly true of what I have called the philosophical riddle. There is a real sense in which the book of Job stands apart from most of the books included in the canon of the Old Testament. But here again those are wrong who insist on the entire absence of unity. Those are wrong who maintain that the Old Testament is a mere loose library; that it has no consistency or aim. Whether the result was achieved by some supernal sprirtual truth, or by a steady national tradition, or merely by an ingenious selection in aftertimes, the books of the Old Testament have a quite perceptible unity. . .

The central idea of the great part of the Old Testament may be called the idea of the loneliness of God. God is not the only chief character of the Old Testament; God is properly the only character in the Old Testament. Compared with His clearness of purpose, all the other wills are heavy and automatic, like those of animals; compared with His actuality, all the sons of flesh are shadows. Again and again the note is struck, “With whom hath He taken counsel?” (Isa. 40:14). “I have trodden the winepress alone, and of the peoples there was no man with me” (Isa. 63:3). All the patriarchs and prophets are merely His tools or weapons; for the Lord is a man of war. He uses Joshua like an axe or Moses like a measuring rod. For Him, Samson, is only a sword and Isaiah a trumpet. The saints of Christianity are supposed to be like God, to be, as it were, little statuettes of Him. The Old Testament hero is no more supposed to be of the same nature as God than a saw or a hammer is supposed to be of the same shape as the carpenter. This is the main key and characteristic of Hebrew scriptures as a whole. There are, indeed, in those scriptures innumerable instances of the sort of rugged humor, keen emotion, and powerful individuality which is never wanting in great primitive prose and poetry. Nevertheless the main characteristic remains: the sense not merely that God is stronger than man, not merely that God is more secret than man, but that He means more, that He knows better what He is doing, that compared with Him we have something of the vagueness, the unreason, and the vagrancy of the beasts that perish. “It is He that sitteth above the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers” (Isa.40:22). We might almost put it thus. The book is so intent upon asserting the personality of God that it almost asserts the impersonality of man. Unless this gigantic cosmic brain has conceived a thing, that thing is insecure and void; man has not enough tenacity to ensure its continuance. “Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it. Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain” (Ps. 127:1).

Everywhere else, then, the Old Testament positively rejoices in the obliteration of man in comparison with the divine purpose. The book of Job stands definitely alone because the book of Job definitely asks, “But what is the purpose of God? Is it worth the sacrifice even of our miserable humanity? Of course, it is easy enough to wipe out our own paltry wills for the sake of a will that is grander and kinder. But is it grander and kinder? Let God use His tools; let God break His tools. But what is He doing, and what are they being broken for?” It is because of this question that we have to attack as a philosophical riddle the riddle of the book of Job.

The present importance of the book of Job cannot be expressed adequately even by saying that it is the most interesting of ancient books. We may almost say of the book of Job that it is the most interesting of modern books. In truth, of course, neither of the two phrases covers the matter, because fundamental human religion and fundamental human irreligion are both at once old and new; philosophy is either eternal or it is not philosophy. The modern habit of saying”This is my opinion, but I may be wrong” is entirely irrational. If I say that it may be wrong, I say that is not my opinion. The modern habit of saying “Every man has a different philosophy; this is my philosophy and it suits me” – the habit of saying this is mere weak-mindedness. A cosmic philosophy is not constructed to fit a man; a cosmic philosophy is constructed to fit a cosmos. A man can no more possess a private religion than he can possess a private sun and moon.

The first of the intellectual beauties of the book of Job is that it is all concerned with this desire to know the actuality; the desire to know what is, and not merely what seems. If moderns were writing the book, we should probably find that Job and his comforters got on quite well together by the simple operation of referring their differences to what is called the temperament, saying that the comforters were by nature “optimists” and Job by nature a “pessimist.” And they would be quite comfortable, as people can often be, for some time at least, by agreeing to say what is obviously untrue. For if the word “pessimist” means anything at all, then emphatically Job is not a pessimist. His case alone is sufficient to refute the modern absurdity of referring everything to physical temperament. Job does not in any sense look at life in a gloomy way. If wishing to be happy and being quite ready to be happy constitutes an optimist, Job is an optimist. He is a perplexed optimist; he is an exasperated optimist; he is an outraged and insulted optimist. He wishes the universe to justify itself, not because he wishes it be caught out, but because he really wishes it be justified. He demands an explanation from God, but he does not do it at all in the spirit in which [John] Hampden might demand an explanation from Charles I. He does it in the spirit in which a wife might demand an explanation from her husband whom she really respected. He remonstrates with his Maker because he is proud of his Maker. He even speaks of the Almighty as his enemy, but he never doubts, at the back of his mind, that his enemy has some kind of a case which he does not understand. In a fine and famous blasphemy he says, “Oh, that mine adversary had written a book!” (31:35). It never really occurs to him that it could possibly be a bad book. He is anxious to be convinced, that is, he thinks that God could convince him. In short, we may say again that if the word optimist means anything (which I doubt), Job is an optimist. He shakes the pillars of the world and strikes insanely at the heavens; he lashes the stars, but it is not to silence them; it is to make them speak.

In the same way we may speak of the official optimists, the comforters of Job. Again, if the word pessimist means anything (which I doubt), the comforters of Job may be called pessimists rather than optimists. All that they really believe is not that God is good but that God is so strong that it is much more judicious to call Him good. It would be the exaggeration of censure to call them evolutionists; but they have something of the vital error of the evolutionary optimist. They will keep on saying that everything in the universe fits into everything else; as if there were anything comforting about a number of nasty things all fitting into each other. We shall see later how God in the great climax of the poem turns this particular argument altogether upside down.

When, at the end of the poem, God enters (somewhat abruptly), is struck the sudden and splendid note which makes the thing as great as it is. All the human beings through the story, and Job especially, have been asking questions of God. A more trivial poet would have made God enter in some sense or other in order to answer the questions. By a touch truly to be called inspired, when God enters, it is to ask a number of questions on His own account. In this drama of skepticism God Himself takes up the role of skeptic. He does what all the great voices defending religion have always done. He does, for instance, what Socrates did. He turns rationalism against itself. He seems to say that if it comes to asking questions, He can ask some question which will fling down and flatten out all conceivable human questioners. The poet by an exquisite intuition has made God ironically accept a kind of controversial equality with His accusers. He is willing to regard it as if it were a fair intellectual duel: “Gird up now thy loins like man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me” (38:3). The everlasting adopts an enormous and sardonic humility. He is quite willing to be prosecuted. He only asks for the right which every prosecuted person possesses; he asks to be allowed to cross-examine the witness for the prosecution. And He carries yet further the corrections of the legal parallel. For the first question, essentially speaking, which He asks of Job is the question that any criminal accused by Job would be most entitled to ask. He asks Job who he is. And Job, being a man of candid intellect, takes a little time to consider, and comes to the conclusion that he does not know.

This is the first great fact to notice about the speech of God, which is the culmination of the inquiry. It represents all human skeptics routed by a higher skepticism. It is this method, used sometimes by supreme and sometimes by mediocre minds, that has ever since been the logical weapon of the true mystic. Socrates, as I have said, used it when he showed that if you only allowed him enough sophistry he could destroy all sophists. Jesus Christ used it when he reminded the Sadducees, who could not imagine the nature of marriage in heaven, that if it came to that they had not really imagined the nature of marriage at all. In the break up of Christian theology in the eighteenth century, [Joseph] Butler used it, when he pointed out that rationalistic arguments could be used as much against vague religions as against doctrinal religion, as much against rationalist ethics as against Christian ethics. It is the root and reason of the fact that men who have religious faith have also philosophic doubt. These are the small streams of the delta; the book of Job is the first great cataract that creates the river. In dealing with the arrogant asserter of doubt, it is not the right method to tell him to stop doubting. It is rather the right method to tell him to go on doubting , to doubt a little more, to doubt every day newer and wilder things in the universe, until at last, by some strange enlightenment, he may begin to doubt himself.

This, I say, is the first fact touching the speech; the fine inspiration by which God comes in at the end, not to answer riddles, but to propound them. The other great fact which, taken together with this one, makes the whole work religious instead of merely philosophical is that other great surprise which makes Job suddenly satisfied with the mere presentation of something impenetrable. Verbally speaking the enigmas of Jehovah seem darker and more desolate than the enigmas of Job; yet Job was comfortless before the speech of Jehovah and is comforted after it. He has been told nothing, but he feels the terrible and tingling atmosphere of something which is too good to be told. The refusal of God to explain His design is itself a burning hint of His design. The riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man.

Thirdly, of course, it is one of the splendid strokes that God rebukes alike the man who accused and the men who defended Him; that He knocks down pessimists and optimists with the same hammer. And it is in connection with the mechanical and supercilious comforters of Job that there occurs the still deeper and finer inversion of which I have spoken. The mechanical optimist endeavors to justify the universe avowedly upon the ground that it is a rational and consecutive pattern. He points out that the fine thing about the world is that it can all be explained. That is the one point, if I may put it so, on which God, in return, is explicit to the point of violence. God says, in effect, that if there is one fine thing about the world, as far as men are concerned, it is that it cannot be explained. He insists on the inexplicableness of everything. “Hath the rain a father?. . .Out of whose womb came the ice?” (38:28f). He goes farther, and insists on the positive and palpable unreason of things; “Hast thou sent the rain upon the desert where no man is, and upon the wilderness wherein there is no man?” (38:26). God will make man see things, if it is only against the black background of nonentity. God will make Job see a startling universe if He can only do it by making Job see an idiotic universe. To startle man, God becomes for an instant a blasphemer; one might almost say that God becomes for an instant an atheist. He unrolls before Job a long panorama of created things, the horse, the eagle, the raven, the wild ass, the peacock, the ostrich, the crocodile. He so describes each of them that it sounds like a monster walking in the sun. The whole is a sort of psalm or rhapsody of the sense of wonder. The maker of all things is astonished at the things he has Himself made.

This we may call the third point. Job puts forward a note of interrogation; God answers with a note of exclamation. Instead of proving to Job that it is an explicable world, He insists that it is a much stranger world than Job ever thought it was. Lastly, the poet has achieved in this speech, with that unconscious artistic accuracy found in so many of the simpler epics, another and much more delicate thing. Without once relaxing the rigid impenetrability of Jehovah in His deliberate declaration, he has contrived to let fall here and there in the metaphors, in the parenthetical imagery, sudden and splendid suggestions that the secret of God is a bright and not a sad one – semi-accidental suggestions, like light seen for an instant through the crack of a closed door.

It would be difficult to praise too highly, in a purely poetical sense, the instinctive exactitude and ease with which these more optimistic insinuations are let fall in other connections, as if the Almighty Himself were scarcely aware that He was letting them out. For instance, there is that famous passage where Jehovah, with devastating sarcasm, asks Job where he was when the foundations of the world were laid, and then (as if merely fixing a date) mentions the time when the sons of God shouted for joy (38:4-7). One cannot help feeling, even upon this meager information, that they must have had something to shout about. Or again, when God is speaking of snow and hail in the mere catalogue of the physical cosmos, he speaks of them as a treasury that He has laid up against the day of battle – a hint of some huge Armageddon in which evil shall be at last overthrown.

Nothing could be better, artistically speaking, than this optimism breaking though agnosticism like fiery gold round the edges of a black cloud. Those who look superficially at the barbaric origin of the epic may think it fanciful to read so much artistic significance into its casual similes or accidental phrases. But no one who is well acquainted with great examples of semi-barbaric poetry, as in The Song of Roland or the old ballads, will fall into this mistake. No one who knows what primitive poetry is can fail to realize that while its conscious form is simple some of its finer effects are subtle. The Iliad contrives to express the idea that Hector and Sarpedon have a certain tone or tint of sad and chivalrous resignation, not bitter enough to be called pessimism and not jovial enough to be called optimism; Homer could never have said this in elaborate words. But somehow he contrives to say it in simple words. The Song of Roland contrives to express the idea that Christianity imposes upon its heroes a paradox; a paradox of great humility in the matter of their sins combined with great ferocity in the matter of their ideas. Of course The Song of Roland could not say this; but it conveys this. In the same way, the book of Job must be credited with many subtle effects which were in the author’s soul without being, perhaps, in the author’s mind. And of these by far the most important remains to be stated.

I do not know, and I doubt whether even scholars know, if the book of Job had a great effect or had any effect upon the after development of Jewish thought. But if it did have any effect it may have saved them from an enormous collapse and decay. Here in this book the question is really asked whether God invariably punishes vice with terrestrial punishment and rewards virtue with terrestrial prosperity. If the Jews had answered that question wrongly they might have lost all their after influence in human history. They might have sunk even down to the level of modern well-educated society. For when once people have begun to believe that prosperity is the reward of virtue, their next calamity is obvious. If prosperity is regarded as the reward of virtue it will be regarded as the symptom of virtue. Men will leave off the heavy task of making good men successful. He will adopt the easier task of making out successful men good. This, which has happened throughout modern commerce and journalism, is the ultimate Nemesis of the wicked optimism of the comforters of Job. If the Jews could be saved from it, the book of Job saved them.

The book of Job is chiefly remarkable, as I have insisted throughout, for the fact that it does not end in a way that is conventionally satisfactory. Job is not told that his misfortunes were due to his sins or a part of any plan for his improvement. But in the prologue we see Job tormented not because he was the worst of men, but because he was the best. It is the lesson of the whole work that man is most comforted by paradoxes. Here is the very darkest and strangest of the paradoxes; and it is by all human testimony the most reassuring. I need not suggest what high and strange history awaited this paradox of the best man in the worst fortune. I need not say that in the freest and most philosophical sense there is one Old Testament figure who is truly a type; or say what is prefigured in the wounds of Job.

[miraculouslbfangirl]

Complications - 8 - Tying up the loose ends

AO3   ch 1   ch 7

 Marinette opened on her computer the picture Luka had sent her. He was smiling surrounded by the members of his band at the studio. It had been almost a month and they were working hard. Since the band had already made some arrangements when he arrived, they expected to have the final product soon.

“Cheating on me with your ex? You hurt me, princess.” Chat Noir said from behind Marinette making her jump in surprise almost falling on the floor, but he caught her on time. “Careful.” He chuckled and straightened her up.

“You scared me.” She panted “You didn’t knock”.

“The window was opened.” Chat eyed the picture “He seems happy. Who’s that girl beside him?”

“The female vocalist, she also plays the guitar.”

“They are a lot close there.” He studied his girlfriend for any signs of jealousy but found none.

“He said they are getting to know each other. Nothing solid yet.” Marinette spun her chair to face him. “I told him we’re together.”

“This explains the threatening message.”

“Threatening message?”

“If you make her suffer, I’ll kill you.” Chat mimicked Luka’s voice and Marinette laughed. “I thought we had agreed to wait a little more.”

“I know, but since your relationship with Kagami is officially over… I thought he had the right to know. I warned him that no one else knows. He wished us happiness.” She turned off her computer. “What do you wanna do?” She stood up and embraced him.

“Just be with you” Adrien tilted her head up and kissed her. “I had a hard time with the press today.”

Marinette could see that he was tired and upset. Apart from dealing with the press, his father wasn’t pleased about the end of his relationship. There wasn’t a scandal, they said they preferred to be just friends since their schedule were too tight and barely had time to be together. Gabriel decided to take Adrien’s extra freedom back, what made him extremely sad.

“We can cuddle and watch a movie or just talk.” Marinette said as she took his hand and led him to her chaise.

“Cuddle’s nice. If I watch a movie I’ll sleep.” He said already snuggling up on her. “And I don’t want to sleep.”

He detransformed to give Plagg a break and they talked, enjoying the comfort of each other. Moments like this were precious to them. It was the only time they could show their affections as Adrien and Marinette.

At school they were just friends or so they were trying to be. However their classmates weren’t as blind as they thought. Glances, secret smiles, casual hand touching… their proximity was obvious and was driving everyone crazy. One day someone finally lost it.

“Why don’t you two date already?” Said Chloé slamming her looker’s door making everyone around jump in surprise. Marinette and Adrien that had been whispering and giggling stared at her with wide eyes. “I don’t know who you are trying to fool, us or yourselves.”

“I hate to agree with Chloé, but we can’t stand it anymore.” Alya stood beside Chloé and a chorus of agreements came from all their classmates.

Marinette looked at Adrien communicating without words in a very Ladybug and Chat Noir manner. It was time.

“It’s not it guys. We’re just…” Marinette began.

“No, Marinette.” Adrien interrupted her. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” He took a deep breath “I really like you and wanted us to be more than friends.” This was just to be an acting, but he felt his palms sweat, his heart race and he was sure that it wasn’t because he had an audience. Despite the fact that they were already dating he was nervous. He knew she wouldn’t change her mind; he just couldn’t help his worries. He took her hand in his and pondered if he should go down on one knee. He decided against it; he wasn’t Chat Noir at this moment “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Y-you like me… like for real?” she stuttered and he smiled, she hadn’t stuttered in a long time. Was she nervous too or just pretending? He nodded not trusting the emotion in his voice. They were going public and this would change everything. “I will. Of course I will. I like you too.” She smiled sweetly and he released the breath he didn’t noticed he was holding.

“Kiss her Agreste.” Alix challenged him.

He gladly accepted the challenge and kissed Marinette passionately. It took everyone by surprise, no one had expect him give her more than a quick peck like he used to give Kagami.  

“Dude, we’re in school. You don’t kiss like this in school.” Nino censured making the others laugh.

“Alix challenged me.” Adrien said when he ended the kiss, but kept holding his now girlfriend by the waist.

“What about your father? What are you going to tell him?” Marinette asked looking up at him clearly worried.

Adrien didn’t have a chance to answer when a familiar voice echoed from behind his classmates.

“You don’t need to worry about it, Adrien.” Kagami said making her way towards them. “He summoned me to explain why we broke up and I told him that you liked someone else. To my surprise he was happy to know that this someone was the talented aspiring to fashion design that won one of his contests and somehow he already knew that Marinette liked you back.”

“How did he know?” Adrien directed his question to Marinette.

“I… ahm… told him myself?” she stammered.

“You did? When?” Adrien was astonished as was everyone else.

“Long story. I’ll tell you later.” Grunts were heard from their friends and Marinette sighted “I went to see him once to ask something about fashion and ended up saying more than I should. He was considerate enough to not tell Adrien anything.” This placated the group, but Adrien knew it wasn’t everything. She would tell him when she got the chance; he was sure of it.

“He was happy then. Did he say something else?” Adrien asked Kagami to avert the attention from Marinette.

“Just that he was going to wait for you to tell him. By the amount of praises he paid to Marinette I’m sure this will be an easy thing for you.” Kagami looked at Chloé “Well… I came here to fetch you. We have some shopping to do, remember?”

“Of course. Shopping is all I need to take this lovey-dovey stuff from my head.” Chloé said linking arms with Kagami, but not without glancing at Adrien with a smile on her lips.

Adrien and Marinette glanced at each other, if they found the proximity of the two girls suspicious neither of them mentioned it. It wasn’t their business after all.

  Ladybug sat atop the Eiffel Tower with her legs dangling on its edge. One year had passed since she went there to think about her complicated life. After all the complications they had gone through they manage to be together in both sides of the masks and their lives were turned upside down, in a good way this time.

Life was much easier; they no longer had to hide from each other and they were spared from a lot of excuses since people just assume they were together when they disappeared. Well they actually were, just not in the way their thought. Ladybug and Chat Noir were stronger than ever and with other superheroes help once in a while, Hawkmoth was having trouble. He even dropped the number of akumatizations, he was either getting tired or found something else to focus on. Master Fu was proud of them and sometimes would question himself as to why he insisted so much in secrecy in the first place, but them he had to remind himself that there’s a time for everything.

Marinette’s parents had practically adopted Adrien. They filled his life with love and treated him like a son. He even helped in the back of the bakery sometimes with the consent of his father. Gabriel said that it would be good for Adrien to learn some real life work and treated Marinette like a daughter himself. He was delighted with Marinette’s creativity and promised her an internship when time was right. Sometimes Adrien would get a little jealous seeing his father give more attention to his girlfriend than to him, but then again, most of their interaction was about designs and the fashion world and he decided that he preferred to talk about pastries and sweets with Tom and Sabine.

Adrien had freedom again to hang out with his friends, as long as it was with Marinette. It wasn’t a problem to him; since his best friend was dating Marinette’s best friend he always had alone time with Nino while the girls would do whatever they do when they are alone. Kagami and, surprisingly, Chloé would take part in the group at times.

“Any problem, my Lady? I thought you would be at home.” Chat Noir asked sitting beside her.

She looked at him feigning to be sad “I had to ditch a date with my boyfriend today; I hope he’s not mad at me.”

“Oh! What a coincidence, I had to stand up my girlfriend too. I’m certain that she is not pleased with it.” He grinned. “I’ll make it up for her.”

“Really? How?” Ladybug asked and he produced a tub of ice-cream and two spoons from behind him.

“Improvising.” He chuckled and she shoved his arm.

“You could just have taken me to Andre, you know. He’s near the Louvre.”

“Like this?” he gestured for Ladybug and himself.

“Why not? Aren’t we a couple?” his entire face lit up.

“Let’s go them.” He attempted to stand up but she held his arm.

“We can do it another day, kitty. I was just kitten. This is purrfect” he swallowed hard, he loved when she made cat puns “Who else can share ice-cream looking at the most beautiful sight of Paris?”

He looked at her, illuminated by the moonlight, among the lights of the Eiffel Tower, nothing could compare to her beauty at that moment. The girl who changed his entire life and gave him the love he so longed for. He felt the luckiest person alive. “Yeah, who else can share ice-cream looking at the most beautiful sight of Paris?” But me.

This was the last chapter. Thanks for reading. 

[nirah10]

Sons really are their mother’s favourites as 88 per cent admit treating boys differently.

Affection: Mothers really do treat their sons better than daughters according to a survey by website Netmums

From Sara,

It’s one of the oldest mothering cliches in the book.

But the idea of mothers favouring their sons over their daughters could be much more than just a stereotype, a poll suggests.

And though they may be loath to admit it, mothers really do have favourites, it found.

They are more likely to describe their sons as ‘funny’, ‘cheeky’, ‘playful’ and ‘loving’.

But when it comes to their daughters they are far more critical – believing them to be more ‘stroppy’, ‘argumentative’ and ‘serious’, according to the study by parenting website Netmums.

In fact, 88 per cent of mothers polled admit to treating boys and girls differently, despite considering it wrong to do so.

More than half – 55 per cent – said they found it easier to bond with their sons. 

And seven per cent admitted their sons were given more treats than their daughters. 

The survey, which questioned more than 2,000 women who have both sons and daughters, found that mothers were twice as likely to be critical of their daughters than sons – 21 per cent compared to 11.5 per cent.

Crissy Duff, a counsellor and adviser at Netmums, warned that the types of attitudes uncovered by the survey could have a long-lasting effect on girls.

The trend could be one reason why women tend to be more self-critical than men, who are more likely to grow up with a happy-go-lucky attitude and brush off mistakes, she said.

‘Women in particular seem to carry the feelings of parental disapproval and negative typing into their adulthood,’ she said.

‘The experience of receiving more negative reinforcements for stepping out of line than their male counterparts can lead women to view themselves as more needing of censure.’

More than a fifth of mothers polled – 21.5 per cent – let their sons get away with more mischief, compared with 17.8 per cent who said their daughters were given more leeway.

Mothers were more likely to attribute positive personality traits to their sons than their daughters. 

Almost half of mothers questioned – 48 per cent – said their sons were a mummy’s boy, while just over a third – 35 per cent – said their daughters could be described as daddy’s girl.

A Netmums founder, Siobhan Freegard, said: ‘As a mum of two boys and a girl, I know first-hand that, try as we might, it can be very hard to treat all of your children the same.

‘This is a great wake-up call to mums to help break gender cycles and even out the differences in how the sexes behave and think about themselves. It is a huge ask, but an achievable one.’

Tips from the site’s experts include offering girls the chance to play with trains and building blocks. Boys should be given the chance to play with a toy kitchen instead of a garage.

They also urge parents not to rescue daughters every time they see her struggle with a task. Given time and space to solve a problem, daughters’ sense of self-respect and independence will flourish.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1318036/Sons-really-mothers-favourites-88-cent-admit-treating-boys-differently.html

……

OMG. I relate to this so much.

My dad walked out when we were babies’ and moved overseas, so we were raised by a single mother. 

My two brothers and me. 

My brothers never had to do chores, while cleaning was up to me. Mum would scream at me about  messes but never at my brothers, despite them being way messier and leaving their junk everywhere.

I cleaned the kitchen and cooked every night, while my brothers got to hang out with friends.

If my brothers made a joke about my mumsm cooking, they were being cheeky and cute and mum would respond playfully. Me? If I said the same thing I would be called a bitch.

Mum always told me to watch my tone and not to nag while my brothers never ever had any behaviour corrections.

I feel like my mother loved them more because they were boys. And they got away with more.

I left home at fifteen, I am now twenty-two, and have not spoken to my mother in seven years. 

I just can’t get over the way she made me feel worthless compared to my brothers.

So I kind of get where Khalia is coming from in the story, all that anger and stuff, and part of it was her thinking her dad liked her brothers better because they were boys and she was a girl, and that is why the insane version of Kahlia made such a big deal with her feminity- wearing dresses and being as girly as possible, to throw it in her father’s face. I get that.

Dear Sara,

I actually had a conversation with a friend not long ago that kind of relates to this. We were having a bit of a gripe about the men in our lives to each other and she said something along the lines of “Why don’t men ever think to take care of the house too? Or to take care of us?” and I answered that the current culture teaches boys to expect that women will take care of them. My friend has both a son and a daughter and immediately jumped on my comment with explanations that she makes her son do chores as well and that she’s always taught him to clean up after himself and help out.

I’ve known this woman for nearly 7 years and I know her very well, so I knew full well that that simply wasn’t true. I started asking her questions about what chores her son does vs what chores her daughter did at that age. I asked her about what she does when her son misbehaves vs when her daughter misbehaves, when they get poor grades in school, when they’re lazy, etc. The conversation quickly started making it clear that she favours her son and she quickly got flustered, trying to find ways to defend it. At one point, I just asked her “Why does [son] get a pass on that behaviour when [daughter] doesn’t?” Without a second’s hesitation, she answered “Because I expect more from her.” The look on her face as she said it was very telling. She literally had not noticed that she treated her children any differently until that exact moment.

The second she realized it, she started talking about what her mother had expected of her vs what was expected of her brother and how that had somehow crept into her own parenting. She had never ever noticed it before.

I also know that she has a lot more fun with her son than she does with her daughter. Her son is fun and silly and wants to play, while her daughter is more serious and quiet and prefers to be alone. How many mothers do you hear talk about how they just want a little “me time”? I imagine that her daughter prefers to spend time alone for the same reason that her mother does--she’s tired from doing her chores, her homework, taking care of the pets, taking care of her brother, and helping out around the house whenever she spots something that needs doing. If she’s in the house, with the family, there’s probably something that she’ll get asked to do or scolded for not doing. My friend’s son may also have homework and chores that are expected, but he can drop his crap on the floor when he comes in the door and expect that someone else will pick it up or walk past the dirty dishes on the table because it’s not his job to clean them. If my friend’s daughter were to do the same, she’d be told to pick up after herself and that she should be helping more by taking dishes to the dishwasher when she passes them.

It’s bizarre that this kind of behaviour is so common that we don’t even realize we do it, even when we’re actively trying to avoid it!

Anyway, I just thought I’d mention that conversation because it was so interesting to me. Thank you for sharing your personal story and I’m sorry that you��ve had such a rough time. I’m glad that you’re out of that situation now and I hope things work out well for you.

In a way, I wrote Kahlia as a sort of reversal of myself. My own biological father was a very abusive man and was extremely, unapologetically sexist. Women basically exist in his world to serve men (he used the Bible to back that up), and me and my six sisters were all expected to serve. We were supposed to look cute, act “lady like”, never argue, and take care of the house (the same was not expected of my two brothers). I rebelled against femininity at a very young age. I hated wearing skirts, I hated pink, I hated jewelry, I hated Barbies and My Little Pony. I hated all of it. My father wanted a staff of girls to run his house and I absolutely fucking refused. I stole my brother’s toy trucks, never wore skirts unless I was forced to for church, I played with mud, I liked bugs and snakes, I got angry and lashed out violently instead of crying, I wrestled, I fought imaginary dragons, I pretended to be a Dragon Ball Z fighter. I even went through a phase of telling people to call me Keung because I thought Jackie Chan in Rumble in the Bronx was super cool and I wanted to be him.

As an adult, I know enough about myself now to know that at least a good portion of that behaviour was open rebellion against my father (some of it really is just me--Jackie Chan is a boss). I did everything I could to resist being a girl because that was what he wanted me to be and I wasn’t going to give it to him. Writing Kahlia being very expressive of her femininity was really interesting and almost therapeutic for me. She’d been trying so hard to fit into something that she thought her father would love and accept, and took every step she could in the opposite direction to spite him when she realized her efforts didn’t matter. Kahlia may have been the villain, but I did kind of love that about her.

I’m glad to hear that you were able to relate to that too.

[betweenstories]

CHAPTER 16

‘So, have you been spanked?’

Staring at the floor, you swallow and nod slowly.

‘Hm. Have you been spanked over a desk?’

You nod again. I’m sure I’m mistaken, but your expression seems to shift to something rather dreamy, a half-smile of remembered... pleasure? Interesting.

‘Have you ever been spanked over a lap?’

Now, your expression turns calculating. What you are calculating, I can’t imagine.

As you shake your head, you hiss in a breath when I accidentally brush my hip against your tip.

To Julie, I ask, ‘Have you ever seen someone receive a spanking?’

Wide-eyed, she nods her head.

Attention fixed on your erection, she says, ‘....but not .... I’ve never seen it bare.’

Once I’ve settled into my desk chair, I slide my skirt high up my legs so I have more room to work. I motion to you.

‘Come here then and bend over my knees. You can rest your hands on the floor.’

You do as instructed. You’re nearly upside down. Your rigid penis points straight down between my stockinged thighs.

‘Julie, you’re welcome to move closer if you’d like a better view.’

Sliding her chair across the room, she settles in only inches behind you. When I notice her curiosity over your dangly bits, I ask, ‘Have you ever seen a man’s testicles?’

She shakes her head.

‘Have you ever touched a man there?’

Again, she shakes her head. As an educator, I feel obligated to take advantage of this opportunity.

I place my fingertips on your shoulder. ‘Before we begin, would you mind if Julie touches you a little? It will only take a moment.’

You make a noise that sounds like agreement.

‘Julie, your friend says you’re free to explore before his spanking begins. Since I need to finish a letter of recommendation for another student, you can describe what you see while I work.’

Grabbing my pen, paper and a clipboard, I use your back as a flat writing surface.

Julie nods and leans forward for a closer inspection. When she speaks, her voice is calm, matter-of-fact.

‘Well, I see his knob...’

At my look of censure, Julie starts again.

‘I see his penis pointing straight down.’

I nod my approval and she continues.

‘I have two older brothers, so I’ve seen one of those before, but I’ve never seen a bo—I mean, I’ve never seen an erection. And then above his penis, I see his bollocks...’

She glances at me, apologetic.

‘Testicles. I see his testicles. They have a little bit of hair and there’s a line running down the middle.’

‘Excellent observation, Julie. That line is called a raphe.’

‘Can I touch it?’

‘Most certainly.’

She must touch you then because you jump in my lap.

‘Sorry, I guess my hands are cold. Um. It looks like his penis might be leaking a little.’

I purse my lips, displeased. I lean down to see you are indeed “leaking a little.”

Without warning, I give you two sharp smacks with my open hand, one on each cheek. You yelp in surprise and squeeze your buttocks tight. Julie’s eyes are wide, but not from the sudden slaps. She stares at the twin pink handprints blooming on your bottom.

‘Let’s go ahead and get the extra five out of the way. Shall we? I want you to remember this punishment, so I’d like you to count them off as we go.’

Placing one hand on the small of your back to hold you still, I raise my hand and bring it down with a loud smack on your bottom. You make an ‘oof’ sound. I wait, but you say nothing.

‘You must count the strokes, remember? Now we must start again.’

When I repeat the stroke, you grunt as the blow lands and say, ‘One.’

I put a little more force behind the next two strokes.

You count ‘two’ and ‘three.’

Perhaps I’m not spanking hard enough? I put all my effort in the final two strokes, slapping lower near your thighs where your skin is unmarked. You count the final two strokes, but twist around to give me a look that might be censure, an unspoken ‘slow your roll, sister.’

I lift my chin, unapologetic.

Eyes glued on your reddening skin, Julie says, ‘Two questions: Are his bollocks, I mean testicles supposed to draw up like that? And do you think I could, I mean, would it be okay if I spanked him next time?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

Seeing another teaching opportunity, I tap your bottom. ‘Stand up, tut-tut. Go around to the front of my desk and bend over so I can be more hands on with Julie.’

You walk to the front of my desk, hard penis bobbing as you go. Bending at the waist, you rest your elbows on the desk and wrap your fingers around the opposite edge. Pulling my glasses from a desk drawer, I sit in one of the two chairs Julie has so thoughtfully placed behind you. I lean in close.

My office door swings open again and another classmate, Cass, walks in. Cass takes in the scene and freezes in place.

Eyes glued to you, Cass says, ‘I was just looking for Julie. She’s my ride home.’

‘Come in, dear. Julie’s in the middle of a lesson. Please close the door behind you and have a seat.

CHAPTER 17

Circling the desk, Cass’s gaze roams every inch of your muscular back and thighs, the angry red welts rising on your bottom. Eyes fixed, Cass backs into her seat. I raise a brow as Julie pulls Cass onto her lap, cupping her round bottom in the process. Hm. I had no idea the girls were so close.

Cass is the direct opposite of Julie. Where Julie is tall and lean with olive skin and long, jet black hair, Cass is short and plump with milky white skin and strawberry blond ringlet curls.

Cass must’ve hit a spurt in development recently, as the buttons of her white shirt strain to contain her ample breasts. When Cass leans forward, her lips hover bare inches above your bare bottom.

I reach out and cup your testicles.

‘We were just having an impromptu lesson on male anatomy. You’re welcome to participate. Julie was just asking about the tight state of this area here.’

I trace my nail around the perimeter while I explain.

‘His testicles are contained here inside the scrotum. Currently, his scrotum appears to be in a nervous state. If it were in a relaxed state, it would be hanging lower.’

I motion the girls closer as I tap the inside of you thigh.

‘Spread your legs further apart please, so the girls can get a better look.’

You straighten your arms out to the side, grip the opposite corners of the desk, and turn to rest your cheek on the flat surface.

‘Thank you, that’s lovely.’

Squeezing your bottom, I add a little pat in praise.

Still cupping your scrotum, I run a finger over each testicle as I explain.

‘The cremaster muscles and darta fascia muscles are designed to move the testicles close to or away from the body to help keep the temperature in this region several degrees cooler than the rest of his body. A lower temperature is ideal for sperm production.

The darta fascia muscles contract or expand the skin of the scrotum while the cremaster muscles move the testicles up or down. This tightening effect can also be part of a fight or flight mechanism.’

Julie makes a face that says, “whatever, good to know.” Cass moves in closer.

‘Watch this, girls.’

As I stroke a nail up the length of your inner thigh, your scrotum draws even tighter. Cass smiles and claps, delighted.

‘Can I try?’

‘Absolutely.’

While Cass alternates between running her fingernails up your thighs and squeezing your scrotum to access the changes, I glance sidelong to gage Julie’s reaction. Her gaze bounces between the paddle on the desk and Cass’s round bottom.

‘Now, let’s see if we can get him into a more relaxed state so you can really see the difference.

CHAPTER 18

For all my academic knowledge in this area, my field knowledge is sorely limited. Isn’t massage usually good for relaxing? Figuring there’s no better time to experiment than the present, I roll your testicles in my palm. I squeeze and tug to get a feel for their texture and weight. When I check your scrotum, I can’t tell if my efforts have been effective or not. Silently, I chastise myself for not taking baseline measurements. Gripping your penis, I begin long steady strokes.

You widen your stance further, so I massage your testicles in time with my strokes. I tilt my head and frown. This doesn’t appear to be working. I move my hands faster, but your scrotum seems to be heading in the opposite direction, growing tighter and tighter. Ultimately, no amount of stroking achieves the desired effect. With a long sigh, I release your testicles.

‘Sorry girls. It appears we won’t see the relaxed state today.’

Continuing the lesson, I draw my fingernail down the faint line between your testicles.

‘This line is called the scrotal raphe. It extends all the way around and up the front of his penis, and all the way back past his perineum to his anus. Raphe is from the Latin, which simply means “seam.” Anus, by the way, is from the Latin meaning “circle” or “ring.”

Cass tilts her head.

‘If anus means “ring” why is Saturn named Saturn and not Uranus?’

I open my mouth to respond. Frown and then close it. ‘Excellent question, Cass. I’ll need to investigate and get back to you.’

Cass beams at the praise and leans closer to you, clearly interested in anatomy.

Julie, however, picks up the paddle appearing deeply interested in the grain of the wood.

When Cass raises her hand, her shirt buttons hang on for dear life.

‘Yes, Cass. You don’t have to raise your hand by the way. You can just ask your questions.’

‘Can you show me that raphe line again. I don’t quite understand.’

‘Certainly.’

To you, I say,

‘Turn and lie on your back, please.’

You do as instructed, seeming unsure where to put your feet. I tell you to bend your knees and place your feet on the desk, but your socks slide off the edge.

‘Girls, why don’t you help your friend out and hold his legs still?’

The girls stand on either side. Julie sits with her back propped against your calf. Cass presses her breasts against your leg as she strokes slow, wide circles against your thigh. We all lean in close to inspect your penis. I start identifying parts from the top.

‘The tip is called the head or the bulb or the glans. This slit is called the meatus.’

Sounding bored, Julie reports. ‘He’s leaking again.’

CHAPTER 19

I turn to Cass. ‘Cass, would you be a dear and...’

Before I finish my sentence, Cass grasps your erection and licks the moisture from your tip. You hiss in a breath and quickly prop up on your elbows for a better view. Cass sucks your tip into her mouth before releasing it with a loud pop. Grinning wide, she gently lays your erection on your stomach before giving it a soft pat. With a look of what appears to be affection, she sighs as she returns to her post at your calf.

I’m about to inform her I was going to say, ‘Could you grab a tissue,’ but I don’t want to dim her enthusiasm, so I simply say.

‘Thank you, Cass. Well done.’

Brows raised, you watch this by-play with avid attention.

Back to the lesson, I pinch my thumb and forefinger together just under your tip.

‘This area just below the head is called the frenulum, and just below that is where the raphe begins.’

I run a finger down the faint line on the front of your penis.

‘This part of the seam is called the penile raphe.’

I’ve barely finished my sentence when Cass asks,

‘Can I touch it?’

I look to you. Expression magnanimous, you wave a hand that seems to say, “by all means, proceed.”

Cass immediately circles both fists around your penis, one on top of the other and begins steadily stroking.

Immediately, I see visions of a medieval milkmaid churning butter. Cass’s ponderous bouncing breasts only serve to enhance the visual. Much to Cass’s delight, your whole body goes tense.

‘Oooo... I like the way his abs bunch up when I do this.’

At that, you smile at Cass and ‘bunch up’ your stomach muscles once more.

‘Thank you, Cass. That’s enough for now.’

Julie asks, ‘Can we start the spanking?’

Cass answers for me.

‘Cool your jets, Jules. I need to see where this line goes first.’

Impressed by her commitment to learning, I smile at Cass and resume the lesson.

‘The penile raphe extends down to the scrotal raphe...’

Moving slowly, I trace all the way down and around the mid-line of your testicles. I pat your bottom and have you turn onto your stomach once again. Julie sits down but Cass remains standing.

I pick up where I left off at the base of your testicles and begin tracing the line upward.

‘.... and this line is the perineal raphe which goes over the perineum and extends up to his anus.’

Cass reaches out, presses one cheek to the side and runs a finger down your raphe.

‘What did you call this part again?’

‘The perineal raphe. The entire area is called the perineum.’

As Cass slowly traces up and down the seam, you begin to squirm on the desk and make noises that might be pleasure or pain.

‘I’ve heard pressing against that area can be particularly pleasurable for a male.’

Cass nods, seeming to catalog this information. Julie pipes up.

‘My cousin told me if you stick your finger in his... ‘

She trails off, looks to me, then slowly says the word “anus.” I nod and she continues.

‘My cousin said if you stick your finger in, you can make his knob leak. It had something to do with milk. I didn’t believe her, though.’

At that, you move your feet close together and squeeze your buttocks tight.

Both girls look at me, waiting. As an educator, I believe it’s more important to show integrity than it is to know all the answers, so I respond honestly.

‘Actually girls, I’m not 100% sure, but I’ll do some research and let you know what I find out. Okay?’

Seeming satisfied with my response, Cass leans back as Julie says,

‘Can we start the spanking now?’

‘Of course. Bring the paddle and come stand right here.’

Once Julie is in position, I say, ‘Why don’t you try a light swing at first, just to get a feel for it.’

Julie nods her head, raises her arm and immediately lands a succession of heavy blows. The paddle cracks loud against your skin again and again, and though you grunt and flex with each new blow, you remain in position.

By the time Julie stops, she’s breathless and grinning. Meanwhile, you grip your reddened bottom with both hands. I glance down at your penis, which—impossibly—seems harder than before. How curious.

‘Um, thank you, Julie. You may sit back down now. I’ll take it from here. Julie hands me the paddle and practically skips back to her seat.

Eyeing your pink, swollen bottom, I say, ‘You might’ve been a little rough on him. If you want to rub out a little of the sting, you can.’

Julie wrinkles her nose and shakes her head as she crosses her arms over her chest.

‘Nope. I’m good.’

Cass raises her hand.

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Ah, what a sweet friend you are.’

Again, Cass beams at the praise. I open my desk drawer, and retrieve a bottle of lotion.

I press the pad of a forefinger under your chin and raise your gaze to mine. You stare at my lips when I speak. ‘Your skin is very red. It must be quite painful. Would you like Cass to rub some lotion on your bottom?’

You meet my eyes and nod your agreement. Cass touches your skin, delighted to report,

‘Oooo, his bum’s on fire!’

Humming a jaunty tune, she begins rubbing in the lotion.

CHAPTER 20

I’ve almost finished my letter when I look up and realise Cass has moved from your bottom to your testicles and is currently stroking your perineum with one hand and circling the base of your cock with the other. I open my mouth to stop her, but she’s clearly a sensitive girl and I don’t want to hurt her feelings so I let her continue. Julie interjects,

‘Almost all the pink’s gone. Is it time for more spanking?’

‘I think perhaps we should reschedule the rest of your lesson for tomorrow.’

Cass stills her hands and looks up, disappointed.

‘Please, can I keep going? I’m practicing getting his scrotum tighter. At that, you fail to suppress a low groan.

Pleased by her use of new vocabulary, I say, ‘How about this? My file says he took three years of Spanish as his foreign language. You may apply as many strokes as he can count in Spanish. Cass is thrilled. You cut your eyes up to me with a look of ... anger?

I’d heard a rumour that athletes did not have to attend class to receive an “A” in Spanish. Again, I look at you and lift my chin.

Still gripping you tight, Cass stands poised, waiting. ‘Go ahead. I’m ready.’

Cass gives your penis a light slap, as if you might’ve fallen asleep. You jump, but say nothing. After three more slaps, you’ve still said nothing. Cass releases you and walks around to stand beside your head. Hands on her hips, she sounds incredulous.

‘You can’t even count to one? I can count to ten and I didn’t even take Spanish!’

Julie snickers as Cass throws her hands up in the air.

Though she barely seems aware of it, Cass reaches out with one hand and slowly kneads your bare bottom.

‘Can I at least kiss him goodbye?’

I place my hand on your shoulder. You nod once, though the set of your jaw tells me you’re still miffed.

I expect Cass to return to your head at my side of the desk, but she quickly moves to sit on the floor between your legs where she immediately begins kissing the tip of your penis. You freeze in place, then groan low with obvious pleasure.

The Spanish challenge was a little mean spirited, and I’d like to support Cass’s obvious aptitude for anatomy, so I let her continue.

When she progresses to taking you in deep and reaching up to fondle your testicles, I’m just about to stop her when Julie kneels down between Cass’s thighs. Without preamble, she reaches under Cass’s skirt and pulls down a pair of white cotton panties before her head and hands disappear below the plaid. Within seconds, Cass begins to squeal, though the sound is muffled due to the tight seal of her lips around your cock. I shrug and let them continue.

Girls will be girls.

When I see your whole body begin to shake, see your thigh muscles go taut, I give your bottom two sharp slaps. Julie groans and does something that makes Cass squeal even louder. I move around close to your ear and whisper,

‘It would be very rude of you to orgasm inside Cass’s mouth without her permission. Don’t you agree? You mustn’t spend no matter what. Do you understand?’

You make a choked sound as your hips go still. The room is quiet except for wet sounds, Julie’s low moans, and Cass’s muted squeals.

Every muscle in your body seems strung tight. Seeing your white knuckles gripping the edges of the desk and the hard line of your jaw, I appreciate your effort to follow the rules. Maybe you should get an additional reward?

While the girls are preoccupied, I unbutton my blouse further, slip the cup of my bra below one breast, and tease a taut nipple back and forth against your lips.

Eager, you latch onto my nipple and suck hard. Sitting in my desk chair, my chest is level with your head. I push the other bra cup low and tunnel my fingers through your hair as I press you close. You groan and pump your hips up and down as you alternate sucking each swollen nipple. At the sound of Cass’s muffled scream, she reaches up from her position on the floor and slaps both palms against your buttocks. You groan and make little humming sounds of pleasure.

When your thighs begin to shake once again. I lean close to your ear and whisper, ‘You mustn’t spend in Cass’s mouth. You absolutely mustn’t. If you spill one drop, the consequences will be severe indeed.’

When Cass’s pink nails dig into your bottom, your hips pump faster and faster and then .... your muffled shout joins Cass’s muffled scream.

[onceuponanolicity]

Thank you everyone for the great response to this story. 

This chapter is for the Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon prompt Choose (Week 15).

                                                            Felicity was left with a choice. She had to choose between going home or spending the night with Oliver Queen.

           She was nervous. Felicity could not recall a time in her life where a decision was so critical. What if she went home?

           “You’re more than welcome to take that option. I will not force you, Felicity.” She gulped hard as he met her eyes. She had no idea she spoke out loud. Oliver reached out and swept a hand across her hair smoothing down a wayward strand. “I want this, but if you don’t, just say no.” His eyes narrowed on her. They pierced through the nervousness she felt and drew out some of the courage that she had long since buried deep within her. “At any time. Just say no.”

           “I want to…”

           “You’re scared,” he noted with no censure. “I am, too,” he admitted. “I don’t do this. And I especially do not do this with my students. I don’t care what the rumors say.” Oliver pocketed the phone that still lay in his palm. “Talk to me, Felicity. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

           “Why me?”

           “Honestly?” When Felicity nodded, she saw him smile. “I wasn’t asking you. I was more surprised that you don’t already know.”

           “Enlighten me.” Felicity pushed back her glasses as her eyes swept over the man in front of her. He was easily one of the best looking men she had ever met in her life. And for the life of her, he was actually interested in her. “I’m not exactly your type.”

           She expected him to deny it. Most guys would. They’d wax poetic about how she was the epitome of beauty just to get her, or any girl, into their bed. Guys like Oliver Queen, who was rumored to be one of the worst party boys in Starling City in his youth.

           “Maybe that’s the point.” His arm swept around her and pulled her flush to his heated body. “I kept looking for my type. Each time I found her, I was disappointed. Then the last few years, I stopped looking. What was the point?” Oliver lifted one of his shoulders in an imitation of a shrug. “The woman I wanted wasn’t any of those women. Then I walked into class one day, and there you were. Nothing like I expected, but what I wanted. Smart, beautiful, clever. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you kissed me.”

           “You kissed me.”

           Oliver smiled down at her. The brightness of it almost blinding. His dimples slashed through his cheeks in such deep indents that Felicity was worried if she tried to put her finger in one it would become lost. “Since we kissed each other.”

           “According to everything I’ve heard, you’ve slept with countless numbers of students. Why should I believe that I am any different?”

           “Male and female, I presume.” At her nod, Oliver let out a harsh laugh. “More like students who wished it happened. Not one of them could tell you one identifying mark on my body.”

           Felicity’s eyes touched upon the mole that sat below his lower lip, still visible despite the scruff he sported. Oliver leaned into her, his lips brushing her ear. “Besides that.” His tongue shot out and ran slightly down the edge of her ear. “You can laugh at them all. You’ll know.”

           “I don’t know if I am ready,” Felicity practically said into his shoulder as he continued to lave at her earlobe. She shivered at the sensations he created within her.

           She felt him nod, as he swept her hair further back so his tongue could continue his onslaught on her neck. “We’ll take it slow then.”

           Felicity heard him groan before he pulled himself away and stepped back completely releasing her. Her wet skin making her cold. He held up his hands. “No touching then.” He might have told her that but his eyes sparkled with a mischief that made him look younger than she had ever seen him. “Unless you can’t keep your own hands to yourself.”

           She shook her head and rolled her eyes at his teasing comment before turning serious. “Do you promise?”

           “Yes.” His expression grew tight, but he inclined his head. “If I said I won’t touch you, I won’t.” He walked over to gather his things together, almost shoving them into his bag. She watched him take a shuddering breath before he faced her slightly. “Tonight we’ll just get to know each other.”

           There was a pause. Felicity could feel the air humming around them before he spoke again. “Are you okay with that, Felicity?”

           “Yes.”

           He turned and began to step toward her again but stopped abruptly. His hands went down to the desk. They curled around the edges, his knuckles turning white with the force. “Diggle is waiting for you. I’ll see you soon.”

OQFSOQFSOQFS

           “Where to?” Diggle asked her as he held open the back door of a black town car.

           “He didn’t tell you?” There was no need to say his name. They both knew of who she referred to. Honestly, she was surprised. She thought for sure that Oliver would have told Diggle to drive her to the club. Diggle already knew she was supposed to be there after last night. He was the one who told the bouncers after all.

           “Mr. Queen only said that your car broke down and that you needed a ride.”

           That left Felicity once more with the ability to choose her fate. Oliver had done this on purpose. He wanted to make sure she was completely on board with whatever it was that he had planned for the two of them at Verdant.

           It really didn’t matter. She was already told Oliver that she was okay being with him despite her reservations. It wasn’t like she was going to sleep with him, though when she had arrived at class today, she felt sure that would have been the outcome.

           But, if Oliver didn’t want to sleep with her yet, that left Felicity with the question of what would happen to her car. Oliver said it would be ready for her by morning. Which brought to mind another question. Why would it be brought to the club? It wasn’t like they’d hang out there all night long. Or could they? Oliver did say his sister owned it. But, if he wanted to have sex with her, when and where had he planned for that to happen? Felicity was not an exhibitionist by any means and she hadn’t read any reports of Oliver doing something like that in any of the papers since his return.

           Resolute in her decision from earlier, even if that left her with so many more question, Felicity gave Diggle the answer he waited for. “Verdant.”

           He nodded once and indicated the backseat. Felicity slid inside and he shut the door behind her with a snap. Luxury cars did not seem to have the same loud slamming sound that her older car was capable of.

           Diggle went around the car and stepped into the driver’s seat with efficiency. He casually pulled out SCU with an ease that Felicity envied. She was still a nervous driver. It was when they were on the highway, on the way toward the Glades that Felicity knew that her destiny was sealed.

           Diggle glanced in the rear view mirror at the small blonde in the backseat of the Queen family’s town car. She seemed unsure. Not as much as Diggle was, though. He didn’t know what his friend had planned for this woman, but whatever it was it could not be good for either of them.

           Felicity was a child playing with matches. While Oliver held a ticking time bomb in his hands. Both could, and probably would, be hurt. Diggle could only hope that the path they decided to walk on would not lead to any of their deaths.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

           It was Oliver who almost ended it all before anything had even begun.

           He stood across Verdant studying her as she stood off to the side desperately trying to blend into the raucous crowd that surrounded her. She failed miserably.

           Her pureness and innocence radiated off her in spades. It wasn’t until she left his class that night that he decided to look up her file in the school’s system. Oliver had reasoned with himself that it was to know more about her going into tonight. A little bit of insight into the brilliant mind that was Felicity Smoak.

           He’d keep the promise he made to her earlier tonight to keep his hands off. Mainly because he now knew the truth of her age. Oliver was already well aware of how intelligent she was. He could glean that well enough without the added benefit of test scores and transcripts. But her age had surprised him. Oliver would have never guessed that she was only nineteen, despite the purity she radiated.

           It was exactly that incorruptibility that drew him in. He had not been that innocent in a very long time. Even in the stupidity of his youthful transgressions, he had been more pure of heart than he ever could be again. But just being near Felicity made him ache to taste it again. To be nothing more than the Oliver Queen he tried to project to the world. The one that his family still tried to believe he was.

           Felicity did not need him in her world. To slip some of his darkness into the bright light she gave off to everyone she came into contact with. Even Digg had commented on it. His text warning Oliver off from doing whatever ill-advised thing he had planned had greeted Oliver as he handed his car off to the valet upon his arrival at Verdant.

           “What caught your interest?” Thea asked as she sidled up next to Oliver at the railing of the VIP level of the club.

           Oliver nodded in Felicity’s direction. “Her.”

           “Ah.” Thea nodded and a small smile graced her features. “Felicity Smoak.”

           Oliver faced his sister curious over her response. “You know her?”

           Thea shrugged. “I know of her.” She smiled more fully at him. “She comes in here at least once a week with some friends. But, I didn’t pay much mind to her until someone added her to the list of VIP guests that my bouncers have.” Thea’s smile turned wicked and taunting as she glanced between the two of them. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

           Winking at his sister, Oliver own features lightened from the frown that had been there before as he contemplated his future moves in regard to Felicity. Facing the railing, Oliver stared down at the woman who had held his interest for a while now. “What do you think about her?”

           “In general? Or…?”

           “Or,” Oliver responded. He knew where his sister had been going with her lost question. It generated from her concern over him. She had been pushing him to find someone to share himself with. Someone who wasn’t Laurel. Thea could see the toxicity that revolved around the two of them. Most of which had to do with their past, where Oliver followed every lead that he could to cheat on her. Probably because he had never been truly happy inside the relationship to begin with.

           Thea leaned on the railing studying the blonde thoroughly. She reminded Oliver a lot of their mother when she did it. Their mother never seemed to miss anything, especially when it came to her children.

           After a long, hard look, Thea shook her head and what was left of Oliver’s resolve to continue with the affair sunk. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into, Ollie.” Thea turned and grabbed onto Oliver’s arm, squeezing it as she normally did when she tried to reassure him. “But, I think she’s what you need. You’re not your past, Ollie.”

           “Yes, I…”

           Thea shook her head. “No, you’re not. Even if you think that you are still surrounded by it.” She pushed forward and hugged him. The feel of her arms around him reminded him that there could be human connection that didn’t always cause people to be hurt. “I know you have your secrets, Ollie. They are a part of you, as much as your past is, but they don’t define you. They never will.” Thea pulled back and glanced back over at Felicity, nodding in her direction. “If you don’t hurt her, she could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Something, Laurel, as much as I love her, will never be.”

           With another soft smile and a squeeze of his hand, his sister took off. Oliver wondered what happened to her while he was away that made her so wise. Or maybe it wasn’t just one thing. Maturity kept coming to her with each new experience that life threw at her. The club. Their parents’ divorce. The discovery that Tommy’s father was her own. And now Roy.

           Oliver smiled to himself. Nothing seemed to break his sister. Instead it all made her stronger. Just as his experiences had made him.

           Making his way down the stairs, Oliver pulled his phone out of his suit jacket and shut it down. Nothing was more important than his meeting with Felicity. Nothing. Not even Bratva business.

           Oliver approached Felicity from behind. He reached out and was about to pull her close to his chest to savor the feel of her against him, when he remembered his promise. No touching. Not tonight. If he touched her, things would combust quickly and he wanted to take things slow with her. He needed to enjoy this because there was something different about her. Oliver needed to savor that feeling, not burn it out.

           “Miss Smoak,” he gritted out gruffly.

           She spun in his direction, a hand at her throat. “Professor.”

           Shaking his head, Oliver stepped closer. Close enough to smell her even with all the overwhelming scents that radiated off the people around them. “Call me Oliver.”

           “Oliver.”

           The sound of his name off her tongue almost made him break every promise he made to her and himself. He wanted desperately to hear her scream it at the top of her lungs as he surged into her. Shaking his head, Oliver realized there was still plenty of time for that. Later. “Come with me.”

           “Where are we going?” she asked as she trailed behind him through the Wednesday night crowd.

           “Here.” Oliver directed her over to a hidden door. Keying in the code, Oliver reached inside the door and turned on the stair light. “After you.”

           He saw her glance over her shoulder back toward the crowd. Her indecision lay heavy between them. Oliver had to take a deep breath as he awaited her denial. “It’s okay if you still want to leave.”

           “No, I’m fine,” she said with a resolve that he admired in one so young.

           After a brief peek within the door, Felicity began to make her way down the stairs and Oliver secured the door behind him following her down. When they reached the bottom, Oliver held up a finger indicating that she should wait while he turned on the rest of the lights.

           Felicity did not know what to think once the lights flooded the area. She had just been presented with an entire living area inside the basement of one of the most popular clubs in the city. A place where Oliver Queen spent a lot of time. Felicity may not know much about her professor other than the rumors and the news stories she spent the night reading, but what she did know allowed her to recognize the signs of him throughout the space.

           She watched him strip off his suit jacket and set it on the back of a nearby chair, as if this was his nightly ritual. He proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his light blue shirt. Oliver had not bothered with a tie that night. An interesting thing in Felicity’s mind since he always seemed to have one around his neck whenever he taught classes.

           “You live here?”

           “Sometimes,” he told her as he waved her closer into the space.

           Felicity let her eyes roam. There were a few rooms separate from the main area they stood in. One seemed to be a bathroom. Another a bedroom. Their doors were open, available to her inquisitive eyes. But, one room that lay on the opposite side of the space caught her attention. It was the only door that was closed and Felicity had a strong suspicion that it was also locked. “What’s that?”

           “My office.”

           She nodded. That made sense. Felicity tended to lock up her own things whenever she could. Her computer had an encryption code to access most files. It was something a normal person would never be able to crack. Even a world renowned hacker would have a hard time breaking in.

           Felicity walked further into what could be termed a living room. It contained a couch, a few chairs, a coffee table and a side table. There also appeared to be a television behind a prominent picture on the wall. She had seen something similar in one of her technology magazines a few months ago. But, further than that, there was a cluster of exercise equipment. Felicity nodded toward it. “You use that?”

           “I do,” Oliver told her from her side. He had approached her and she had not noticed in all her inspection of his space. She tried not to tremble at the strength of his gaze as it landed on her. “And you now have seventeen questions left, Miss Smoak.”

           “Seventeen?” Felicity asked him confused.

           “Sixteen,” he told her with a smirk. “I’d choose them much more carefully if I were you.”

           Felicity turned to face him uncertain how to proceed. If she asked him, it would use up another of her precious questions. She had to be smart about this game they were playing. One that she hadn’t been informed about fully. “I didn’t realize that we already started. Or that there were rules.”

           Oliver winked at her and slipped her purse from her shoulder. “There are always rules, Miss Smoak. Even when you don’t believe there are any.” He set her purse down on the coffee table next to them and raised his hand as if to caress her face only to drop it back down to his side. “Take the no touching rule.”

           “You implemented that one,” she reminded him.

           “So, I did.” His eyes glazed over for a moment dulling the bright blue of his gaze. It did not make him sad. No, there was something deeper. Pain. Fear. And if she wasn’t wrong, a tinge of coldness that could only be brought on by fighting through both and surviving.

           “I read that you were gone for almost two years. Where were you?”

           The normal piercing blue of his eyes returned. And so did the smirk that seemed to rest at the edge of his mouth during most of their conversations. “Hitting below the belt from the beginning, Miss Smoak. I’m impressed.”

           Felicity laid a hand on her hip. “It wasn’t meant to impress you. I just don’t know anything about you outside of what I found out on the internet.”

           Silence fell. Felicity could almost hear the pounding of the club’s music from above them. Before it seemed like the place was soundproofed from the noise, but when the quiet descended between them, she could make out at least the thumping of the bass.

           Felicity heard the intake of his breath. Maybe he was going to answer her. It made her hold her own. She tensed up preparing herself for whatever answer he was about to give her.

           “Not now. Later,” he promised as he stepped away.

           “Okay,” she agreed. Felicity racked her brain for another question. Something that had nothing to do with the time he was away. Suddenly, she remembered what he told her in the classroom. “What marks do you have on your body that none of the other students know about?”

           “Too many,” he told her with a tinge of sadness to his voice.

           “Can I see?”

           His head barely inclined before his hands began to reach up for the buttons of his shirt. Felicity swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure if she was prepared for a shirtless Oliver Queen. What she was less prepared for was the marred skin that littered his chest and side. Felicity gasped. Her feet led her directly in front of him. Her brain blanked on the no touching rule as her fingers trailed over the mottled skin.

           Knife marks. Bullet holes. Burns. Those were just the marks she recognized. Others were undistinguishable. Several overlapped. His body rippled with each swipe of her fingers. Felicity only wished that she could find a way to take the agony the away from him when he had received such devastating wounds. Her eyes raised up to his.

           There were shutters over his. Despite his body moving under her gently touches, she noticed how tense he was by the whiteness of his lips that he had pressed together. Felicity laid her palm over the largest mark, a tattoo that was imprinted over his heart. “How?”

           Oliver gentled after her question. His eyes lightened and his mouth relaxed as a gently smile came over it. “We’ll add that to the later pile.”  

          Felicity nodded. She was sure he would tell her. He did not seem like the kind of man who would easily forget or back away from a promise. Which was probably why his own hands were fisted at his sides while hers were plastered to his body.

           Her name was whispered out of his lips. He stepped closer and her hands became trapped between both of their bodies. Felicity felt every one of his breaths. Every beat of his heart. His skin as it heated under her touch.

           “Let me kiss you.” His voice was deep, needful. Blue leeched from his eyes as the pupils dilated and his lips softened under her watchful gaze.

           Felicity knew she assented but she’d never be able to remember how before his lips descended on hers. His mouth was warm and dry. His tongue burned her as it swept across her lips. They opened under the onslaught and he invited himself inside drawing her tongue into his own mouth. None of it was fast. Each move he made seemed slower than Felicity would have anticipated it would be. Deliberate. Calculated.

           She wanted to wrap her arms around him. She wanted to caress his skin as his mouth penetrated hers. She wanted to be closer to him than she already was, which was probably why her hips surged upwards almost upending her balance.

           That was when he finally touched her. His hands practically encircled her hips they were so large. But, while she had been sure they would begin to roam her body, they stayed put. Not even a finger strayed. Oliver Queen literally had more control in one little finger than Felicity Smoak had in her entire body.

           All too suddenly, he tore his mouth from hers and set her from him with an ease she admired. Her hand came up to rest on her swollen lips. Ravaged ones that ached for more. Oliver didn’t kiss, he consumed.

           “You need to go.”

           “I thought…” Felicity did not know what she thought. Not anymore. Oliver seemed to have stolen her thoughts as easily as he took her breath.

           “If you stay,” Oliver told her with a penetrating stare, “you will not leave the same person that came here.” He swallowed hard and Felicity could see him reining in his control. “You need to leave.”

           Felicity was not sure what he was even talking about. However, she refused to address it as a question and become penalized for the use of one later. Changing her course of action, Felicity asked a different one. “Do you really want me to leave?”

           “No.” He did not even bother to meet her eyes when he answered. He turned away and went to lean against the wall near the closed door. Oliver crossed his arms and hung his head, almost resolute in his decision.

           “What would happen to me if I stayed?” Felicity asked as she took a hesitant step in his direction.

           His head shot up as his eyes met hers and his nose flared. “Everything.”

           With that last statement hanging in the air, Oliver walked away from her. He went over to a section of the wall and pressed on it. A panel shot open and revealed a liquor cabinet. She watched as he pulled out a crystal cut glass and a bottle of vodka. He splashed some in and quickly downed it before pouring more. The bottle went back in and the panel closed under his large hand. His eyes raised to hers as the glass came up to his lips. “I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk and then I’d fuck you again just because I could.”

           Felicity shivered at his bold words. He wasn’t boasting. Oliver seemed pretty sure that would be the result. She did not dare tell him that she could sense the vulnerability that lay behind the words. Felicity had a feeling that he did not want that to happen to her, but he was unsure if he could control how he would react. Which was probably what drove him to implementing his no touching rule to begin with. There was something about Oliver that screamed that as much as he could hurt her, he could also be gentle. Maybe more so than any other guy that Felicity had ever slept with. Which with her track record was a total of two. “I still have ten questions left.”

           “And I have twenty.” The liquor shot down his throat as he tossed it back. Oliver set his glass down gently on the coffee table. It did not even make a sound on the heavy wood. “But for our own peace of mind, I believe another night would be a better choice.”

           “So, you want to…” Felicity didn’t need to add, do this again. They both knew it hung there in the empty air. Instead, Felicity gestured toward the open door of his bedroom. If she wasn’t wrong, she could almost see a hint of red tinging his cheeks while he glanced in the direction she indicated.

           “You’d rather send me home,” Felicity continued uncertain as to why. “I don’t think ten questions will even come close to letting me get to know you.”

           Oliver stepped toward her and then hesitated. “Maybe that’s the point.”

           “Can…” Felicity cut short the question at his raised eyebrow. “I need to get home. Diggle told me that he was going to have my car towed to your mechanic.”

           Oliver nodded once and went over to his suit jacket. He pulled out his phone. It seemed that he had turned it off because it took a minute for the screen to come one. “Diggle will see to it.”

           His phone call to his bodyguard was brief and to the point. No extra words were spoken besides what was necessary. But Felicity could sense there was more to the conversation than what she actually heard. The two men almost shared a silent communication by what was left unsaid.

           When Oliver hung up, he threw the phone carelessly at the coffee table. It slid across the surface and landed next to his discarded glass. For some reason that struck Felicity as symbolic but she could not place why she would think so.

           Oliver’s eyes met hers as he approached. “Diggle will be here soon.” He nodded toward another door. It was one that she had never noticed before because it laid in a shadowy corner. “He’ll knock when he’s here.”

           Walking past her, Oliver made his way over to a piece of equipment she did not recognize. It looked like the chin up bar that they made her use back in high school, but there were levels to it. Like the bar was adjustable. But if that was what it was designed for, it left Felicity to wonder why they levels went up so high. There was no one who would be able to reach the bar if it was raised to the top. Ultimately, it made no sense.

           Oliver hopped up onto the bar, unmindful that he was still in dress pants, even if he wasn’t in much else. He made a quick move and the bar went up to the next level and him with it. Up he went to each level with an ease that Felicity envied. Not that she noticed much at all besides the rippling of his chest and arm muscles with each movement he made. She had to swallow hard to remind herself to breathe.

           The sound of a knock echoed in the space as easily as the clanging metal that Oliver produced from the equipment he was using. Felicity went to pick up her purse before she left. She glanced over at Oliver who had reached the top and was now descending the same way he had gone up. He seemed unconcerned by her movements or the knock on the door.

           “Mr. Diggle is here,” Felicity raised her voice so he could hear her over the sound of metal hitting metal.

           Oliver paused. He hung there with his powerful arms. Arms that had held her not too long ago. “Goodnight, Miss Smoak.”

           “Friday, then,” she said back to him, deliberately keeping it from being a question.

           “Friday,” he agreed.

           Oliver watched Felicity leave. He had been completely aware of her every second that she was in his space, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss her. But the second she was gone, it was like a vacuum. All the life had been sucked out, including his own.

           “Fuck this.” Oliver jumped down from where he hung. He needed to get this pent up energy out and the Salmon Ladder was not doing it for him tonight.

           With a steady pace, Oliver made his way over to his phone and picked it up. It only took a second to call the most memorized number in his contacts. The phone only rang once before a familiar voice picked up on the other end.

           “Ah. My favorite American. What can I do for you?”

           “Who do you need me to kill?”

@almondblossomme @thebookjumper @olicityhiatusficathon @jaspertown @miriam1779

[newstfionline]

Poland’s Nationalism and Europe’s Values

By Steven Erlanger and Marc Santora, NY Times, Feb. 20, 2018

SNIADOWO, Poland--The young mayor of this small town deep in eastern Poland is extremely proud of its new Italian fire engine, which sits, resplendent, next to a Soviet-era one. Nearby, the head of the elementary school shows off new classrooms and a new gymnasium, complete with an electronic scoreboard.

All of this--plus roads, solar panels, and improved water purification and sewer systems, as well as support to dairy farmers--has largely been paid for by the European Union, which finances nearly 60 percent of Poland’s public investment.

With such largess, one would hardly think that Poland is in a kind of war with the European Union. The nationalist government has bitten the hand that feeds more than once, drawing censure for backsliding on democratic norms by packing the Polish courts top to bottom, and by threatening to undo the rule of law.

The tug of war has intensified as Eastern Europe becomes the incubator for a new model of “illiberal democracy” for which Hungary has laid the groundwork. But it is Poland--so large, so rich, so militarily powerful and so important geostrategically--that will define whether the European Union’s long effort to integrate the former Soviet bloc succeeds or fails.

The stakes, many believe, far outweigh those of Britain’s exit from the European Union, or Brexit, as the bloc faces a painful reckoning over whether, despite its efforts at discipline, it has enabled the anti-democratic drift, and what to do about it.

The growing conflict between the original Western member states of the bloc and the newer members in Central and Eastern Europe is the main threat to the cohesion and survival of the European Union. It is not a simple clash, but a multibannered one of identity, history, values, religion and interpretations of democracy and “solidarity.”

“It’s yes to Europe, but what Europe?” said Michal Baranowski, director of the Warsaw office of the German Marshall Fund, noting that Poland’s support for European Union membership runs as high as 80 percent but can be shallow.

The Polish government, which is dominated by the Law and Justice party, itself dominated from the back rooms by the party chief, Jaroslaw Kaczynski, seems to have its own answer to the question.

It is more than happy to take European Union support, but worries that Poland’s share could come on the chopping block in the future. The country is to get nearly 9 percent of the European Union budget for 2014 to 2020, some 85 billion euros, or $105 billion.

But the vague threats to apply the brakes to the gravy train are unlikely to push the Kaczynski government to change. It has responded to European criticism by accusing Brussels and Germany--so recently Poland’s greatest ally in Europe--of dictating terms to newer members and trying to impose an elitist, secular vision.

It has campaigned on Polish national pride, “getting up off our knees,” portraying the predominantly Roman Catholic Poland, which traditionally sees itself as a victim of history, as the “Christ of nations.”

After being squeezed between empires and occupied in turns by fascism and communism, Poland is ready to take its place as an equal, Mr. Kaczynski asserts, no longer relegated to serfdom or secondary status.

This combination of Polish nationalism, religious conservatism, anti-elitism and attacks on those supposedly seeking to dictate to Poland about values and migrant quotas has made Law and Justice by far the largest party in a divided country with a disorganized political opposition.

The party has risen from almost 38 percent of the vote in the 2015 election to about 47 percent in recent opinion polls. Much of that success is attributed to its investment in the poorer countryside, and much of the money for that investment is attributed to European Union support and access to its markets and jobs.

But more than money, Law and Justice thrives on cultural and identity politics. It has contrasted a conservative, Catholic Poland and its family values with a godless, freethinking, gender-bending Western Europe.

It accuses past governments, the opposition and the urban elites, of hankering after European approval and acceptance to the detriment of Polish interests.

Sniadowo district, a collection of villages northeast of Warsaw with roughly 5,500 people, reflects that support. While the pre-World War II population was about 40 percent Jewish, today it is Kaczynski country.

The area is profoundly Roman Catholic and deeply affected by its proximity to Belarus and the memories of the Soviet occupation of World War II. In 2015, roughly 70 percent of voters in the region supported Law and Justice.

People go to church several times a week, priests tend to give passionate, political sermons, and state and church media give a partisan version of events.

“Promoting same-sex marriage will not go down well here,” said Marek Adam Komorowski, 58, a local councilman in nearby Lomza. “If you are in Europe, you can’t speak against it, but it is not a norm here. Here, family means something else.”

Rafal Pstragowski, the 37-year-old mayor of Sniadowo, an independent in his seventh year in office, echoed the sentiments. “Poland is a traditional Christian country and Poland respects other religions,” he said, “but we want our culture to be respected, too.”

“There is a fear among people that Western secularism is a threat to our traditional culture,” he added. “If things in Europe keep going in the same direction, people think that the migration crisis and terrorist attacks could start here, too.”

Slawomir Zgrzywa, 55, a local historian, said that Poland’s long history of conflict with Russia had made it skeptical of “any sort of left-wing or liberal politics,” and had enhanced the standing of a deeply conservative and politicized Roman Catholic priesthood.

As for the fight with the European Union over the government’s control of the judiciary, that “seems abstract,” said Agnieszka Walczuk, 45, the director of the town’s elementary school. “The people here are poor, and they feel they have been helped by a government seen as protecting them,” she said.

The recent squabble over Poland’s new law about history and the Holocaust is another example of the government offending Western European sensibilities about free speech for domestic gain. It is seen at home as an effort to protect Poland against all those angry, upset foreigners--including Jews and Western Europeans. It was telling that the opposition abstained on the vote, rather than voting against.

While firmly in favor of membership, Law and Justice has a vision of the European Union similar to the British one--a union of nation states trading freely with one another but not interfering in domestic politics or national culture.

At the same time, Poland sees an emerging vision for Europe, under the proposals of France’s president, Emmanuel Macron, as reviving French-German domination of the bloc, which would leave Poland more sidelined.

In Poland’s view, talk of restricting the rights of foreign workers in France is protectionist and aimed at the new member states, but wrapped in pro-European language. Poland rejects a “multilevel” or “two-speed” Europe, with an inner core of eurozone states and an outer ring of lesser members. But it sees Brussels heading that way regardless.

In general, Mr. Kaczynski’s priority is domestic, “and for control of the judiciary, he’s ready to pay almost any price,” said Piotr Buras, head of the Warsaw office of the European Council on Foreign Relations. “He is slowly using mostly democratic means, amassing so much power that the party’s position is unassailable.”

The changes, the government argues, are necessary to clear out an old Communist elite, but they are “rendering the independence of the judiciary completely moot,” Frans Timmermans, vice president of the European Commission, said in December.

“The constitutionality of legislation can no longer be guaranteed,” he said, because “the country’s judiciary is now under the political control of the ruling majority.”

The European Union has warned Poland officially, charging that Warsaw risks “a serious breach” of its commitment to shared values of liberal democracy and the rule of law, principles that all member states have sworn to uphold.

Some think that Warsaw and Brussels will compromise somehow, since other European states do not want to risk being subject to sanctions one day. But compromise is difficult to foresee. Mr. Buras views in Mr. Kaczynski a pessimism about the European project.

“He thinks that this E.U. is doomed to fail, and so we need to save ourselves,” Mr. Buras said. “He believes that it cannot survive.”

[whittlebaggett8]

A wave of Islamic countries started to stand up to China over its persecution of its Muslim minority. But then they all got spooked., Defence Online

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A boy in a mask depicting the flag of East Turkestan — an alternate name for Xinjiang — with a Chinese flag clamped over its mouth in Istanbul, Turkey, in November 2018.

source

Murad Sezer/Reuters

China is spying on millions of Uighurs, a Muslim-majority ethnic minority, and detaining at least a million of them.

Beijing has gone above and beyond to prevent Muslim countries from standing up for the Uighurs – and the strategy is working.

Over the past few months many countries in the Islamic world have criticized China, then abruptly rowed back their comments.

Experts say this is a result of Chinese threats against the countries if they do speak up.

Visit Defence Online’s homepage for more stories.

China is waging a global campaign against the Uighurs, a majority-Muslim ethnic minority concentrated in its western frontier of Xinjiang.

In the last two years the country has ordered tech companies to spy on their phones, outlawed Muslim practices like wearing a beard or going to prayers, and detained at least one million of them in prison-like detention centers.

Activists and politicians in places like the US and UN regularly slam China over the crackdown. Beijing continually tells its Western critics to back off, but goes above and beyond to prevent Muslim countries from standing up for Uighurs.

The strategy is working. Some Muslim-majority nations appear to be increasingly silent over China’s Xinjiang policy, suggesting a fear of incurring Beijing’s wrath.

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China’s President Xi Jinping in Beijing in December 2017. He has waged an unprecedented crackdown on Uighurs in Xinjiang, in the country’s west.

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REUTERS/Fred Dufour/Pool

A pattern of speaking up, then rowing back

In December, the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) – a 57-country consortium that calls itself “the collective voice of the Muslim world” – acknowledged “disturbing reports” of China’s Muslim crackdown in a series of tweets.

Though the phrase was coined by the group’s independent human rights commission, rather than the OIC itself, activists welcomed the declaration as an important Muslim voice against China’s Xinjiang policy.

@OIC_IPHRC expressed concern on these disturbing reports on the treatment of #Uighur #Muslims and expressed hope that #China which has excellent bilateral relations with most #OIC countries as well as the #OIC, would address the legitimate concerns of Muslims around the world. 4/ pic.twitter.com/F2jDfjgD99

— OIC (@OIC_OCI) December 11, 2018

Many Muslim-majority countries, which are in the OIC, are located near infrastructure projects subsumed under Beijing’s Belt and Road Initiative, a massive trade project that aims to connect China with dozens of countries around the world.

The fact that the OIC acknowledged the Uighurs’ plight “certainly seemed to indicate a level of shared institutional concern,” Sophie Richardson, China director at Human Rights Watch, told Defence Online.

Read more: This map shows a trillion-dollar reason why China is oppressing more than a million Muslims

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A map showing some Belt and Road Initiative land routes that run through Xinjiang.

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BI Graphics

That all seemed to change last month, when the OIC issued a report saying that it “commends the efforts of the People’s Republic of China in providing care to its Muslim citizens; and looks forward to further cooperation between the OIC and the People’s Republic of China.”

People who celebrated the OIC independent commission’s comments on Xinjiang were shocked by the new statement, and question whether the consortium’s allegiance lies to Muslims around the world or to China.

“It is a shocking betrayal of many of the values that the OIC claims to uphold,” Richardson said.

Noting that the OIC regularly slams Myanmar for its persecution of the Rohingya ethnic minority, she added: “[The fact that] it seems not just unconcerned by, but enthusiastic about the arbitrary detention of a million Muslims by a highly abusive regime, really raises questions about what their standards are.”

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A composite image of Xi and Pakistan Prime Minister Imran Khan. Khan has appeared ignorant of China’s crackdown on the Uighur Muslims.

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Getty Images; Reuters

Pakistan is another example of a Chinese ally taking back its criticism of the Xinjiang policy. After the country’s religious affairs minister censured Beijing over its so-called counter-extremism measures against Uighurs last September, the foreign minister rowed back the comments by accusing the media of “trying to sensationalize” the Xinjiang issue.

Imran Khan, the country’s prime minister, even claimed not to know anything about China’s Muslims in at least two interviews, with the latest being last week.

Read more: Pakistan abruptly stopped calling out China’s mass oppression of Muslims. Critics say Beijing bought its silence.

Imran Khan hasn’t heard about #Uyghur Muslims in China pic.twitter.com/lERKxKTkdI

— Ismail Royer (@IsmailRoyer) March 28, 2019

Adrian Zenz, a researcher on China’s ethnic policies, told Defence Online: “It is more than likely that both the OIC and Pakistan were under significant amounts of pressure [from China]. It is unlikely that they simply changed their mind over a situation that has been worsening, and where more and more information is becoming available.”

“We are not certain what China threatened and promised, but it apparently was significant enough to get the OIC to issue a favorable statement from the Chinese perspective,” he said.

“The fact that they even congratulated China on caring for its Muslims citizens means that they went out of their way to praise the country despite of the situation in Xinjiang, which is truly remarkable.”

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In the background: Secretary General of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, Yousef bin Ahmad Al-Othaimeen, at a consortium meeting in Istanbul in March 2019.

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Murad Sezer/Reuters

Chinese scaremongering, Saudi encouragement blamed for U-turn

Experts believe the OIC and Pakistan’s abrupt about-face was a result of Chinese financial and diplomatic pressure. Many OIC countries have strong trade relations with Beijing, which has appeared willing to suspend investment over unsavory comments.

Experts previously suggested that China had bought the silence of Pakistan, one of the largest recipients of Chinese loans and infrastructure projects. As Khan refused to acknowledge Muslims’ plight in China this January, he said: “The Chinese have been a breath of fresh air for us.”

Peter Irwin, program manager at the World Uyghur Congress, told Defence Online: “It’s very likely that China recognized some of the statements of concern that came out of a meeting of the OIC’s human rights advisory body in December and understood that they had to nip this conversation in the bud before it attracted too much attention.”

“Not only has China bought the silence of a number of key OIC members, some are now actively praising China’s treatment of Muslims, which is a wildly irresponsible step in the exact wrong direction,” he added.

Richardson also said the OIC’s tacit approval of the Xinjiang camps “shows how much energy and resources China is willing to throw at minimizing criticism and orchestrating support.”

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The UN Human Rights Council in Geneva, Switzerland in March 2019.

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Denis Balibouse/Reuters

Reports of Beijing pressuring diplomats not to speak out about Xinjiang are not new.

In a letter sent early last month, and published by Human Rights Watch this Monday, Chinese officials warned unspecified UN delegates not to “co-sponsor, participate in or be present at” a fringe meeting on the Uighur crisis in Geneva, citing – or threatening – “our bilateral relations and continued multilateral cooperation.”

A diplomat who identified himself as Chinese at the meeting also called the testimony of Omer Bekali, a former detainee at China’s camps, at the panel “a complete lie,” The New York Times reported.

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Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman on the Great Wall of China in February 2019. He has issued a statement effectively supporting Beijing’s Muslim crackdown.

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Bandar Algaloud/Courtesy of Saudi Royal Court/Handout via Reuters

Another reason for the Muslim world’s capitulation could be Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman’s support for the Xinjiang crackdown during a trade trip in February.

“We respect and support China’s rights to take counter-terrorism and de-extremism measures to safeguard national security,” he said, without mentioning Xinjiang or Uighurs by name, according to Chinese state media.

Read more: Saudi crown prince defended China’s imprisonment of a million Muslims in internment camps, giving Xi Jinping a reason to continue his ‘precursors to genocide’

Crown Prince Mohammed’s support was significant considering the Saudi royal family’s role in the Islamic world as Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques – a deferential title used to acknowledge his responsibility for the two holy cities of Mecca and Medina.

Irwin said: “This gave the green light to the rest of the OIC to pay no attention to the issue and actually double down on their support for China.”

Read more: Why the Muslim world isn’t saying anything about China’s repression and ‘cultural cleansing’ of its downtrodden Muslim minority

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Xi (far left) and Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed (far right) at a meeting at the Great Hall of the People in Beijing in February 2019.

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Kyodo News via Getty

Turkey the defiant

Turkey is the largest Islamic country to speak up for the Uighurs – and Beijing is clearly feeling the heat.

In 2009, then-Prime Minister (now President) Recep Tayyip Erdogan described ethnic violence in Xinjiang as “a kind of genocide,” and in 2015 his government offered shelter to Uighur refugees. China responded by repeatedly threatening to tank the two countries’ economic relations.

Ankara then broke its four-year-long silence in February, calling the Xinjiang crackdown a “great shame for humanity” – marking a significant shift in other Muslim countries’ deafening silence over the matter. Irwin said the World Uyghur Congress was “encouraged” by those comments.

Read more: The mystery of a Muslim poet who may or may not be dead in a Chinese detention camp is at the center of a diplomatic crisis between China and Turkey

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Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. His government issued a scathing statement against China’s Uighur crackdown earlier this year.

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Reuters

Turkey has been trying to integrate into the Belt and Road Initiative. That dream is now being threatened.

Shortly after the foreign ministry’s comments, China temporarily closed its consulate in Izmir – a sign of strained relations. Deng Li, ambassador to Turkey told Reuters that “criticizing your friend publicly … will be reflected in commercial and economic relations.”

Several Turkish nationals were also mysteriously detained in China, the Nikkei Asian Review said, and at least six Uighur Turkish citizens have been missing in Xinjiang since at least 2017, BuzzFeed News reported.

Defence Online has contacted the Turkey’s foreign ministry in Ankara and embassy in London for comment on the OIC’s statement and disappeared Uighur Turkish nationals.

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Uighur women hold East Turkestan flags in protest against China in Istanbul in November 2018.

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Murad Sezer/Reuters

But the battle isn’t lost

The OIC’s implicit approval of the Xinjiang camps doesn’t mean the Muslim world has totally capitulated to China, Richardson said.

Not all OIC member states approved or were aware of the consortium’s implicit approval of the Xinjiang camps, she said, adding: “We certainly have information to indicate that [at least two] OIC members were a little bit surprised by the language in the OIC document.” She declined to name the countries.

When asked whether the statement can be considered a victory for China’s narrative about Uighurs, she said: “In the near term, yes.”

But if the OIC’s controversial statement “has the effect of really galvanizing some of the member states that are genuinely quite concerned about Xinjiang, then it’s a bit of a Pyrrhic victory,” she added.

“We just have to see how these other governments respond.”

The post A wave of Islamic countries started to stand up to China over its persecution of its Muslim minority. But then they all got spooked., Defence Online appeared first on Defence Online.

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[mythicamagic]

Diabolik Fairy Tales - Chapter 1

AU - The Diabolik Lovers re-imagined as fairy tale characters. Each chapter will feature a different diaboy, as their dark natures become entwined with the original macabre fairy tales of the past. Includes smut with a nameless heroine (slight reader insert)

Rated M                Trailer is here         

Chapter 1 - Yuma Mukami                            Chapter 2 - Shuu Sakamaki

Chapter 3 - Kanato Sakamaki                      Chapter 4 - Ayato Sakamaki

Chapter 5 - Ruki Mukami                               Chapter 6 - Laito Sakamaki

Chapter 7 - Azusa Mukami                            Chapter 8 - Reiji Sakamaki

Chapter 9 - Kou Mukami                          Chapter 10 - Subaru Sakamaki (end)

Warning! This series of fairy tale one shots will have various subjects or content that might make you uncomfortable. Off the top of my head there’s cannibalism, manipulation, abuse, and other such things. This is because I wanted to link the original fairy tales and all their messed up content that Disney and others alike try to censure, and combine it with Diabolik Lovers. You know…that series infamous for all kinds of messed up themes ^^ Now this isn’t to say that all those will be featured in EVERY chapter, just a few, and I will specify the warning before the chapter. So if it makes you feel uncomfortable just skip certain chapters yo.

I’d also like to remind you that these characters don’t have to share my moral beliefs, or philosophies. My main goal in making this was to combine horror and romance, so I hope I succeeded. This series is written in third person without Yui as the MC. There are no OC’s and you can self-insert if you like but it isn’t really a reader x diaboy scenario, nor am I shipping them with say ‘Cinderella’, in fact the heroine remains nameless for the most part. But you can imagine what you like ^^

Oh and there be no vampires here. AU for a reason ya feel?

Warnings: Lemon and Implied Cannibalism

What Big Teeth You Have ~

Pushing against a heavy door, a young woman braced herself. Its large frame swung wide on its hinges with a groan, almost lost in the rush of wind and biting cold. Quickly stepping out, she heaved the door back into place, trying to stop any heat from escaping. She sighed, breath becoming visible in the air, before adjusting the basket slung over her forearm. Clutching the clasp of her cloak tightly, the material strained under her hand as she shivered. Not wasting time, she trudged forward in the snow, the blood red of her cloak in stark contrast to the white surroundings.

Luckily the winds became still, and it had long stopped snowing, making it easier to walk without having to brace against the elements. The woman craned her neck up to the full sky, and wondered how long she had until the next snow fell. Grimly going about her task, she strode through the small village. If it were a little warmer she would probably have dallied, but she had a two hour journey ahead, so the sooner she left the better.

Passing the local blacksmith, her lashes lowered in pleasure as heat softly caressed her cheeks. Her steps faltered as it lured her in, the very air beckoning her closer.

“Hey, Little Red! Off to Grandma’s again I take it?” Shouted the aged blacksmith, sweat clinging to his brow. She briefly envied him, but smiled even as resentment threatened to loosen her tongue.

“I thought I asked you to lay off the ‘Little Red’ stuff.” She chided lightly. “But yes, that’s where I’m headed.”

“Careful on your way!” He yelled over the furnace, waving at her absentmindedly.

Taking that as a hint to leave, she sighed and stepped away, instantly mourning the heat and wishing she’d never felt it.

Now the bitter sting of winter attacked her with a much fouler force, and the woman tightened her cloak around her shoulders once more. She passed by several closed shops and locked eyes briefly with one of the only merchants still in business.

The weight of her basket felt heavier as she skimmed over their meagre selection of food. Her lips thinned, and she quickly looked away, turning her head forward.

As she turned towards a path that would lead her out of the village however, she stopped dead.

There was a loud thwack, followed by ripping and a dull thud.

Her heart shuddered in her chest as her eyes greedily devoured him.

The routine went on, methodical in its simplistic savagery. There wasn’t anything special about watching someone chop wood, but Yuma had a different presence about him when he was absorbed in work.

His large hands gripped the handle of an axe and swung it high. He then brought it down quickly, splitting the log down the middle in one fell swoop.

His muscles coiled and flexed under his shirt, and her eyes followed a path up from his exposed collarbone – wasn’t he cold? –  to his drawn features.

Her brows pulled together, before his eyes slanted up, seemingly by chance, and pinned her in place. Her treacherous heart leaped, and for a breathless moment, time seemed to stop.

The moment was broken by the widening of his smile, before his face split into a full grin. “Oi, Sow! Quit staring!”

Her face flushed, becoming redder than her cloak as the merchant behind her craned his neck in their direction.

“Yuma!” Her cloak blustered around her as she raced forward, hushing him. “The whole village will hear you!”

He chuckled. “Heh, knew it was a sure-fire way to get you over here. Don’t see why you gotta be so defensive about it. You should just sit there and ogle me all day, we both know it’s what you wanna do.”

Shame briefly coloured her face, and her boots suddenly became very interesting.

“If all you’re going to do is tease, then I’ll be on my way. And stop calling me ‘Sow’, it’s worse than Little Red.”

Yuma looked affronted as he swung the axe up, resting it lightly against his shoulder. “Sow is Sow. Ain’t about to call you anything else. Anyways you’re heading out at a bad time, you can see plain as day that the sky is full.”

He towered over her in height, so it was easy to take his warning to heart. Yumas lip curled as he eyed the cloudy sky, but she sighed and shook her head in response. “I have to go.”

“And the wolves?” He asked, gaze flitting over her slight form.

She smiled, moving the cloth over the basket aside to show a glint of a knife. “What about them?”

Yuma shook his head, something in his eyes warning her not to get too cocky. “Heh, I see this Sow has fangs.”

She rolled her eyes. “Grandma’s probably starving up there by now. I’ve missed my last couple of visits because of the bad weather, it has to be now.”

“Tch.” Yuma clicked his tongue, saying without words his stance on the situation. Things had become heated between everyone because of the recent famine, but the subject of her Grandmother had always turned Yuma sour. “And what is the lucky layabout getting from you today?” He sneered at the basket.

“The last of the bread. Some winter berries…oh, and leftovers we had that-“

Her stomach growled, and her mouth clicked shut. Yuma looked at her sharply, and she quelled under the sheer intensity in his eyes.

“Oi. When was the last time you ate?” His voice dropped, and anger briefly flashed, fierce and dark on his face.

He was hungry too, just as everyone was, so tempers were high. But she couldn’t understand Yuma’s mood swings in particular. It was as if he took her hunger personally, like it offended him when she couldn’t eat.

“I’m fine Yuma-“She tried to coax the usual, teasing Yuma out, but his face hardened.

“You know Sow… If I didn’t know any better-“He drew very close, his height making her shoulders drop. She stayed rooted in place even as he bent closer, teeth briefly flashing. “I’d say you wore that cloak to hide your skinniness. Bet that’s why you’re always so cold huh? Winters got a real taste for those with no meat on their bones. You can feel it biting you even now, can’t ya?”

She held her ground against the woodcutter’s keen gaze, and only felt herself relax when a bit of warmth gentled his eyes. She knew he only got angry out of consideration and sense of ‘fairness’.

“Alright. If that’s how it is, then I’ll play nice for once and offer you some of my share.” He smirked, eyes hooded as they stayed locked with hers.

“W-what? I couldn’t ask you to do that. You must be running low as it is-“

“Stop fussing. I have game that I shot just the other day.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a jar, holding it up for her inspection.

Red, raw meat glared back at her. She raised wide eyes to his. “Yuma, how did you get this? You know there’s been nothing sighted or caught around here in weeks.”

It was true, the gravity of their situation had hit when villagers had to look to the surrounding woods to provide for them. But berries and herbs only filled the stomach so much. Yet in their haste to hunt they’d picked off all the game frighteningly quick. There were no more deer, rabbits, squirrels, and even fish had become hard to catch. The only thing that remained elusive but in abundance, was wolves.

“Tch, don’t question my hunting. I’m a pretty decent shot with a rifle.” He grinned, sharp teeth glinting. His smiles were always infectious and she couldn’t help but return it. Warmth flooded her and she opened her mouth with affection on the tip of her tongue.

“Yuma-”

“Red! Get a move on to Grandma’s! Off with you, now!” Cried a shrill voice, and she didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Yes mother!” She called, glancing behind her and waving awkwardly. She hid the jar from view, knowing that Yuma would probably get in trouble for not sharing the game amongst the villagers. She pushed it back into his large hands.

“Sorry, I’ll get this later when she’s not looking. Thank you though, I really-“she tripped over her words, and became frustrated, trying to continue. “- I um – thanks.” She finished lamely, smiling.

“My pleasure, Sow.” He grinned sharply, voice dropping in the familiar way that usually prompted her to fantasize about too many inappropriate things. She shook herself and nodded, turning without another word and walking away.

“Oi, Sow! Forgot to say-“she glanced back at him and a serious look hardened his eyes. “Don’t take the shortcut. The pass is closed with snow. It’s a pain in the ass, but don’t go getting any ideas about going through it. Just take the usual path.”

She hesitated, thinking of the weather, but nodded. Turning away, the feeling of eyes boring into her back quickened her step, until she was swallowed by the cover of the woods.

Cold numbed her fingers as she tucked her hands tighter into fur coated gloves. Her red cloak spilled out behind her as snow crunched under her feet. Branches from the tall trees seemed to enclose over her head, and everything was still and quiet. Yet the woman trudged on grimly.

Yuma distracted her thoughts, and she bit her lip absentmindedly. He’d come into her life unexpectedly, showing up out of the blue a year ago. Back then, the village had been prosperous despite being so remote that travellers scarcely reached them. So it was with befuddlement but kindness that her father, the village head, welcomed him. Yuma never spoke of his past, except to say that he’d spent some time in the city and had to leave for personal reasons. Several villagers still said cutting remarks about him.

Unlike them, she’d become fast friends with him, unperturbed despite not knowing his past. Her smile fell a little however, at the thought of the jar.

The weather had turned cold so unexpectedly fast that year that it had taken the village by surprise. As a result, their food supplies had suffered, but this would have been fine had they any animals to hunt. Yet the game was picked off so quickly it was frightening, until they’d ran out entirely.

Even trade with other villages had become difficult, because of recent snow storms blocking trade routes. One of the villagers had gone missing in a storm not too long ago, now presumed dead. The village was now turning to their livestock for food, and whatever leftovers they had left.

Where Yuma had come by an animal, she didn’t know.

A distant sound caught her attention, and the woman’s head snapped up. A long, drawn out howl echoed in the woods. Her heart picked up, but she shook herself. She’d never been attacked by a wolf in all her visits to Grandmothers, and even with Father’s warnings she felt confident in dealing with them.

Her father didn’t like her visiting Grandmother without an escort, but there was no one else to help. Even if Yuma had volunteered, he probably would’ve been stopped by her mother. A warning look was always glinting behind people’s eyes whenever she was alone with him, though she tried to dismiss their stares and baseless rumours.

But she knew what those gazes meant. Don’t get too close, be wary.

Yuma brought a different kind of danger with him than wolves did. The kind that prompted sweating, writhing bodies bathed in moonlight to tease her thoughts. Those thoughts had become hopes, until they leaked like smoke into her very bones and became desires.

Now they were a part of her. The desire for him was as intrinsic as breathing, and she knew it with a certainty that frightened and excited her. But the only way to have him and experience his calloused touch, would be to become his bride. Her boots slid on an icy patch, and she stopped dead, balancing herself rigidly.

She didn’t care much for marriage, and sensed Yuma didn’t either. Yet if she didn’t marry him, she’d be risking her reputation, her life, all for one night. And if she gave in she’d be called worse things than ‘Sow.’

However, as she reached the crossroads and decided to follow Yuma’s advice, taking the longer path, she couldn’t help but be lulled by a darker feeling.

And that feeling made her realise something terrifying.

That if he wanted her, she’d be prepared to sacrifice everything, just to satisfy the cravings he elicited in her.

Shaking her head, she squashed that thought down, even as her thighs pressed together and an achingly sweet desire tightened her core.

The distant howls from within the woods rang out almost ceaselessly, but the woman continued undaunted.

Yet when another howl rose up, louder than the others, her steps faltered. Turning, she glanced around. That one had definitely been closer than the others.

Quickening her pace, her hand slid under the cover on the basket, touching the knife. Wolves were usually shy creatures despite their reputation, but hunger drove many animals to desperation. If they were half as hungry as her village was, then maybe…

Her breath shuddered as her heart hammered in her ribcage. Just a little further.

Grandmother’s house lay at the crest of the great hill, in a clearing free of the surrounding woods. The old woman had lived there all her life, and even after her husband passed, she’d refused to move into the village. It had fallen to ‘Little Red’ to take her meals, so she’d taken this path countless times.

Another howl, long and drawn out, echoed right into her very bones. The woman had never felt such terror when making a visit before.

She trudged quickly up the hill. A twig snapped behind her, but she didn’t turn to look. Instead she walked faster, pumping her legs until she was running.

The sound of bushes shaking, perhaps fur brushing against leaves, caught her ear. Something thudded against the snow behind her, and then she really was sprinting. Grandmother’s house came into view, just as the very real sound of something running gave chase behind her. Thud, thud, thud, thud pounded feet, no, paws on snow.

She breathed torn, ragged breaths as she ran. Her face was numb with the cold as her hood flew back.

Reaching desperately for the door handle, she quickly grasped it and tore the door open. Slamming it shut behind her, she threw her weight against it and braced for the impact of snapping jaws and hungry snarls.

But it never came. The sound that had shadowed her footsteps was gone. It was silent in the cottage, save for the crackle of the fireplace.

Sighing in relief, the woman tried to calm her racing heart. Once her breathing had slowed, she looked around. “Grandmother? I’m here! Sorry I haven’t checked in for a little while, the path was closed with snow.” She shook her boots and loosened the cloak around her shoulders.

“Grandmother?”

There was no response. Frowning, she made her way from the living room to the aged bedroom, finding it empty. She must be here, the fire is still lit.

Puzzled, she set down her basket. A seed of doubt bloomed in her heart, tightening with every minute that crept by without her Grandmothers shrill voice. Reaching under the basket’s cover, she brought out her knife and hid it under her cloak.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” She asked quietly, trying to comfort herself with the sound of her own voice rather than listen to deafening silence. Wandering back to the living room, her eyes caught sight of the fireplace.

The crate where logs were kept for the fire was empty. Grandmother had probably gone outside to the shed to get some more.

Walking to the back entrance and grabbing the handle, she pushed, exposing herself to the bitter cold once more.

“Grandmother?” She called to the nearby shed, seeing the door open. Following the two sets of footprints in the snow, her heart thudded in her chest, pumping sickeningly fast.

Wind whistled in the air as something wet landed on her nose. Snow was beginning to fall.

Her legs grew heavy as she reached the entrance of the shed.

And then her stomach lurched violently at the sight.

Red streaks in the snow caught her attention first, until her eyes landed on a broken form laying in the shed. Logs had fallen around her, obviously giving under her weight as she’d landed on them. The white of her hair danced in the snowy breeze, and a strangled noise chocked the girl’s throat as she stared at her grandmother.

“No, no please.” She muttered, bending down and reaching out, only to think better of it. The broken form of Grandmother was deadly still. The girl’s hands hovered uselessly in the air above her, staring at the ugly red patches of blood.

Frightened, quick breaths filled the woman’s lungs. As much as it disturbed her to think it, the blood looked freshly spilled. Judging by the amount of blood coating her body and the blood spatters over the shed’s walls, she’d been viciously attacked.

The girl was about to wonder what monster had done this, when there came a low, hungry rush of sound, hissing between teeth.

She froze. Raising her head slowly, she locked eyes with the wolf in the doorway.

It snapped its jaws, mouth peeling back to reveal sharp yellowed teeth. Spittle coated them, spilling out to pool on the ground.

It’s hackles rose as she shifted, wrapping her fingers around the knife more firmly. She trembled under the wolf’s gaze as two amber eyes stared at her fixatedly. A snarl rose from the pit of its throat as legs bent, and great jaws opened wider.

A cry escaped her as it suddenly lunged, and she quickly brought up the knife. Her eyes squeezed shut on instinct, expecting teeth to lock around her throat.

Something slammed into the ground. A loud whimper filled her ears.

Opening her eyes, she started and scrambled away from the twitching body of the wolf. An axe was buried in it’s skull.

The woman’s gaze travelled up from the handle to Yuma’s grim face. His eyes were blazing as they locked with hers.

“Shit. I take my eyes off you for two fucking seconds-” he grunted. “You okay?”

An emotion that threatened to undo her bubbled to the surface, before exploding. Tears pricked her eyes as she rose to her feet, jumping into Yuma’s waiting arms.

“Y-yuma. Oh God, my-my Grandmother she-“Air chocked her lungs and she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t hold back the rush of relief that he was here, here with her. The fear, sadness and confusion left her heavy and shaking in his arms.

He muttered something into her hair, tightening his arms around her. His warmth drew her closer, like a moth to flame, and she clung to him, wanting never to let go as his fingers stroked her hair.

Sometime later, the woman sat before the fire, her skirts arranged around her so that she could comfortably sit and stare into the flames numbly. The shutters rattled against the winds outside. She could feel the chill in the air even as she basked in the heat of the fire. Yuma was somewhere behind her in the kitchen, rambling under his breath as he kept himself busy. Since taking her inside, he hadn’t sat down once. Instead he’d made her a drink, secured the shutters on the windows and barricaded the doors against the snow. He’d said that a storm had followed him from the south when he’d decided to come to the cottage after her.

Since the weather was so bad, they’d decided to wait it out before heading back to the village and explaining what had happened.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Grandmother was still in the shed. It made the girl shudder to think of her cold, lifeless body being forgotten out in the snow. A part of her felt as if she could hear the old woman’s bones rattling in the wind outside.

“Oi, budge up will ya?”

Broken out of her thoughts, she quickly scooted over to make room for Yuma. He bent down and folded his legs beneath him with a satisfied sigh.

“Well, everything’s taken care of. We should be fine in here for a good while.”

She nodded, mind drifting back to the shed once more.

“Shit, quit with that. If you need a distraction, just focus on me.” A warm hand was suddenly on her chin, turning her face to his. When her pupils focused on him, he smirked. One of his canines peeked out between his teeth, as it did sometimes when he was truly satisfied. She was unable to stop from smiling weakly.

“Better. Don’t go wandering off somewhere I can’t follow, alright Sow?” He busied himself with bringing out a jam jar, and the woman could only puzzle over what he’d meant.

“You brought the meat with you?” She asked once catching sight of the red substance within the glass, though something about this jar seemed familiar.

Yuma rolled his eyes and bumped shoulders with her. “Tch, course. It’s gotta get eaten.”

She winced and rubbed her shoulder even as she smiled. “Yeah, guess so. It’s just hard to think of anything else except for…”

She trailed off, her mind returning to that dark place. Yuma unscrewed the lid of the jam jar and without preamble, ate a slice of red meat.

The woman started in alarm. “You eat meat… raw?” She was almost certain there had been blood in that jar.

His expression was flat, as if he found nothing wrong with it. “Yeah. I mean, not all the time. It’s safe if you handle it with care, which is pretty easy in these freezing conditions.”

She adjusted her cloak worriedly, but froze the moment a low gurgling sound escaped her stomach. Yuma’s eyes were locked on hers in a second.

“Ha? I see… ya still haven’t eaten.”

She shook her head, quickly rising. “There’s still some food in Grandmothers basket, I’ll just-“

A hand latched around her wrist, pulling her down. She squeaked in alarm, landing awkwardly. Her knees bumped against his, and she grabbed hold of his shoulders to keep from bumping noses with him.

His face was suddenly close, too close. She practically drowned in the heavy depths of his brown eyes. A sliver of green around the edge of his iris’s caught her attention, and she became mesmerised by it. A part of her didn’t want to move, and he knew this, judging from the wicked grin on his face.

Blushing hotly, she opened her mouth to complain, before he shifted, wrapping his arm around her and pulling so that she was now completely nested onto his lap.

“That’s better, ain’t it Sow?” His voice was pitched low and husky, hot breath fanning against her ear and cheek. Her limbs locked, heart thudding painfully fast in her chest.

“Tch…look at that. You’re trembling. Shoulda said if you were cold.” His hands were rough as they rubbed up and down her back and arms, as if unused to handling something gently. But when he decided to settle her even closer in his arms, she half wished he’d continued.

His eyes were sinfully dark as she tilted her chin just so, barely a hair’s breadth away from his. This was all he needed to finally crash his lips onto hers.

A squeak of surprise was muffled under his mouth as he pressed his lips against hers painfully. His tongue flicked out to run over her bottom lip, and she yielded under his touch, parting her lips.

He groaned as his tongue plundered her mouth, and she was left almost unable to respond, helpless to do anything but cling and press against him.

When her hips shifted against his unconsciously, he inhaled through his nose sharply. His large hands settled on her back and hip under the heavy fall of her cloak, licking flames of desire over her body.

“Are you trembling from the cold, or something else now?” He murmured, pressing a hungry kiss to her cheek, then her jaw.

Though she was indeed shaking, the woman knew it wasn’t from fear. Her fingers clutched at his clothing like steel hooks. Nothing could pry them away.

“I’m not scared.”

“Bold words, coming from a girl who’s never learned how to shiver.”

Her cloak suddenly felt so heavy it weighed down on her shoulders like a burden. She became hyper aware of her innocence, like a barrier between them.

The woman awkwardly untangled herself from him and stood, backing away. She was sweating, blood boiling too fast under her skin.

The urge to shed her clothes overwhelmed her in the hot room, which only grew warmer as Yuma also stood, gaze fixed on her.

She raised her chin, catching sight of the jam jar that he’d left before the fire. The reflection of flames danced upon the glass and only served to highlight the dowdy design of its polka dot lid. Why was Yuma using Grandmother’s jam jar? He hadn’t had it earlier.

The wind wailed against the shutters of the room, rattling them loudly like Grandmother’s shrill scream.

The realization came all at once. She heard the locks straining against the barricaded door. The jar, in the right light, made the bloodied meat glint. And within, one white hair lay trapped inside.

Yuma smiled as her eyes became fearful and wide. “Heh, what big eyes you have, Sow. You finally noticed it huh?”

She didn't move.

The bones in the shed trembled.

“Gonna run away?” His voice almost dared her to.

Fear locked her limbs, and she felt the horror inside her heart start to leak into her expression. But the thought of a limp body, lying in the snow, gripped her tight and steeled her nerves.

When her hands rose it wasn’t to grab the knife on the nearby table, but to reach under her cloak for the lace of her dress. Undoing the fastenings with a steadier hand than she thought herself capable, she slid her arms free of the sleeves and shimmed it down her hips until the cloth pooled at her feet.

Throughout, Yuma watched her with wide eyes. They roved over her face at first, before lowering to the gap in her cloak that showed only a sliver of flesh.

After sliding her winter stockings down her legs, she stood tall and bare underneath the heavy fall of her cloak.

It had the desired effect, as in a blink, Yuma bore down on her, leaning in close with his teeth glinting. Yet just as his hand reached for her, she grabbed the knife, leaning up quick so that it was poised against his neck.

Yuma’s breath stilled, whilst hers was short, fast.

“Tell me why you did it.”

Yuma’s eyes blazed. His lips turned up, voice becoming a husky whisper. “Does a predator need a reason to eat prey?”

The knife pressed against his neck a little harder, drawing blood. But her hands were weak. Tears stung her eyes.

Yuma clicked his tongue, and the woman chocked on her cry as the knife was swiftly knocked from her hand.

Yuma then grabbed her close, grip painfully tight. “She was holdin’ out on you, Sow. When I came here to build up the hearth a week ago, I saw the pantry.”

He dragged her to an old cupboard that she recognised. To her knowledge, it was completely empty. Yuma kicked the door open, and her eyes flew wide.

His lips were suddenly beside her ear, hot breath fanning into her hair. “It’s filled with food. Food she didn’t share with the village. And all the while she kept accepting your baskets, while you went hungry.”

The woman’s heart thudded, heavy in her chest. Her family had slaved for food for months, yet the pantry was filled to the brim. Grandmother had eaten at her leisure.

Yuma tugged her numb body back. Her head hit the floor a moment later, body spread out in front of the fire like a feast. Yuma leaned over her, lips brushing her ear. “Ya call that fair?”

She shuddered and tried to rise, her skull aching from the impact. His body weighed her down. Fingers grabbed her hair and yanked, until she looked him in the eye. The smell of bread filled her nostrils, before it was against her lips, which she recognised from her basket. Yuma pressed it forcefully against her mouth. “Eat.”

Hot tears blurred her vison as she opened and began to chew. Her mouth was dry and the bread clung to her tongue, but Yuma was unrelenting even as she chocked and swallowed.

She wet her lips once she was done and Yuma stared at her, fixated on such a simple action. Air on her skin made her eyes drop to her chest, where the cloak had parted, revealing her breast. Yuma’s gaze followed hers, and a different kind of hunger licked hot flames up her thighs.

Their lips met between one moment and the next. She didn’t know how, or why. Suddenly all the fear, pain and noise was suspended in the air, so far away it couldn’t touch her. All that was left in her body was the embers of desire. Grandmother was lost to her, barely a concept anymore. Yet the woman couldn’t find it in her to feel remorse for her own heartlessness. An eye for an eye.

His large hand cupped her breast, squeezing until she moaned against his mouth.

Yuma’s lips were harsh and utterly relentless, assaulting her own with a force so great it left her reeling, helpless to do anything.

Moans spilled from her mouth into his, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her sensitive nipple. Hips met and sensually slid against each other. Teeth knocked. When he bit at her lip, pain only served to heighten the pleasure. Her appetite consumed her, and when his tongue sank between her teeth she didn’t think about the meat in the jar beside them.

She began to claw at his clothing, skin on fire as she shifted beneath him. Yuma gave in to her wordless request and broke away to take off his coat and shirt. He didn’t pause as his fingers undid his belt and the woman watched as he freed his hard length. Her breathing hitched, heart hammering in her chest as his body sank down over her.

His lips found hers again, pressing with a hunger that mirrored her own. Both his touch and kisses felt bruising in their strength. Long fingers slid into her cloak, until they brushed against her wet sex. The clasp of her cloak strained against her collarbone as she writhed, bucking her hips against his hand as he teased her.

When his other hand left her breast to fiddle with the clasp of her cloak, she quickly grabbed his arm. “Y-yuma, don’t-“

“I don’t wanna hear any complaints, Sow.” He growled. Clicking it open, he parted the cloak with one hand, eyes roving over her body as red cloth gave way to bare skin.

She looked away, wanting to shield her skinny hips and hide her ribs. Yuma just stared down at her grimly.

“You’re just like I used to be…” he murmured. “No, maybe more like Boss. He was self-sacrificing too. Tch, it was sickening.” Dulled, faraway eyes contemplated her form dispassionately.

The woman blinked and reached for him, wanting to know more, but his fingers resumed their motions as he slid another inside her.

“Now I see why you’re not scared that I’d eat you.” He remarked casually, even as she panted and moaned underneath him.

“I-Im not a piece of mea-“ She was cut off as something that had built within her burst, and her back arched, panting wildly.

Yuma just grinned. “Greedy, stupid little Sow. You wouldn’t care so long as it felt good, right?”

He removed his fingers, lapping at the juices coating them. The woman tried to calm her breathing but tensed as he bent his head, grabbing her leg and pushing it aside as he thrust his tongue inside slick folds.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, hands reaching for his soft hair as he lapped at her, sucking her juices like exquisite fruit.

When she felt teeth nip at her inner thighs, her heart stuttered with fear. She looked down and saw his face, shadowed with a dark expression. His eyes were unreadable. She knew at once the danger she was in as his tongue travelled up her navel. As if, at any moment, the mood might take him, and she’d be devoured on the spot.

When he raised his head and braced himself over her, he leaned in close, smirking. “Heh, unfortunately Sow, I’m not sure you’ll survive this. Your bones might snap like little twigs.”

His hand moved over the plains of her slight form. She glimpsed something in his eyes, before she felt the head of his hard length rub against her entrance.

“I’m not that fragile.” She spoke clearly, knowing fear did her no good. She raised her knees to accommodate him, never breaking eye contact as he slowly drove himself in. Yuma hissed in pleasure as she gasped, feeling of her walls tightening around him. Pain squeezed her eyes shut.

The feeling was indescribable. Yuma was inside her, sheathed in her heat, bodies pressed so close she could smell his earthy scent. It was just as she’d wanted. She leaned up to kiss his neck just once, and his gaze was puzzled before he was suddenly moving.

She bit down on her lower lip hard when he pulled out and slammed himself in, building a rhythm as he pounded against her.

He inhaled sharply as she pushed back under him, her small form dwarfed by his tall frame. She clung to his shoulders as the sounds of their bodies moving filling up the room. Sweat glistened off his chest and brow. The light from the fire bathed his skin in a warm colour, and she was enraptured by how he moved as they rutted together like animals.

She dazedly watched as he slid out of her, how the muscles in his abdomen flexed before he thrust back in, burying himself to the hilt. “Hah…” She heard Yuma hiss through his teeth, fingers digging into her thigh and hip.

One of his hands slid down her body, finding her clit and playing with it as he slammed into her, her juices rubbing off against his thighs. She felt as if she was burning alive, but the fire was blazing under her skin. She curled a hand into the red cloak underneath her, clinging to it and panting as she felt her second orgasm building. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, tasting blood as she groaned his name.

Yuma’s lips suddenly pressed against hers as her body shook and enclosed around him. White hot pleasure crashed down to her core. Yuma sped up and continued pounding into her, his thrusts becoming desperate and uncontrolled as he bit and licked at her skin.

His throat emitted a deep noise, breathing erratic as she felt him slam into her one last time, before unloading his seed in her.

A dazed sort of terror echoed in the back of her mind, sounding like the villages voices, but she knew herbs and other such things to quell her fears of motherhood.

Yuma panted, drawing away slowly. Her heart stuttered when he caught her eye.

“I promised myself I’d never starve again.” His husky voice was almost lost to her as he bent to kiss and lick at the sweat on her collarbone. “The feeling of having your insides cave in on themselves just to give your body something to eat�� nearly died in the slums from that sensation.”

Teeth nipped, scraping lightly against heated flesh. “But you made me break that promise.” She swallowed under the look he gave her. “I began starvin’ again, the moment I saw you. Nothing would quench the thirst except a taste.”

Pure satisfaction darkened his eyes, and she knew this had been his aim all along. “Tch, but I still aint sated Sow. Not by a long shot.”

He didn’t expect the woman to smile up at him, teeth sharper than he remembered. “Neither am I.”

The fears and names she heard so clearly in her mind were echoed the coming days after. No one suspected Yuma of anything after Grandmother’s body was discovered, but the village soon turned on her once she admitted she’ d spent the night with him alone.

After the funeral, her reputation, like her burned red cloak, lay scattered in ashes. Her mother and father cast doubtful eyes upon her, and fell silent whenever she entered the room. It was as if they couldn’t even recognize their own daughter.

She knew it wouldn’t have made a difference if she denied the rumors. An unmarried girl had no voice.

So it was that Little Red, who was neither little nor dressed in red, steadied her pack on her shoulder. She passed by the blacksmith, who turned away as she walked, head held high.

She didn’t stop until she reached the path leading out of the village, and found her Woodcutter waiting for her.

“Hungry?” He passed her a jam jar and she smiled, barely giving it a glance as she looked at him.

“Famished.”

And so the two wolves left the starving village for the woods that lay beyond.

[captainwhogotthecanary]

Something In Your Eyes (5/?)

Soooo, remember I said this would be 15 chapters and an epilogue?

Yeah, I just replotted it out to include the rest of her pregnancy and also nods to s2 where possible, sooooo it’s now weighing in at 33 if I stick to the outline.

Whoops? Blame Tavyn and Claudiarain <3

Thanks too to SylvanHeather starting this chapter, who also read through for feedback. Assume these three lovely ladies are giving me general feedback, at minimum, going forward, unless otherwise stated.

Starting this week and until I run out of buffer (which is almost month at this point, if I stopped writing today), SIYE will update Tuesday and Fridays. There’s still roughly a week happening in/between each chapter until otherwise stated.

Content warning this chapter for some violence, but not even as much as we usually see in canon.

Also on AO3.

Sara yawns again. She’s been trying to get to bed at a decent time, but life gets in the way.

Okay, spending time with Leonard gets in the way.

They’ve been keeping to their agreement, keeping things platonic aside from some harmless flirting neither of them seems able to turn off. There’s also been an increase in solo activities starring Leonard as inspiration when she isn’t too tired, but he didn’t exactly seem to mind when she let that slip. Her cards are on the table, and taking the edge off can only help, right?

Only, it doesn’t really help. Every moment between them is still charged. They went out to the bar with Mick the night before—Sara stuck to club soda because alcohol just didn’t sound particularly appealing—nominally to celebrate her working with them, but they just sort of kept forgetting Mick was there.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the other man’s company; she actually thinks they could get to be pretty good friends, too. It’s just that every cell in her body felt like it was being pulled toward Leonard, like every accidental touch set her ablaze.

Luckily, Mick didn’t take offense. He seemed tickled every time one of them blinked at him after he spoke. Still, she knows they need to work on that, especially since they’ll be working together.

Her first training job is today, and she’s spent five minutes trying to wake up enough to get out of her car. She needs to make it upstairs to his office to run back over the details, then back down and over to the location.

It really wasn’t the morning for her to realize she was out of coffee. She makes a note to grab some caffeine before heading to the job, if she has time, then takes a deep breath and gets out of the car.

As she makes her way to Leonard's office, she smiles at new coworkers who are already growing familiar. She waves at Felicity, who she’s found out is the tech wizard who got Leonard into her vault, then raps smartly on the office door.

“Come in,” Leonard calls. She walks in, finding Mick and Leonard already pouring over plans.

“Am I late?” she asks, glancing at the clock.

“No,” Mick answers. “Boss just wanted to get a head start since you’re the one going in.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, and Sara makes a note to ask Leonard about it when she gets a chance, but he doesn’t look upset, and his body language says she isn’t the target of his ire.

“We don’t usually let trainees go in on their own so early,” Leonard says, glaring mildly at Mick before looking at Sara, “so yes, I’d like to be a little more cautious than usual. Given your expertise and the ease of this part of the job, though, I don’t foresee any problems.”

There’s an empty chair next to Mick’s, a new addition to the room, and Sara sits in it and starts looking over the publically available information.

“You know what you’re doing today?” Leonard asks, and Sara nods.

“The target is a high-end department store,” Sara says, “with the main entrance on a busy street. They sell a lot of big ticket items, and they attract a lot of the type of clientele who can afford to pay in cash, so it’s high risk if there are any security holes. The owner wants to make sure she’s not gonna lose out on hard-earned money. I’m going in, with a camera and earpiece, to scope out the place before you actually attempt a job.”

Leonard nods, and Mick speaks. “Trickier than a lot of ‘em. Department store makes it near impossible to attempt anything without upsetting customers. Means what ends up happening is we only get as far as handing over a note that says we’re pretending to rob the joint. I see that and let security know it’s a test at that point, but they still have to get at least one armed guard in range before it’s been too long.”

They spend time pouring over plans and what parts of the store Sara needs to get on camera. She’s also testing alertness of security guards by acting suspect around some easier-to-lift items, with no actual intent to steal. Mick seems like himself, or at least the self she’s come to expect, so she dismisses the initial edge to his voice as imagined.

By the time Sara’s walking into the department store, she’s confident in the job, and she’s more excited about the work than she’s been in years. She only has half the coffee she picks up on her way, because she’s already humming with anticipation.

“Alright, Sara,” Leonard’s voice says in her ear, “video and audio are both good. Go ahead as planned.”

“Will do,” she says under her breath. She goes through the center of the store before making her way back around its edges, making sure she catches as much of the walls and ceilings on camera as possible. Occasionally, Leonard will give her more specific directions, things she missed, places he wants her to stop, things he could only have guessed at until he had eyes on. She quickly gets a feel for it, and she can hear the pleasure in his voice when she next stops.

“Precisely,” he tells her, and she waits a few more seconds before moving on. “Okay, you see those earrings over by the closest register? I want you to hang out over there. Fidget, look nervous.”

“Look like I want to take them,” she confirms before moving over to them.

They’re pretty, she admits, but not at all her style. They look like they would catch on her hair every two seconds. Besides, when she lifts one up, eyes darting around before she sets it back down, she sees that the price on it is about what she makes in a month, and she’s not exactly underpaid.

“Who would want these?” she mutters, and she hears Len chuckle. She almost breaks character with a returning grin, but her eyes are suddenly drawn to a man standing near the register.

He looks even more suspect than she’s trying to.

“You getting this?” she asks Leonard without taking her eyes off him.

“I am. I’m ready to alert police, and Felicity’s running facial recognition, though the hat’s making it tricky.” He pauses. “Get just a little closer if you can, but not too close. You don’t want to end up a hostage if this isn’t a false alarm.”

She moves a little closer and is positioning herself in front of a sock display when the man suddenly makes a move. He yanks down a ski mask, the edge of it only barely sticking out under his cap, which he knocks off in the process. It’s a quick move though, practiced, and his face is covered before anyone else knows what’s going on. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun, which he points immediately at the surprised cashier.

Sara takes a step closer when the cashier starts shaking and crying. The gunman isn’t reacting to her hysterics well, and he starts yelling. Sara has enough training that she thinks, even unarmed, she can take him down before anyone gets hurt.

“I know you have to help even though I’ve already alerted the police,” Leonard says, predicting her next move. His voice is controlled, if not quite calm, in her ear. “I know you’re able, too.”

Sara tenses as she waits for an opening, watches the unknown assailant wave his gun at the sobbing cashier.

“But you aren’t in charge here,” Leonard says. “I know at your bank you’d risk everything to foil a robbery, but head of security? That’s not you anymore, not here, not today. You’re here as my employee, and I’m telling you not to risk your life to save some cash.”

Sara internally rails against the order, but he’s right; she shouldn’t risk herself to stop the thief from getting away with his haul. She can and will, though, step in if it escalates any further, if it looks like anyone is about to get shot. Minutes pass, and she shuffles closer still when the man’s back is turned.

“Sara…” Leonard’s voice holds caution, not censure, like he can tell the compromise she’s settled on. She watches as the cashier starts handing over the money in the register, the gunman impatiently gesturing for her to go faster. “Detective West is in the building, Sara,” Leonard says, and something in her loosens to know she’s not only got backup, but backup she knows and trusts. “Hold on for just a few more seconds.”

And she tries, she really does, but the thief hears Detective West too early, and as the assailant spins toward someone she considers a friend, arm tense and finger on the trigger and face contorted in anger and fear, Sara finds she doesn’t really have a choice. She’s only a step away, and that’s all it takes to put herself in the path of his spinning arm, letting her grab the gun without ever being in its sights. It takes no effort to disarm him, and she steps back immediately, giving Joe a clean path to the man.

Sara can hear Leonard breathing hard enough for it to come over the microphone, but she doesn’t let herself talk to him until Joe has cuffed and unmasked the robber. “It’s over,” she says.

***

When Sara comes out of the building as he approaches it, she’s looking a just little rattled and entirely unharmed, and there’s very little that could keep Leonard from wrapping his arms around her. She doesn’t resist, instead melting into his embrace, leaning against him like she suddenly needs the help standing.

“You made the right call,” he murmurs into her hair, and she chuckles, finally lifting her own arms and wrapping them around his waist.

“I had some help.”

They stand like that until Detective West approaches, and then Leonard reluctantly lets go.

“We got all we needed from you, Sara,” West says before turning to Leonard, “but the video feed from her camera would help us when it comes time for prosecution. I assume you recorded it like usual?”

Leonard nods. “I’ll get that sent over as soon as I get back,” he says, and the detective nods and leaves.

Sara turns back to Leonard. “Do you need me back at the office?”

He frowns. He’s pretty sure she just means today, but after the experience her first time out, on a job that should’ve been safe, he has to ask: “Today, or ever?”

She looks at him like he should know better, and she’s probably right. “Today. I’ve still gotta run some errands before I call it quits for the day, and I was already tired. I know soon as the adrenaline finishes wearing off, I’m gonna be useless.”

“That’s fine,” he says. “We have what we need from the video, and we can have you sign the incident reports tomorrow after they’re ready.” He hesitates. “Do you need a ride?”

“I’ll be okay to drive,” she says. “You didn’t need to come down here at all… but I’m glad you did.”

He stares down at her and reminds himself they still have a few weeks before he’s allowed to give into his almost overpowering urge to kiss her. Hugs seem to be acceptable, though, so he pulls her into one last embrace before they part ways.

***

Alone in her apartment a couple hours later, Sara unpacks her groceries, putting away the coffee for morning and leaving out the beef so she can cook it for dinner. When she opens the meat, though, she wrinkles her nose; it’s definitely gone bad, despite looking fine. She tosses the meat, deciding it’s not worth a return trip to the store after the day she’s had. She’s not gonna keep spoiled meat around just to get back less than ten bucks. She grabs a box of macaroni and cheese for dinner instead, and a few minutes later, she’s curled up on her couch, wrapped in her softest bathrobe and watching Netflix.

She looks at her phone as she gets a text from Leonard.

You okay? Want any company?

She responds before she can talk herself out of it.

Sure. Just watching tv but wouldn’t mind not being alone

You know where I live, she adds. I’ll unlock the door, so come on in.

I’m on my way, comes the almost immediate response. Sara smiles and gets up long enough to unlock the door before getting comfortable again. She starts eating, but her movements slow and her eyes grow heavy, and she falls asleep before her bowl is even half empty.

She’s dimly aware when Leonard comes in, managing a noise of acknowledgement when he calls her name from inside the door. She feels him lift her, and she snuggles into his neck until he sets her down in her bed, pulling the covers carefully over her. When she hears his footsteps leaving, she calls out without opening her eyes.

“Stay?”

He pauses, and she hears him come back over, feels his weight as he joins her on the bed.

“Go back to sleep, Sara,” he says, wrapping his arms around her.

And she does.

[hearshegoes-blog]

Do [No] Harm (pt 3)

The story continues | Post “I Love You”

Catch up at AO3 or check out the first chapters here.

4:51am | St. Bart’s

“Oh. It’s you.”

Sherlock’s body reacted to Molly’s voice before his brain could catch up, his coat tail swinging around behind him. The sudden movement almost knocked a tray of slides off the lab’s center counter, an obnoxious rattle upsetting the room’s working quiet.

Molly’s tone rattled him.

“You were expecting someone else.”

“Anyone else.” she exhaled, an echo of that too recent day in front of the Watson’s, after Mary’s death.

Sherlock felt a vague tightness in his chest at the reproach. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t this, her…displeasure. With him.

Further analysis, however, substantiated what he feared to be the truth: He’d disappointed her, again and again. throughout their acquaintance.

Their friendship.

By her grace, Molly’d welcomed him into her heart as a friend. And he’d given her nothing in return.

She looked exhausted, her deep brown eyes ringed with smudges of mascara. Strands of chestnut hair had come loose from her ponytail.

Beautiful.

He smiled and waited for her inevitable approach to his corner of the lab, anticipating the way her scent - lilies of the valley and sanitizing alcohol - filled the space around him.

Molly folded her arms across her chest and kept her distance.

Again, Sherlock’s body responded, stepping toward her before receiving the marching orders from his brain. He suddenly craved the ambient heat he’d come to associate with her nearness. The warmth he felt while she was busy hovering at his elbow or working alongside him in companionable silence. He’d taken it for granted, that she’d always make herself available to him whenever he visited the lab.

Sherlock pushed the thought aside, If he could get Molly alone, he’d regain control of this situation. “Shall we…?” he nodded, inviting her to step into the hallway.

Molly smiled without a trace of joy and not at all in his direction. She evaded his approach, moving to the opposite side of the center counter. “I’ve been away —,” she explained, “out of the lab for a bit. So I’d rather we just stay…here.”

“Work never stops at the dead center of town, then?” he teased, the words landing harshly between them. Molly shot him a look which Sherlock greedily held, silently pleading with her give him just one smile.

She looked down just as the corners of her mouth kicked up. “I’ve got three hours of work left and only one hour to get it all finished, Sherlock. Whatever you’ve come here to explain, it’s…it’s not necessary. Greg filled me in.”

“Oh. I see.” There it was again, the dull ache in his chest - no doubt the waning effects of the day’s adrenaline rush. He made a mental note to have John look over him. Later. Right now, he needed to be close to her.

And she’s effectively put the counter between us. Sherlock resisted the urge to follow her to that side. Given the events of the last few hours, he doubted he’d ever have the opportunity to feel Molly’s warmth again.

Doubt. He was fast becoming acquainted with the verb - and its subsequent chill.

You didn’t deserve her tenderness before. But she’d given it to him, anyway. Repeatedly. Now, when he wanted most to earn her smile, her amused little snorts, Molly shut him out. Her actions were impossible for him to comprehend without additional data but, somehow, Sherlock knew she had the right to keep him at arm’s length.

“Sherlock…?”

“Can we…can I at least have a moment of your time,” he nodded in the general direction the juniors stationed across the lab, “in privacy?”

It was a gamble, his request. If she refused, Sherlock had no alternate strategy. He’d have to respect her authority here in regard to the lab. And in regard to matters such as…this. Matters he didn’t routinely traffic in. He was bone-weary and had no idea what he was doing at Bart’s, why he needed to be with her before even speaking to his parents about Eurus.

Yes he did.

“Alright,” Molly mumbled, “you can have it your way. Again.” She turned her back on him and addressed the juniors in a clear voice, “Tarique? Agatha? You can call it a night. And, well done, guys. You should be quiet pleased. I am. We’ll finish up the slides tomorrow.”

That was Molly. No matter how knackered or angry, she always had a kind word for someone else. How many times had she offered one to him?

Christ, he was an arse for even coming here.

“Oh, ok!” Tarique grabbed his lab coat and bounded out the door before Molly finished.

Good. The quicker the better.

But Agatha… “Are you sure, Molly?” She eyed Sherlock with disapproval. “I can stay through the end of the shift. Get the rest of these done. Hate to leave you alone.” Her tone was solidarity, warning.

Sherlock twitched but focused all his attention on Molly, enduring Agatha’s implied censure in silence.

“That’s alright. I’m fine, Agatha. Thank you.“ She turned back to him, "Mr. Holmes is an old friend.”

“Mmmhmmm…” She was unconvinced but made no attempt to question Molly further. Agatha did, however, pack up as slowly as the task would allow, clanging her way about the room and generally making as much noise as possible before exiting the lab.

Sherlock had to hand it to her, he’d used Agatha’s passive aggressive tactics once or twice before, hoping to get a rise out of Molly - a mock sigh or a reprimand. Now he’d settle for her putting less emphasis on the word “friend.”

Exactly why he was unsure.

“Sherlock, I —“

“— Molly, I came here to— “

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized, “you go ahead.”

“No. No. What were you going to say?” She had no cause to apologize. Least of all to him.

Molly took a deep breath, exhaled. After what seemed like long minutes, she finally looked up, her normally animated face humorless, defeated.

He was struck with the sudden desire to cup her chin in his hands and run his thumb over her lips.

“I’m not doing this today - whatever it is,” she paused, “this conversation. Not here. Not now.”

The knot in Sherlock’s chest reasserted itself.

And so did his urge to touch her. “Oh. Yes. You’re right. Of course. You’re the doctor. We both need a modicum of sleep…”

“It hasn’t been the best day…for this…,” she motioned between them as as her voice trailed off.

At that moment, he gave serious consideration to hopping over the counter. As tired as he was, he could do it, his six foot frame clearing the distance between them easily.

“No, it’s not you…us,” Molly straightened, “not all of it, anyway.” Her voice was clearer, louder, as though she’d heard his thoughts and needed to stop him before he launched himself in her direction. “It’s…this is never a good day.”

“Ahhh.” He most certainly was an arse. “Your father.”

“How…? Yes, how did you know?”

“Molly, we’ve been acquainted with  each other for nine years. Why do you think I’m always in the lab on March 4?”

“Really?”

Sherlock was saddened by the note of surprise in her response.

Of course she’s surprised. Do you blame her?

He’d never engaged Molly in conversation about her father, never offered condolences. He simply showed up at Bart’s annually, on the 4th of March, requesting her assistance with evidence. Barring any current cases, he’d concoct experiments that required a lab environment rather than the kitchen table at 221b. Sherlock assumed Molly appreciated his efforts. Work was, he found, a more productive means of dealing with emotion - any emotion.

At least that was his supposition before Mary died.

Now, Sherlock wasn’t so sure. “I’m sorry, Molly Hooper.”

She nodded and mouthed the words thank you. They stood across from each other like that, not saying anything more. Beyond the doors, Sherlock heard Bart’s begin to stir. Soon, the daytime contingent of pathologists would descend upon lab, intruding on the companionable silence that had been restored between them, for however briefly.

As if an alarm had gone off, the hissing whirl of the lab’s cooling system kicked in. The sound punctuated the immediacy of the moment and rousedg him to action. He knew what he wanted to say to her now, known it all along. He forced his brain to piece coherent sentences together from the bits of free-radical emotion floating around his heart. Sherlock steadied himself, spreading his hands wide atop the counter and took a deep breath.

“Molly, I —“

Her eyes went wide. “Oh my god! What happened to your hands?!”

–

Molly ached to touch him the moment she burst through the doors, expecting to see Greg Lestrade waiting for her.

Considerate, straightforward Greg. He was the kind of man Molly should’ve been attracted to, would’ve been attracted to. Before.

Before a lanky, indifferent loner with alabaster skin barged into her heart.

Sherlock always spoke truthfully, yes, but he was as far from uncomplicated as a man could get.

Farther.

…[but wait! there will be more!!! i’m just all angst’d out right now.]

[bountyofbeads]

Live updates: Trump called Pelosi a ‘third-rate politician’ in first encounter between the leaders since impeachment inquiry began, Schumer says

By Felicia Sonmez, John Wagner and Colby Itkowitz | Published October 16 at 4:43 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted October 16, 2019 5:40 PM ET |

At their first meeting since the impeachment inquiry began, President Trump called House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) a “third-rate politician,” Senate Minority Leader Charles E. Schumer (D-N.Y.) said Wednesday.

Trump had also lashed out at Pelosi earlier Wednesday, saying she has “done this country a tremendous disservice.”

The president’s comments came as Trump’s Republican allies escalated their attacks on the proceedings — accusing Democrats of “Soviet-style tactics” — as another witness testified behind closed doors on Capitol Hill.

Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.), meanwhile, told Republican senators that the Senate will probably meet six days a week during the impeachment trial, which he expects to begin around Thanksgiving.

House investigators are hearing from Michael McKinley, the former senior adviser to Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, behind closed doors. McKinley resigned last week amid worsening morale at the State Department and widespread concern that Pompeo has done little to defend diplomats who became ensnared in efforts by Trump to get Ukraine to investigate former vice president Joe Biden and his son Hunter.

● White House directed “three amigos” to run Ukraine policy, senior State department official tells House investigators.

● Acting White House chief of staff Mick Mulvaney emerges as a key facilitator of the campaign to pressure Ukraine.

● Testimony exposes deepening discontent with Pompeo at State Department.

The whistleblower complaint | The rough transcript of Trump’s call with Zelensky |The letter from White House counsel to House leaders

4:40 p.m.: Trump called Pelosi a ‘third-rate politician’ in first encounter between the leaders since impeachment inquiry began, Schumer says

At their first meeting since the impeachment inquiry began, Trump called Pelosi a “third-rate politician,” Schumer said.

“He was insulting, particularly to the speaker. She kept her cool completely. But he called her a third-rate politician. … It was sort of a diatribe, a nasty diatribe not focused on the facts,” Schumer told reporters after the meeting, which focused on Syria and during which impeachment was not discussed.

Pelosi, who launched the impeachment inquiry three weeks ago, described Trump’s behavior as a “meltdown.”

4:05 p.m.: Conservative group to air TV ads against Romney

The Club for Growth, a free-market advocacy group historically focused on fiscal conservatism, has a new TV ad going after Sen. Mitt Romney (R-Utah.).

The ad calls Romney “slick, slippery, stealthy” and a “Democrat secret asset” who is “plotting to take down President Trump with impeachment.”

Romney has been more critical of the president over the Ukraine issue than any other congressional Republican, and Trump has fired back angrily.

Notably, the group targeted Trump with attack ads in 2015, warning conservatives that “he’s really playing us for chumps.”

At the time, Trump called the Club for Growth “little respected.”

3:30 p.m.: McConnell says he expects Senate to meet six days a week during impeachment trial, beginning around Thanksgiving

McConnell told Senate Republicans that he expects that the House will vote to impeach Trump and that the Senate trial will probably begin around Thanksgiving, according to a senator who attended.

At the weekly Senate GOP luncheon, McConnell also fielded questions about the details of the process and told lawmakers that the Senate would probably meet six days a week during the trial, Sen. Kevin Cramer (R-N.D.) said.

“There’s sort of a planned expectation that it would be sometime around Thanksgiving, so you’d have basically Thanksgiving to Christmas — which would be wonderful, because there’s no deadline in the world like the next break to motivate senators,” Cramer said.

He added that McConnell, his staff and Senate Judiciary Committee Chairman Lindsey O. Graham (R-S.C.) fielded “every question you could imagine” during the luncheon.

“I have to admit I was grateful for the civics lesson, because it’s not something we deal with very often, thank God,” he said.

One issue that came up, Cramer noted, was the fine line Republican senators walk between criticizing the House-led impeachment inquiry and maintaining neutrality ahead of the likely Senate trial.

“The question becomes, how do we as a conference remain strongly united and open-minded should it come to trial, while at the same time, in the meantime, standing up for obvious injustices between now and then?” Cramer said.

— Erica Werner

2 p.m.: Trump claims, without evidence, that Obama was behind 2016 election ‘corruption’

At a joint news conference with Italian President Sergio Mattarella Wednesday, Trump was asked by an Italian reporter about Attorney General William P. Barr’s meetings with Italian officials.

Trump dodged the question, saying he didn’t know the details. He then pivoted, declaring that there was “a lot of corruption” in the 2016 campaign and accusing former president Barack Obama of being behind it.

No evidence has emerged to back up Trump’s assertion.

“There was a lot of corruption; maybe it goes right up to President Obama,” Trump said. “I happen to think that it does.”

1:50 p.m.: One Giuliani associate released on bond

One of two associates of Trump attorney Rudolph W. Giuliani arrested at Dulles International Airport last week has been released on bond, a day before they are both set to appear in federal court in New York on campaign finance violations.

Igor Fruman left the Alexandria federal courthouse with his attorney just before 2 p.m. Wednesday and declined to answer questions about his case.

Fruman put up property in Florida worth $1 million to secure his release, according to court records. Lev Parnas, his business partner, remains behind bars. A federal judge in Alexandria agreed to release Parnas if he could offer as collateral a $1 million business. He has not yet done so.

Where Parnas and Fruman got the money they are accused of illegally pouring into American politics remains a mystery. Parnas paid Giuliani $500,000 as a consultant while helping him drum up support for an investigation into Hunter Biden in Ukraine. But he also owes more than that in a civil suit involving a failed movie project.

— Rachel Weiner

1 p.m.: ‘Mr. President, release your tax returns, or shut up,’ Biden says

In an exchange with reporters in Ohio, Biden faced repeated questions about the actions of his son in Ukraine.

He said his son’s comments speak for themselves, then turned the question back to Trump: “Mr. President, release your tax returns, or shut up.”

12:45 p.m.: Schumer says Senate Republicans should withhold judgment on Trump

In remarks on the Senate floor, Senate Minority Leader Charles E. Schumer (D-N.Y.) called on Republicans in the chamber to withhold judgment on Trump, given that the Senate may be called upon to act as jurors in a potential impeachment trial.

“We are several steps away from a potential trial in the Senate,” Schumer said. “The House continues to do its work diligently, even-handedly, with only the facts in mind. So I’d remind my Republican colleagues in this chamber that committing, today, to vote ‘not guilty’ is contrary to their oath to ‘do impartial justice.’ That’s their oath.”

He took particular aim at McConnell and Graham, arguing that they “seem determined to turn this serious inquiry into another partisan exercise.”

12:40: Democrats plan to derail resolution calling for censure of Schiff

Democrats are expected to vote Thursday to derail a Republican-sponsored resolution to censure Rep. Adam B. Schiff (D-Calif.) for his handling of the impeachment inquiry, according to a House Democratic aide.

Rep. Andy Biggs (R-Ariz.) is the lead sponsor of the resolution.

Republicans have taken issue with several aspects of Schiff’s handling of the inquiry, including a statement in a recent hearing in which Schiff included an embellished version of Trump’s July phone call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky.

Schiff later said his remarks were intended as a parody and that should have been apparent to Trump and other critics.

Pelosi has stood by Schiff and Democrats are expected to have the votes to “table” the resolution, which will prevent a vote on the measure itself.

12:15 p.m.: Perry declines to say whether he will comply with subpoena

In an appearance on Fox Business Network on Wednesday, Energy Secretary Rick Perry declined to commit about complying with a congressional subpoena.

“Hey, listen,” Perry said. “The House has sent a subpoena over for the records that we have. And our general counsel and the White House counsel are going through the process right now. And I’m going to follow the lead of the, of my counsel on that.”

Friday is the deadline for documents to be released from the White House and Perry. Trump has said Perry asked him to make the July call to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, but Perry told reporters last week he did it so that the two could talk about energy issues.

11:45 a.m.: Trump says Pelosi has ‘done this country a tremendous disservice’

Hours before they were set to meet face-to-face for the first time since the launch of the impeachment inquiry, Trump told reporters that Pelosi has “done this country a tremendous disservice.”

“She’s created a phony witch hunt, another one,” Trump said of the impeachment inquiry focused on his pressuring of Ukraine to investigate the Bidens. “This one is just absolutely crazy. … This is an open-and-shut simple case.”

Trump’s comments came during an Oval Office meeting with Italian President Sergio Mattarella. Later Wednesday, Trump is scheduled to meet with congressional leaders, including Pelosi, about the Turkish incursion in Syria.

Speaking to reporters at the White House, Trump contended Democrats are “desperate because they know they’re going to lose the election.”

“They’re playing games,” he said. “They figure they can’t win the election, so maybe we can find some ground, somebody that Trump never met, and maybe they’ll say something bad about Trump, and if they do, really bad, maybe it can stick a little bit. I don’t think it’s going to work.”

11:30 a.m.: ‘I don’t know that he got along with Rudy Giuliani,’ Trump says of Bolton

In an exchange with reporters in the Oval Office after meeting with Mattarella, Trump claimed he personally got along “pretty well” with his former national security adviser, John Bolton, but suggested that there was friction between Bolton and Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani.

“Look, John Bolton, I get along well with him,” Trump said when asked whether he was concerned that Democrats may call Bolton to testify in their impeachment inquiry. “I actually got along with him pretty well. It just didn’t work out. … I don’t know that he got along with Rudy Giuliani.”

Trump defended Giuliani, arguing that he “was seeking out corruption, and I think there’s nothing wrong with seeking out corruption.”

According to two people familiar with the matter, Fiona Hill, the National Security Council’s former top adviser on Russia and Europe, told lawmakers earlier this week that Bolton was infuriated by a shadow operation being conducted by Giuliani to pressure Ukraine into digging up dirt on the president’s political rival.

Bolton had likened Giuliani to a “hand grenade” and had instructed Hill to raise the matter with White House lawyers, the people said.

Pressed Wednesday about a Washington Post report that Giuliani had urged Trump to extradite a Turkish cleric living in exile in the United States, the president dismissed the fact that Giuliani had not registered as a foreign lobbyist.

“You have to ask Rudy those questions,” Trump said. “Don’t ask me.”

11:15 a.m.: Fourth defendant in Giuliani associates’ case arrested at New York airport

David Correia, the fourth defendant in a campaign finance case involving business associates of President Trump’s personal lawyer Rudolph W. Giuliani, was arrested Wednesday morning at a New York City airport, officials said.

Correia has been charged with participating in a scheme to use foreign money to build political support for a fledgling recreational marijuana business in Nevada and other states, according to an indictment unsealed last week. The indictment also charged Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman with conspiracy and making false statements to election regulators.

The other three defendants were quickly arrested by the FBI, including Andrey Kukushkin, who is also accused in the alleged scheme. But Correia’s whereabouts have been unclear until Wednesday morning. All four defendants are due to appear in federal court Thursday morning.

“The defendant was taken into custody by the FBI at JFK earlier this morning,” said Nicholas Biase, a spokesman for the U.S. attorney’s office in Manhattan.

— Devlin Barrett

10:45 a.m.: House Republicans accuse Democrats of ‘Soviet-style tactics’

At their weekly news conference, House Republican leaders ratcheted up their rhetoric against Democrats, accusing them of “Soviet-style tactics” for holding closed-door depositions — even though Republican lawmakers have joined Democrats in those depositions.

“What is Chairman Schiff trying to hide from the American people?” House Minority Whip Steve Scalise (R-La.) said, referring to House Intelligence Committee Chairman Adam B. Schiff (D-Calif.).

Rep. Andy Biggs (R-Ariz.) struck a similar note, saying of Schiff: “He’s taken this to a Soviet-style inquiry.”

McCarthy argued that Democrats’ handling of the impeachment inquiry suggests they “believe you’re guilty until you prove your innocence.”

But McCarthy also denied that Trump had asked foreign countries to investigate Biden — even though the president has done so publicly in remarks to reporters on the South Lawn of the White House.

“Every single day in America, we work with other countries to solve open cases,” McCarthy said, adding that the president “did nothing wrong.”

10:40 a.m. Jeffries says Republicans are ‘unable to defend the indefensible’

Rep. Hakeem Jeffries (D-N.Y.), a Pelosi ally in House leadership, on Wednesday defended her resistance to Republican demands to hold a full House vote authorizing the impeachment inquiry.

Speaking at a news conference, Jeffries said it was a “textbook abuse of power” for Trump to have pressed Ukraine to investigate the Bidens at a time when nearly $400 million in U.S. military aid was being withheld.

Jeffries said there is nothing in the Constitution, Supreme Court precedent or House rules that requires a vote to launch an impeachment inquiry.

“They are unable to defend the indefensible, so the Republicans are arguing about cosmetic procedural matters,” he said, characterizing Trump’s actions as “abhorrent behavior.”

10 a.m.: Pompeo adviser to decry politicization of State Department in impeachment probe testimony

McKinley, the former senior adviser to Pompeo until his sudden resignation last week, will tell House impeachment investigators Wednesday that career diplomats were mistreated during his tenure and some had their careers derailed for political reasons, according to a person familiar with his testimony.

McKinley will outline how his concerns culminated with the recall of the U.S. ambassador to Ukraine, Marie Yovanovitch, a punitive action he and many other rank-and-file diplomats viewed as wholly unjustified.

“The unwillingness of State Department leadership to defend Yovanovitch or interfere with an obviously partisan effort to intervene in our relationship with Ukraine for the political benefit of the president was too much for him,” said the person, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to be candid.

— Carol Morello and John Hudson

9:50 a.m.: McKinley arrives at the Capitol

McKinley, the former senior adviser to Pompeo, has arrived at the Capitol in advance of a scheduled deposition with House investigators.

9:40 a.m.: Volker arrives at the Capitol to review transcripts of testimony

Kurt Volker, the former special representative to Ukraine, has arrived at the Capitol. He is reviewing transcripts of his Oct. 3 testimony, according to a committee aide who spoke on the condition of anonymity to share details that are not public.

Volker previously gave House committees text messages depicting State Department officials apparently coordinating with Giuliani to leverage a public promise of an investigation into the Bidens for a meeting between Trump and Ukraine’s new president.

8:30 a.m.: Trump, Pelosi to see one another for first time since inquiry began

Trump and Pelosi are scheduled to come face-to-face for the first time since the launch of the impeachment inquiry during a meeting at the White House scheduled for 3 p.m. Wednesday about Turkish military aggression in Syria. Trump has invited congressional leaders from both parties.

Trump might get questions earlier in the day about the impeachment inquiry. He is scheduled to hold a joint news conference at noon with visiting Italian President Sergio Mattarella.

7:45 a.m.: Trump suggests he’s facing possible impeachment because the Democratic presidential field is weak

In a morning tweets, Trump panned the performances of the Democratic presidential candidates in Tuesday night’s debate — and suggested he is facing an impeachment inquiry because the field is weak.

“You would think there is NO WAY that any of the Democrat Candidates that we witnessed last night could possibly become President of the United States,” Trump wrote. “Now you see why they have no choice but to push a totally illegal & absurd Impeachment of one of the most successful Presidents!”

He later predicted dire consequences if any of the Democrats prevail.

“Our record Economy would CRASH, just like in 1929, if any of those clowns became President!” he wrote.

In another tweet, Trump quoted conservative cable host Graham Ledger calling the impeachment inquiry a “Constitutional Travesty” and said he is the wrong politician to target.

“It is Adam Schiff and Nancy Pelosi who should be impeached for fraud!” Trump tweeted, referring to the House Intelligence Committee chairman and the House speaker, both California Democrats. Members of Congress cannot be impeached.

Trump also echoed the arguments of his Republican allies who have spent more time attacking the impeachment process than defending Trump’s actions.

“Republicans are totally deprived of their rights in this Impeachment Witch Hunt,” Trump tweeted.

7:30 a.m.: McCarthy ramps up attacks on Pelosi over process

McCarthy ramped up his attacks Wednesday on Pelosi, arguing that Democrats were treating Trump unfairly during the impeachment inquiry.

“You’ve got a better chance of having a fair judicial system in China than in Speaker Pelosi’s House of Representatives,” McCarthy said during an appearance on Fox News’s “Fox & Friends.”

McCarthy complained that House investigators are taking depositions behind closed doors, that only Democrats can call witnesses and that Trump does not have a lawyer present to cross-examine witnesses.

During the depositions, Republican lawmakers and staff are allowed to question witnesses. Democrats have said that they are conducting depositions behind closed doors so that witnesses cannot tailor their accounts to previous testimony.

Earlier this week, Schiff said he expects some witnesses to testify again in open sessions and said transcripts will be released later.

The process is consistent with House rules but has differed in some respects from previous impeachment inquiries.

“You know in America you’re innocent until proven guilty until you let the Democrats become in charge,” McCarthy said during his Fox News interview.

7 a.m.: Former Pompeo adviser to testify about State Department

McKinley is expected to testify before House investigators leading the impeachment inquiry on Wednesday morning.

He will come to the Hill with an intimate understanding of how Pompeo wielded power in the highest echelons of the State Department, given his proximity to the top diplomat on his many trips abroad.

The format for the testimony is a “transcribed interview,” said a congressional aide who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss matters not yet made public, which places fewer restrictions on the interview process than in a formal deposition.

— John Hudson

6:40 a.m.: Trump campaign calls inquiry a ‘sham’ because of no formal vote

The Trump campaign seized Wednesday morning on the announcement by Democratic leaders that they still have no plans for a full House vote to authorize the impeachment inquiry.

[outletggdbsale-blog]

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