#sure enough; they were the 28th and 29th of may

[phannie-by-night]

Somehow just noticed AmazingDan and pinof 2 were posted a day apart. 2010 phannies gagged by the double feature

[gyokujyn]

A Softer World Remix Masterpost

For the Captain America: The Winter Soldier 10th Anniversary Event, I may have gone a little overboard remixing A Softer World comics in the style of @asofteravenger. Here is a comprehensive list of every remix I posted, including the rejects which did not make the cut for the original event.

CATWS 10th Anniversary Event Remixes by Day

Key 💜: Personal Favourites ⭐ : Fan Favourites

🔴 March 26th: On Your Left ◽close enough for government work [prompt: PTSD; char: bucky] ◽is this progress? [prompt: first meetings; char: steve, nat, sam] ◽when home is a person SkyMiles won't get you there [prompt: the smithsonian; char: steve, bucky] 💜who the hell is bucky? [prompt: the smithsonian; char: steve, bucky]

🔴 March 27th: Steve Rogers ◽for a treat [prompt: guilt; char: steve, howling commandos] 💜guilt will quench a fire as surely as the thawing winter [prompt: guilt; char: steve, strike team] 💜haha that's a totally normal answer to the question [prompt: fave steve quote; char: sam, steve] ◽it's what they call a catch-22 [prompt: elevator; char: steve, brock, strike team] ◽put it on the list [prompt: Steve's List; char: steve] ◽what could go wrong? [prompt: camp lehigh; char: zola]

🔴 March 28th: SHIELD ◽either way I'll be leaving you bleeding [prompt: weapons; bucky, steve] ◽i'm so sorry [prompt: compromised; char: steve, nick] ◽it is cold. [prompt: fave scene; char: bucky] 💜probably the windows too [prompt: neighbor; char: steve, sharon]

🔴 March 29th: Natasha Romanoff ◽are you? [prompt: fave nat quote; nat, pierce] 💜as soon as he's dead i can be on my way [prompt: natasha romanoff; char: nat, bucky] ◽get loved loser [prompt: disguise; char: nat, steve] ◽now i want cinnabon [prompt: mall; char: steve, strike] ◽who needs good choices anyway? [prompt: redemption; char: nat, steve]

🔴 March 30th: TWS Cast ◽and they were first mates [prompt: tws cast; char: tws cast] ◽do you think we could catch lightning in a bottle twice? [prompt: press conference; char: tws cast] ◽shh he eepy [prompt: stunts; char: tws cast] 💜try a knife flip! [prompt: stunts; char: sebastian stan]

🔴 March 31st: Sam Wilson 💜c'mon sam it was one time [prompt: wings; char: sam, bucky] ◽extra virgin [prompt: fave sam quote; char: sam, rumlow] ◽have you ever known what it's like to feel the exhilaration of really flying [prompt: sam wilson; char: sam] ◽oops sorry maria [prompt: sam wilson; char: sam, maria] ⭐the graveyard of our memories [prompt: Dept of VA; char: sam]; all our mausoleums have eyes [prompt: none (bonus); char: bucky, steve]

🔴 April 1st: HYDRA ◽and in such creative ways [prompt: fave fight; char: bucky] ◽beatings shall continue until morale improves [prompt: project insight; char: none] ◽besides what grave could hold you? [prompt: strike; char: rumlow, steve] ◽how many gunshot wounds is an orgasm? [prompt: fave fight; char: bucky, steve] ◽oh it's supposed to be enemies TO lovers [prompt: fave fight; char: bucky, steve] 💜scream for daddy [prompt: hydra; char: pierce, bucky] ◽tony only watches vanilla het porn pass it on [prompt: project insight; char: tony] 💜what kind of monster leaves the milk out on the counter? [prompt: hydra; char: pierce] ◽you don't have to be the fastest runner you just have to be faster than Project Insight [prompt: fave fight; char: rumlow, sam]

🔴 April 2nd: Bucky Barnes ◽a ghost story [prompt: ghost story; char: bucky, steve] ◽and then you remember [prompt: memories; bucky] ◽baby did you forget to take your meds? [prompt: memories; char: steve, bucky] 💜but spare the rod and spoil the child [prompt: bank; char: bucky, pierce, rumlow] ◽i kicked off bucky's world revenge tour 2k14 and all i got was half-drowned in the potomac [prompt: revenge; char: bucky, steve] ⭐i've always been an overachiever [prompt: revenge; char: steve, bucky] 💜past tense [prompt: "but i knew him"; char: steve, bucky] ◽rlb [prompt: revenge; char: bucky, steve] ◽the unpaid internship of a lifetime [prompt: bucky barnes; char: bucky, zola] ◽what gives a ghost nightmares [prompt: bucky barnes; char: bucky, steve] ◽ya gotov otvechat [prompt: bank; char: bucky]

🔴 April 3rd: Cap Quartet 💜advanced car surfing for dummies [prompt: cap quartet; char: nat, steve, sam, bucky] 💜alexa play jolene [prompt: cap quartet; char: nat, steve, sam, bucky] ◽gotta catch 'em all [prompt: cap quartet; char: bucky, nat, sam, steve] ◽hi i'm captain america [prompt: bedside vigil; char: sam, steve] ◽or a blond carnie with hearing aids and really good aim [prompt: cap quartet; char: steve, nat, sam, bucky] ◽peer pressure [prompt: fave duo; char: nat, steve] ◽some people get both [prompt: found family; char: nat, sam, steve]

🔴 April 4th: To the End of the Line ⭐but you can't seem to convince them of that [prompt: devotion; char: steve, bucky] ◽cause i'm with you til the end of the line pal [prompt: to the end of the line; char: steve, bucky] 💜i stopped remembering the exact weight of your hand and now i only know it with a knife [prompt: 1940s; char: steve, bucky] ⭐or die trying [prompt: reunion; char: bucky, steve] ◽sorry officer we'll remember to use the gag next time [prompt: helicarrier; char: steve, bucky] ◽that'll teach me [prompt: identity porn; char: steve, bucky] ◽the good news it can't be illegal if there's no word for it [prompt: fave stucky scene; char: bucky, steve] ◽the safe word is jersey [prompt: devotion; char: bucky, steve] 💜this is not what getting railed means [prompt: helicarrier; char: bucky] 💜walt disney did not prepare me for this body count [prompt: identity porn; char: steve] ◽we've had too many next times already [prompt: schoolyard to battlefield; char: bucky, steve] ◽yes even that [prompt: helicarrier; char: steve] ◽you either die young or live long enough to become the cautionary tale [prompt: devotion; char: bucky, steve]

CATWS 10th Anniversary | REJECTS!

Key 💜: Personal Favourites ⭐ : Fan Favourites

Run | Series MasterPost featuring: ◽alexa play run this town by jay-z rihanna and kanye west [char: nick] 💜alexa play run by daughter [char: nat] ◽alexa play run (beautiful things)(highsociety remix) by awolnation [char: bucky] ◽alexa play run boy run by woodkid [char: steve] ◽alexa play run by onerepublic [char: sam]

Barbershop Quartet (feat. any two+ except Stucky) | REJECTS! ◽hands off the boots [prompt: natasha romanoff] 💜he's a smooth operator [prompt: none] 💜she's gonna bite someone [prompt: disguise] ◽untitled (working title: all of it goes) [prompt: cap quartet] ◽untitled (working title: do i gotta make more romanorogers?) [prompt: none]

Bucky | REJECTS! ◽and a whole lot of UST [prompt: helicarrier] ◽untitled (working title: are u new) [prompt: bucky barnes] ◽untitled (working title: head injury) [prompt: bucky barnes]

HYDRA (Pierce, Rumlow, Zola, et al. feat. others) | REJECTS! ◽and your very own unicorn [prompt: hydra] ⭐but i knew him [prompt: "but i knew him"] ◽gotta look out for your assigned alphabet soup guy [prompt: project insight] ◽i thought this was america [prompt: none] 💜like parking in a driveway [prompt: elevator] ◽the road to hell is paved with kicking your ass [prompt: none]

Nick (feat. the Barbershop Quartet) | REJECTS! ◽untitled (working title: and AARP!) [prompt: project insight]

Steve | REJECTS! ◽and almost dead is still slightly alive [prompt: steve rogers] 💜glory [prompt: steve rogers, character bleed] ◽it is a disney property [prompt: steve rogers] ◽knock knock mf (working title: this one might send me to hell) [prompt: memories] ◽untitled (working title: elevator) [prompt: elevator] ◽untitled (working title: good work ethic) [prompt: guilt] ⭐untitled (working title: trade off) [prompt: none]

Stucky | REJECTS! 💜alexa play who wants to live forever [prompt: to the end of the line] ◽all our mausoleums have eyes (alt panel) [prompt: none (bonus panel)] ⭐body language [prompt: reunion] ⭐he's a little confused but he's got the spirit [prompt: none] 💜how it makes you a weapon [prompt: none, memories] ⭐just your hand on my body again [prompt: devotion] ◽we call this a midwest goodbye [prompt: fave fight, helicarrier] ◽untitled (working title: terrorist) [prompt: fave fight]

[hippiegoth97]

Diary of a Hawkins Hussy: A Stranger Things x Reader Anthology

Banner by me :)

Master List

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, drug references, age gap, groping, fingering, unprotected sex, praise, dom/sub dynamic, use of a shock collar (do not try this at home), use of restraints, edging, orgasm denial, light crying, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, light squirting, problematic characters

Word Count: 12.5k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Diary Entry #1: Martin Brenner

May 28th, 1983

Dear diary,

Today marks the day I officially join the adult world. I just got back from graduation. I'm still dressed in my cap and gown, with my diploma sitting in front of me on the desk. I did it, those four years of hell we all call high school are finally over. I'm free. And now, I can focus my attention on my true ambitions in life. No more Chem flashcards or asshole teachers telling me what to do. No more Mom and Dad policing my every move. Nope. I fully intend on doing the one thing I've been itching for from the moment I saw that 'Help Wanted' sign in the shop window. I'm going to work at Waxed Out Records downtown, as an assistant manager.

Waxed Out is the coolest store Hawkins has to offer, though it doesn't have much by way of competition. I've always loved going there, ever since I was a kid when Mom would bring me along on her trips to pick up the new ABBA or BeeGees. Music is my lifeblood, I can't go a single day without listening to some form of it. I've dedicated almost my entire (though limited) existence to curating my collection of vinyl and cassettes, expanding my tastes as far as the eye can see. I love it all, rock, hip-hop, pop, country, blues, jazz, disco, metal, the list goes on. I'm the perfect candidate to work at Waxed Out. I only hope the lame owner, Mr. Harris, will see that at my interview tomorrow. But until then, it's a relaxing night of Stevie Wonder and weed to calm my nerves. I'll let you know how it goes.

May 29th, 1983

Dear diary,

I got the fucking job! Mr. Harris was totally impressed by my extensive knowledge of all things music! I knew I had this in the bag, but I'm so excited, I could just scream! My hand is absolutely shaking as I write this, you have no idea. I start next week, and my first shift can't come soon enough. I need to get the hell out of this house, and into my own place. It shouldn't take long, I've saved up all of my graduation money in a very special hiding place. Just a couple hundred bucks more, and I'm finally on my own. I won't have to listen to Dad tearing apart the house, searching for things to pawn off to buy more booze. It's a good thing I have multiple self-installed locks on my door, or else my collection would be toast. I also won't have to listen to Mom telling me how much of a drain on her I am, or her lectures about 'ambition' and 'wanting more for myself'.

I like to think I am very ambitious. I got this job all on my own, and I'm saving up my pennies like my life depends on it. I know exactly what I want out of life. Simple pleasures, like music and sex. More on that particular subject, I highly intend to expand my current hook-up pool. High school boys (and girls) were all well and good while I was still under the legal definition of a child. But I'm a woman now, and I have every intention of bagging any man or woman that catches my eye. From freshly graduated young women, to strong men in their fifties, and everything in between. As long as they're hot, nothing else really matters. And in that department, Hawkins sure knows how to deliver. Chief Hopper, Mayor Kline, Joyce Byers, this one white-haired guy in neatly pressed suits that comes to town every so often...I'm getting a little turned on just thinking about it. More to come later, probably about my first day of work.

June 1st, 1983

Dear diary,

You'll never guess who came into the shop on my first day of work today! It was none other than that guy with the white hair I mentioned before. I didn't learn much about him, except that he really likes classical music. He picked out some Bach and Mozart, which isn't usually my strong suit. It sounds pretty and all, but it comes off a little hoity-toity, if you know what I mean. But it makes sense for a guy like him, he seems very intellectual. Oh, you should've seen him. It took everything in me not to stare as he browsed the classical section. But his hair was styled neatly as it always is, though a little longer than what's typical for a man his age. And he had on this grey suit that fit him extremely well...I managed to get a couple good glances at his ass. And shit, he must have a Soloflex at home, or something because...it was as tight as a twenty-year-old's, I swear.

He didn't say much. He smiled at me when he came up to the register, and I could totally feel my cheeks burning bright red. It was embarrassing, at first. But if my mind wasn't tricking me, his smile got wider at my reaction. I didn't bother to say much to him, I know I would've made a complete and utter ass out of myself if I tried. But I managed to get out a 'thank you' once I'd rung him up and he paid. He said he'd be back in a couple weeks, almost like it's a routine for him. I'm not sure why, there's only so much Beethoven and Chopin in the world, ya know? But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't counting down the days until that gorgeous, yet mysterious, man with blinding white hair comes walking through the shop door again. Safe to say I won't be able to get that smile of his out of my mind either...fuck me.

June 15th, 1983

Dear diary,

It happened. He finally came back, and this time, we actually had a bit of a real conversation! I (mostly) managed to keep myself together this time, and I'm beginning to think that he likes me. At least, I hope he does...

You hear the little bell hanging above the front door to the shop tinkle, signaling for you to repeat the phrase Mr. Harris has trained into you. "Welcome to Waxed Out. Let me know if I can help you find anything." You say flatly, not looking up from the romance novel you picked up from Melvald's earlier this afternoon. You hear purposeful steps clicking on the linoleum, taps and drags of men's dress shoes on a path to you.

"Yes, miss..." A voice you recognize speaks just across the counter from you. You look up from your book, realizing it's the exact man you've been hoping would return. He's wearing a charcoal suit this time, but that seems to be the only thing that's changed about him. He smiles at you, eyes flicking to your chest to read your name tag. "...Y/N. I was wondering if you could help me find something in particular." He speaks in a calmly commanding, slightly gravelly voice. You hadn't heard much of it upon your first meeting, but it certainly sounds very pleasant to your ears. He carries an odd air of authority, which just as bizarrely makes you want to follow any orders he might give you.

"Sure thing, sir. What did you have in mind?" You reply kindly, coming out from behind the register in preparation to locate whatever it is he's looking for.

His eyes follow your form as you come over to him, and you realize just how tall he is in comparison to you. He's well over six feet, which only adds to his intimidating nature. He seems a bit distracted by you, though, as it takes him a moment to answer you. "Oh, yes. Well, I was hoping to find something for my...daughter." He says with a strange pause put before that final word. Your heart sinks at this revelation, and you suppose he's probably married, too.

"Oh, I see." You reply, and you're sure he can see your face falling slightly at this bit of information. You force yourself to perk up, to make the sale, even if your hopes to potentially sleep with this man have been dashed. "How old is she?" You ask, clasping your hands behind your back.

"She's about to turn twelve, so this would be a birthday gift." He replies, still smiling at you. You take a peek down at his hands, looking for a ring. But they're nestled in his pockets at the moment, leaving you without that small piece of evidence to confirm your suspicions.

"Oh, that's nice." You say awkwardly. "Do you know what she likes? Or did your wife give you a list?" You ask, trying to crack a small joke. But his face hardens, which makes you immediately regret asking.

"No wife, I'm afraid. She died when Ele— Jane was very young." He says, bringing the smile back slightly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" You try to apologize, but he puts a hand up to stop you.

"That's quite alright, you couldn't have known. But I raise Jane all by myself, and it's hard to know what girls her age like. So, I was hoping your female perspective could help me with that." He gestures at you, his smile widening again.

"Yeah, sure. Um, let me see what we have here..." You trail off, going around to the other side of the store towards the soundtrack section. Musicals are usually a pretty safe bet. Wholesome enough for parents to approve of, while also entertaining enough for kids of all ages to get something out of it. You flip through the records, digging out Grease, The Wizard of Oz, and The Music Man. "I think these are pretty good options. What do you think?" You're about to turn around to bring the albums over to the man, but you find that he's been standing right behind you this whole time. You bump into him in the process, and his close proximity startles you. "Jesus!" You gasp when your record-full hands meet his chest.

"Pardon me, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He says with a laugh, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you. "Are you alright?" He asks, gazing down at you with concern.

You try to speak, but all words have escaped you in this moment. You're too busy getting lost in his eyes and taking in how strong and firm his hands feel as he touches you. You find yourself wondering how they'd feel while touching you in other places, which you realize is wildly inappropriate. A harsh blush creeps up your cheeks, and you force a thick swallow down your throat before answering him. "Yeah, I'm good. But, uh...here." You hold the records out for him to look at. He takes them from your hands, and you're finally able to breathe easy again. "Do any of these look alright? If not, I can keep looking." You add, wanting him to leave as a satisfied customer. If you do well here, maybe he'll come back again...and again...and maybe for more than just music.

"These look great, Y/N. She's going to love them. You mind ringing me up?" He says, drawing your eyes to his again.

"Oh, you're going to buy them all?" You ask curiously. Parents are usually pretty stingy when it comes to getting albums for their kids. Perhaps it's a fear of the discs getting scratched or broken.

"Why, yes. Should I not?" He questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

"No, no. I just meant...I wasn't sure you'd do that, I guess." You fumble over your words, walking the both of you over to the register now. Perhaps some distance from him will help you calm the fuck down. If you come off too doe-eyed and naïve, he may not have much interest in you.

"Well, let's just say you're a very good saleswoman." He chuckles, the sound of which stirs something inside you. You punch in the prices on the stickers Mr. Harris put on said albums, which comes to a total of sixteen dollars.

"Thanks, I appreciate that." You giggle, biting your lip slightly before taking his payment. He pays with a credit card, from which you nosily read the name of its owner. Martin Brenner. He doesn't look like a Martin. Although, you suppose you don't know what he does look like, either. You bag up the records for him, handing them and his card back to him, as well as a receipt. "Here you go, sir. I hope Jane enjoys the albums." You say sweetly.

"I'm sure she will, thanks again for the help. And please, call me Martin. I'm sure I'll be back here again soon. You've got good taste, Y/N." Martin winks at you, before heading towards the door to leave.

"See you 'round, Martin." You say cutely as he leaves, earning another pleased glance in your direction. Once he's walking down the street and towards his car, you double over onto the counter to take some deep breaths. "God, that man is sexy as hell." You say aloud to yourself, overwhelmed with the entire interaction that's just transpired. You know he's a bit advanced in age, but Martin sure knows how to flirt. You're a little weary of the fact that he has a kid and everything, but it's not like you're looking for anything long-term. You just know you want to fuck him, even if it's only once. You can tell there's something secretive about that man, and you're dying to have a peek behind that proverbial curtain to see exactly what it is.

June 26th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin hasn't come back the the shop in a while. It seemed like things went pretty well the last time he came in, but who knows. Maybe he was just being polite. I haven't even seen him very much around town like I used to. I suppose he could be busy with his kid, or something. Being a single father can't be easy. But I can't help it, I think about him all the time. He's so handsome, and the way his hands felt when they touched my shoulders... They were so warm, and felt firm and strong. I replay that moment over and over in my mind. I even dream about him now, about everything I think he might want to do to me.

The dream is almost always the same. I'm at the shop, and Martin comes in. There's no one else around, and he's not there for records this time. He's there for me. He comes right up to the counter with purpose, beckoning me out from behind it to put myself in front of him. He caresses my cheek, before leaning down to kiss me. He's gentle and tender, and his hands lift me up to sit on the edge of the counter. We kiss for a while, enjoying the moment. 

Now, this is where things really heat up...he undoes my jeans, pulling them and my panties down to my ankles. He reaches between my legs, and he puts his fingers inside me. They're thick and long, and they feel so damn good. While he does that, I unbuckle his belt, and open up his slacks to pull out his dick. He's fucking huge, at least, he is in the dream. I pump him in my hand a few times, and he lets out a quiet groan while staring down at me. He's so damn hot, I can barely stand it. He pulls his fingers away, and takes hold of his cock himself. He gets closer, and shoves himself into me. Once he starts, he doesn't slow down. He fucks me fast and hard, and I like it. He holds me down while I squeal and squirm for him. He grunts and growls with every thrust, railing me against the counter until I'm screaming his name.

I always wake up right after I cum, having to change my panties because I've soaked through them from my orgasm. It's clear that I want Martin to an embarrassing degree, I only hope he will want me just as much. Time will tell, diary. Time will tell.

June 30th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin came in again today. He seemed...off. He still talked to me, nice as ever. But it was like he was stressed out about something. Our transaction was very short this time around. Every passing second where he didn't look at me, or touch me, or talk to me felt excruciating. All I could think of was the insane desire I felt to just go up to him and make my intentions perfectly clear. I was shocked to find I hadn't actually done it, the fantasy became extremely vivid. But when Martin came up to register with a couple new picks, and his cock still in his pants, the daydream quickly dissolved into shame.

I realized that I probably shouldn't think and feel so strongly about a perfect stranger like this. All it does as make me feel like a silly child, not to mention I basically gave myself away by blushing so damn much. I mean, I'm only eighteen years old. What could an experienced, well-established man like him possibly find desirable in me? Who knows, maybe I'll hold out hope a little longer. Maybe if I wait for him to make a move, this might work out. Ugh, I need some weed to think this over.

July 8th, 1983

Dear diary,

You're never going to believe this, I can hardly believe it. Martin came in today, for much longer than all the other times. He really chatted me up, and I was happy to talk to him for as long as I could. It felt like he was waiting to ask me something, but he couldn't quite find the words, or courage. To think, he was the one who was nervous. But once I got the ball rolling on a much-anticipated conversation, it became very clear as to why...

"Oh, hey, Martin. What would you like today?" You chirp as the man walks into the shop. You perked up immediately once you saw him crossing the street, waiting for him to come inside and give you the time of day.

"Afternoon, Y/N. I'm not too sure what I want, honestly." He says oddly, not quite looking your way. He seems anxious, or nervous. Could it be because of you? "But I know I can always trust your recommendations." He turns his head to meet you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets as he comes toward the counter.

"You got it. You lookin' for more classical? Or, perhaps you'd like to branch out into something...younger?" You hint, standing before him in a meek pose. You clasp your hands behind your back, and look up at him from under your eyelashes.

"I-I suppose I could try something new." He stutters slightly, looking you up and down. Shit, maybe it's working.

"Sure thing! Follow me." You spin around, your short skirt flouncing upwards at the motion. You lead Martin towards the Lionel Richie and Phil Collins. You figure he doesn't want to waste time on teeny-boppers. He clears his throat before following you, and you smirk to yourself at him losing his cool. You pull out the albums you have in mind, and fully expect him to be standing right behind you again. You guess correctly, but this time, you purposefully put your hands on him when you turn back around. "Oh, didn't see you there. Not a lot of space in these aisles." You speak somewhat suggestively, running the back of your hand along the lapel of his navy blue suit jacket.

"Quite right. What do you have for me?" His eyes flick down to where you're touching him, then to the sultry smile on your face. You give him the albums, and he chuckles while looking them over. "I don't know, Y/N...these might be a little too hip for me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Martin. You seem pretty 'with it' to me. Besides, Lionel and Phil are perfect for when you bring a woman home. If that's your thing, anyway." You continue to run your hand along his jacket, gauging his response to it. He hasn't told you to stop yet. If anything, he seems to enjoy it.

"It's been a while since I've done that, actually. Much longer than I'd like to admit." He says, somewhat embarrassed.

"I don't believe that for a second, you're way too handsome." You compliment him, still testing the waters.

"Oh, you don't mean that. A young lady like yourself surely has no interest in someone like me." He shakes his head, laughing at your suggestion. He probably thinks you're really trying to sell him on the vinyl, but you honestly don't give a shit about that.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Martin. I personally find you...very attractive." You speak lowly, turning your hand over to actually touch his chest now. Your palms creep up along his clean white shirt, and you gently take hold of his necktie. "And I'm not just saying that to sell you more records." You give him as sincere a look of desire as you possibly can, batting your lashes to make it clear to him what you're looking for.

Martin thinks it over for a moment, contemplating that you could potentially be a really good time. But he shakes his head, sighing deeply. He can't possibly take such a young woman home. It wouldn't be right...would it? "I-I'm flattered, Y/N, really." He sets the records down, taking hold of your hands. "But I don't think I could give you what you're after." He says sadly, already kicking himself for denying his desire to have you. He's been thinking about it for weeks, but he's sure you couldn't handle what he truly has in mind.

"Why do you say that?" Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. You were sure this would work. Doesn't he like you? Doesn't he think you're pretty?

"Forgive me for coming off a bit crude, here. But I'm just not sure that you're mature enough to handle the kinds of things I'm into, intimately speaking." You're confused by his words, you don't understand what he means by that.

"And how would you know?" You ask, becoming irritated with him for thinking you're some immature girl. He scoffs, surprised by you.

"I guess I don't, Y/N. But I wouldn't want to hurt you. I really like you. I think you're very pretty, and sweet. I'm just not sure it's a good idea." He shakes his head again, putting your hands down before pulling his own away.

"Well...maybe I'm not afraid to get hurt, Martin." You smile again, his attempts to deter your interest have only piqued it further. "It's very simple, really. I want to sleep with you. I don't care what you're into, I got up to some pretty crazy shit in high school. But if you really don't want me, that's fine. I can find someone else if I really want to." You figure there's no use for formalities at this point, so you lay it all out for him. The ball is in his court now, it's only a matter of if he wants to play.

He sighs again, still unsure of what to do here. "You make it very difficult to say no to you..." He says, pausing as he reads your expression. He supposes it can't be all bad, you're the one coming on to him. If you really want this, then who is he to deny you? "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, Y/N?" He asks, cupping your cheek like he does in your dreams.

"Yes, I want this more than anything." You reply breathlessly, unable to believe this may actually happen. There's a tense moment of silence between you, and he finally nods in agreement.

"Alright. What time are you finished here?" Martin asks.

"Nine o'clock." You answer, biting your lip in excitement.

"Perfect, I'll pick you up. In the meantime, would you mind ringing me up for these?" He smiles, picking up the records you've chosen for him.

"Okay." You practically skip over to the register, though you don't really want him to leave. You bag up his purchase, and he makes his way out onto the street. You'd been hoping for a goodbye kiss, though perhaps that would've been too weird. You glance over at the clock, finding that you have two whole hours left before closing time. You pick up your novel, but you find it hard to focus on the words. All you can think about is what Martin could possibly like in bed that he thinks would be 'too much' for you. Handcuffs? Been there. Whips? Done that. Spanking? Roleplay? Anal? Check, check, and check. High schoolers are way kinkier than anyone gives them credit for. You can't come up with anything else, so if anything, you'll show Martin just how well you can keep up. You hope that'll impress him, for some reason.

The time passes excruciatingly slow, but thankfully a few more customers come along to distract you for a while. You make four more sales before the shift is over, not too bad for a record store in a less-than-booming small-town downtown area. You gather your things at 9pm on the dot, and head for the door with keys in hand. You step out into the muggy night air, turning your back to the street while you lock the door to the shop. You suddenly feel a figure behind you, who extends a hand to grab hold of your waist. You jump and let out a small scream, whipping around to see who it is.

"Shit, Martin! You scared me!" You say once you see that it's just your new conquest who's been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry. Are you ready to go?" Martin asks, slowly pulling you into him by the hip. He takes a second to get a good look at you, as if he hadn't already done so while you were helping him in the shop. He finds you to be very alluring, in your Cyndi Lauper t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, and the short skirt that barely covers your behind. Not to mention your beautiful face, without a single blemish or sign of age to be found.

"Ready when you are, Martin." You reply suggestively, running your hands up and down along his shirt again. Your touch seems to break him out of his trance, and he turns the two of you to head towards his car. It's slick, and black, with a driver and everything. "Nice wheels." You comment, sliding into the seat while the driver holds the door open for you.

"Thank you." Martin replies smoothly, getting in after you. He sits very close to you, and the driver closes the door behind him.

"So, where does a man like you live around here, hm?" You ask coyly, putting your hand on his thigh. He peers down at you, watching your every move. You've noticed he's pretty restrained overall, very methodical with his movements and reactions.

"Oh, it's a humble house, really. Not far from here." Martin replies, and you nod.

"'Humble', huh? Does your job not pay you enough to have a large house and a driver?" You giggle, bringing your hand a little further up his leg. "I guess I never asked, what do you do for work, exactly?" You question curiously.

"I work in government, at the Lab." He replies shortly, too focused on your hand growing closer to his crotch. You're so forward with him, it's kind of throwing him off.

"Oh, I see. I bet that's pretty interesting." You continue on your teasing journey towards his cock. You want to feel him, and play around a bit before you reach his home. You've always had a problem with patience.

"You could say that." He says, just as your fingertips brush against his length. You smirk in satisfaction at finding it, and boldly take hold of it. His throat catches at you groping him, and you find his eyes to see how he's doing. His mouth sits slightly agape, but he doesn't say or do much else. You think he's enjoying this, since he's growing in your hand. But you'd be hard pressed to know for sure.

"Does this feel good, Martin?" You ask quietly, not wanting the driver to hear.

"Y-Yes." He stutters. You continue to touch him over his clothes, becoming very wet yourself as you watch him hold back his noises. He lets out muted sighs as opposed to moans and grunts, but the sound is still more than enough to turn you on further. "We should be there soon, Y/N." He says, taking your hand away from his cock, holding it in his instead.

"Sorry." You apologize, realizing that you've possibly made him uncomfortable.

"Don't be. It's alright. Just be patient for me. Can you do that, Y/N?" He says lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine. You nod silently, but he needs to hear you answer. "Use your words." He commands in a husky tone, sending a flare of pleasure between your legs. Now I see what he was talking about. Lucky for him, I've played this game many times before.

"Yes, I'll be patient." You answer breathlessly.

"Good girl." He answers simply, smirking at your quick obedience. Maybe you can handle him after all.

...and there we were, off to his house to have sex. I swear, I kept having to pinch myself to make sure it was actually happening, and not some extremely elaborate dream. But every time I felt that little sting of my nails digging into my flesh, all I was doing was driving myself even more crazy. That little confirmation of reality repeated again and again, made me feel all tingly inside. We couldn't get to his home soon enough, I wanted to touch every inch of his body in the back of that car. But I had to be patient, because that's what he told me to do. I could feel it in my soul that disobeying him would have been a very unwise decision...

"Here we are. Home sweet home." Martin says as the car pulls up to a house on the end of a dimly lit street. It's unassuming, the basic 'white-picket-fence' home of the typical middle class worker. It's not unlike your own house, perhaps slightly smaller. But you suppose a single man with a young kid doesn't need very much space. Your mind turns to his daughter, Jane. You wonder if she's home, and if she'll be upset that daddy brought home some random girl.

"Is your daughter home?" You ask nervously.

"No, no. She's at a friend's house tonight. Don't worry, we'll be all alone." He chuckles at your concern, he finds it very sweet.

"Oh, okay. Good, I'd hate to have upset her." You reply, waiting for the driver to open the door to let you both out.

"I appreciate that, Y/N. But please, I'd hate for the evening to focus on Jane. Especially when I've brought such a beautiful young woman home with me." He says warmly, gently pulling you along as he steps out of the vehicle. He leads you to stand upright, and you both walk to the front door. He unlocks it, letting you inside. The interior is exactly as you expect, a warm little house for two little people. Children's drawings on the refrigerator, kitschy trinkets on shelves and cabinets, probably left over from his deceased wife. That thought makes you a little sad, though it quickly disappears when Martin wraps his arms around you from behind once he's closed the door.

"Hey there, handsome." You giggle, leaning back into him for a moment. "I love your home, it's very cozy."

"I'm glad you think so, Y/N. It does get a little lonely sometimes." He speaks softly, lowering his head to press a kiss to your neck. You sigh blissfully at finally having his lips on you, they're very warm and soft.

"Well, hopefully I can help with that. At least for tonight." You reply, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He responds well to this offer, planting more blazing kisses to your throat. He doesn't nip or suck your flesh, which would usually disappoint you. But the way he's holding you close like this makes it feel just as passionate. His hands wander up your body, palms brushing over your shirt. He stops just below your breasts, apprehensive to venture further. "Go ahead, Martin. I want this." You murmur, turning your head to look back at him. He seems different now, the air between you has changed. The atmosphere has become charged with expectation and anxiousness, and you can feel his erection prodding against your ass. He resumes his journey upwards, carefully cupping your tits over your shirt. You let out a quiet moan, gazing at him as you do so. He smiles at the sound, pressing a little harder with his hands to earn another one.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" He asks lowly, and you nod. He lets you out of his grip, stepping ahead of you. He takes your hand, leading you up the steps to his bedroom. You pass a quaint bathroom, and what looks like a kid's room along the way. You don't bother to take more than a small peek inside, you'd hate to come off nosey. Martin takes you to a room at the end of the hallway, pushing the door open to reveal the master bedroom. It's still as warm and cozy as the rest of the house, dressed in those signature hues of yellow, orange, and brown left over from the 1970s. He gestures for you to sit on the bed, and you take a seat on the edge of it. You take your shoes off, and he removes his suit jacket.

"So, what's this strange 'thing' you're into, Martin?" You ask curiously, setting your bag down on the night table beside you.

"You'll see soon enough. But I'd like to...get to know you a little bit first." Martin answers, giving you a look while undoing his tie. He loosens the knot around his collar, before slipping the loop over his head and untying it entirely. "Have you ever been tied up before?" He asks, holding the ends of the tie in his hands with purpose.

"Yes." You reply simply. He nods, bringing the tie over to the bed. He lays it out neatly beside you, presumably to be used later. "Should I...take my clothes off?" You ask, becoming a little unsure of yourself.

"Not yet. I'll tell you when and how to do everything. Is that alright?" He speaks firmly, expecting you to agree.

"Yeah, that's fine." You say casually. You watch as he hangs up his jacket, and methodically takes off his shoes before placing them neatly in his closet. He comes over to you, sitting beside you on the bed now.

"You're very beautiful, Y/N." Martin says, brushing a loose hair behind your ear.

"Thanks." You blush, looking down at your feet. He puts a finger under your chin, bringing your head up to face him again.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.

"Yes. Please." You reply, you've been waiting for him to do this for a very long time. He brings his face closer to yours, and your eyes flutter closed in preparation. His lips meet yours, and you immediately melt against him. "Mmm." You hum into the kiss, following his small movements. He doesn't use tongue, you suppose he's a bit old-fashioned that way. But you don't mind, he's still a very good kisser. He pulls away, taking your breath with him.

"Take off your shirt, please." He orders politely, clearing his throat. You do as he asks, pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the floor. You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to make his next move. "Pick it up and fold it." He says, a serious look on his face.

"Oh. Sorry." You laugh nervously, bending down to pick up the shirt. You follow his instructions, holding in neatly in your lap now.

"Now, put it on the table." He says. You do, and he smiles again. "Good girl." You face him again, wondering what he's going to ask you to do now. He doesn't say anything else, but he reaches his hands forward toward your chest. His eyes flick to yours, asking for permission. You nod, and he grabs hold of your breasts through your bra. You moan at his touch, quickly becoming hungry for so much more. He massages your tits, almost as if he's inspecting them. You oddly feel a bit like an expirement, and he's taking mental notes of your behaviors and reactions. "Does this feel good, Y/N?" He asks in a neutral tone.

"Yes." You breathe. You decide to try and strip him down a little bit too, reaching over for the buttons on his shirt. His eyes follow you, almost waiting for you to break an unspoken rule. You stop in your tracks. "Can I?" You ask, biting your lip anxiously. You want to see him, but you don't want to make him angry.

"Can you what?" Martin smirks, and you see now that you need to use your words again.

"Can I unbutton your shirt, Martin?" You ask, clearer this time.

"Yes, you may. But from now on, call me 'sir'. Okay?" He says.

"Yes, sir." You giggle at how it sounds at first, but if he likes it, then so do you. You resume your desired task, starting with the button at his collar. You push it through the stitched hole, exposing the rest of his neck. You notice Martin's grip tightening a little, which makes you moan again. You wonder if he'll do it every time you undo another button, testing the theory. You open the next one down, and he does the same thing, squeezing harder for a moment, before resuming his gentle massage. You undo the next button, and the next, moaning louder with every squeeze he gives you.

"You make very nice noises, Y/N. Are you enjoying yourself?" He questions, still coming off painfully formal. If it were anyone else, you'd probably be put off by it. But his overall sense of confidence whenever he speaks makes everything he says sound attractive to you.

"Yes. It feels really good." You answer, still opening up his shirt. There's just three more buttons left, and what you've revealed so far is exactly what you were hoping for. This man clearly works out, he's very fit. His muscles aren't anything crazy, but he has not let turning gray slow him down one bit. His chest and stomach are toned, with a small amount of salt and pepper hair in all the right places. You tug the tails of his shirt out of his slacks, undoing the final button. "Your body is amazing, sir." You say breathlessly, meeting his gaze again.

"Thanks. I try my best to stay in shape." He smirks at you finding him so attractive. He massages your chest more roughly now, drawing more noises from you. He leads you to lie down, with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He presses his lips to yours again, one hand leaving your breast to slip under your back. He unclasps your bra, and slides the straps down your shoulders. He folds it up nicely while still kissing you, setting it off to the side for a moment. Martin grabs hold of your bare breasts now, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and fingers.

"Mmm." You moan against him, enjoying every second of this. You feel up his own chest, marveling at his firm muscles. After a little while, you want to feel more. You lower a hand down his stomach, over his belt until you reach his erection again. You ghost over it, earning a low groan from Martin's lungs. It's the first one you've heard from him, and it's sexy as hell. You start groping him again, your heart pounding in your chest as you expect him to stop all this and punish you. But he doesn't, he lets you continue to touch him, still letting out those same breathy groans. "Please, sir. I want you so bad." You whimper when his lips leave yours to go to your neck again. You squeeze him a little harder in your hand, wanting him to move things along.

"Patience, Y/N. Be a good girl for me." He pants between kisses on your throat. He loves how needy you are, how badly you want him to touch you and be inside of you. He's never seen a girl so desperate, but he's only getting started. A few minutes later, Martin pulls away. He sits up, taking off his shirt entirely. He stands to go hang it up, and then turns to look at you again. "Take off your skirt." He orders.

"Yes, sir." You answer, standing off the bed to remove it. You fold it nicely, putting it and your bra on top of your shirt on the table. You sit back down, and he smiles at the sight of your pink lace underwear. "What should I do now?" You ask, feeling oddly self-conscious while sitting in nothing but your panties and socks.

"Lie down, Y/N." He says, before digging deeper into the closet for something. You do as he says, putting your head on the pillows. You try to position yourself casually, posing your arms and legs in various ways. But nothing feels right. You decide to stop trying so hard and just lie still, though you're curious as to what he's looking for. He comes back over to you, holding a silver metal box. He puts it on the bed, and silently opens the clasps. He pulls the top open, revealing what looks like a collar. It's a large, tan ring with white, squared nodules around the inner circumference. There's an electronic lock on the side, and a small remote next to it. It appears to be a shock collar, which makes you swallow hard.

"What's that?" You ask, though you feel a bit stupid asking. What else could it possibly be?

"Oh, just something to ensure that you'll follow my every order." Martin answers simply, looking at you with an odd smile. He raises a brow at your widened eyes, closing the lid of the case for a moment. "Do you still want to do this, Y/N? I completely understand if you don't." He offers you one final way out. But you want this, a little shock can't be that bad. It could be a lot of fun...right?

"I want this, sir. I'll do anything you ask." You reply, and he nods. He opens the box again, and takes the collar out of the foam lining inside. He clicks a button on the remote to open the ring, and comes over to you to put it on.

"Sit up for a second." He says, and you do. He puts the collar around your neck, the nodules digging into your throat with light pressure once he clicks it in place. You lay back down once he's finished, and he presses another button to power it on. A low buzz kicks on around your neck, the sound startling you. You gasp slightly, drawing his eyes to you again. "Is everything alright?" He asks, checking in on you.

"Yes, sir." You nod, breathing heavily. He puts the remote down on the table for a moment, and picks up his necktie.

"Put your hands above you head." He commands. He ties your hands together at the wrists with the silk fabric, leaving a small amount of slack so you don't lose circulation. "Good girl." He praises, taking in the image of you in your newly bound state. Your eyes have blown wide with desire as well as fear, your chest rises and falls with heavy, rapid breaths, and the cherry on top is the small wet spot of arousal on your panties. "Are you ready to play, Y/N?" He asks with a grin, very eager to set things into motion.

"Yes." You reply, hoping he'll touch you soon. He's been quite stingy with his touches thus far, drawing everything out for the sake of driving you crazy.

"Good. I only have one rule. If you misbehave, you get a shock. But I'm sure a smart girl like you has already figured that out." He chuckles darkly, almost looming over you from the side of the bed. You nod in understanding. "Perfect." He brings a hand to your chest, carefully caressing the side of your breast. You gasp at his touch, the softness of it sending tingles along your spine. He travels downwards very slowly, going down to your stomach and waist. He meets the hem of your panties, looping a finger around the fabric. He reaches over to do the same on the other side, and gingerly pulls your underwear down your thighs, knees, and ankles. He doesn't fold them up this time, nor does he put them with the rest of your clothes. Instead, he puts them in his pocket to keep as a souvenir of your night together. You don't mind, many guys have done that before. You take it as a compliment, if anything.

You instinctively spread your legs apart a little, expecting him to start touching your pussy soon. But it appears you've guessed wrong, because Martin quickly picks up the remote and presses it. You feel a strong, paralyzing current running through you, making you cry out as your body convulses outside your control. "Fuck!" You huff when he finally stops, your muscles relaxing against the bed.

"I didn't say to move, did I?" He asks angrily, and you shake your head. "Use your words!" He almost shouts at you, holding up the remote as a threat to shock you again if you don't speak up.

"No, sir! You didn't! I'm sorry!" You apologize frantically, fumbling over your syllables. That shock scared you, there's no doubt about it. But you're surprised to find that it also felt...kinda good.

"That's right. Now, have you learned your lesson?" He asks, eyes burning into you as he waits for your answer.

"Yes." You nod. He doesn't say anything else. Instead, he drags his hand lazily along your ankle, creeping up toward your knee and thigh. He draws closer to your cunt, watching your breath hitch and heart skip a beat while you wait patiently for him to touch you. You observe silently as he continues to torture you with waiting so long. You need to feel his fingers on your clit, or sinking deep inside your pussy. You feel compelled to cry and scream for him to give you what you want at this point. But you hold it all back, you have to obey him if you're going to get what you so deeply desire.

Martin's hand reaches your inner thigh, and he presses on further to touch the very outside of your silk. You moan at the sensation, as unsatisfying as it is. "Hmm, so soft." He observes aloud, wondering how often you shave or wax your most intimate areas. He travels deeper, finally making contact with your clit with the very tips of his middle and ring fingers.

"Fuck." You whine, using every ounce of willpower to keep your hips from bucking off the bed. You don't imagine he'd take very kindly to such lack of self-control.

"More?" He questions.

"Yes, sir. Please, touch me." You whimper, begging him with your eyes. He does as you ask, dragging his fingertips along your slick folds. You're quickly heating up as he continues to stroke you, sweat forming inside your pores. He's still very slow and methodical, noting your every sound and expression like before. "More, please." You beg, still resisting the urge to buck and thrash around on the bed. You'd love nothing more than to grind your hips to get yourself off against his fingers.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He smirks, moving further down to press a finger inside your soaked hole.

"Oh, god." You gasp. He pumps the digit in and out of your pussy, brushing against your g spot ever so slightly. Without you needing to ask, he adds another. "Fuck...yes..." You moan breathlessly, your eyes rolling back into your skull. His fingers are the perfect size, as long and thick as you dreamt they would be. He keeps his snail's pace, but you don't even care. He's inside you, and it feels so damn good.

"That's a good girl...do you like having my fingers inside you?" He asks curiously, though the answer reads plainly on your face.

"Yes, sir. You feel so good, I'm so wet for you." You shake your head in the affirmative as you speak, letting him know how amazing he's making you feel. Normally, Martin would have a mind to shock you again for responding in such a vulgar way. But he likes hearing these dirty words falling from your lips. You're different than the others, you're special. You make every single salacious statement sound like lines of poetry to him. This may only ever be a one-time thing, but you'll certainly be one that he'll never forget.

"I'm glad to hear it, Y/N." He says softly, continuing to work you over like it's his day job. He continues to go slow, but your insides are boiling all the same. You can sense your release nearing, and you're sure Martin can as well. "Are you getting close?" He asks, noticing your walls have started to flutter around his fingers. He'd love to see how beautiful you look when you climax.

"Yes, sir. Please, don't stop." You plead as the waves of your oncoming orgasm begin to roll over you.

"I won't, Y/N." He says softly, almost like a promise. It's uncharacteristically sweet, considering he's got your hands tied up while a shock collar sits tightly around your neck. Just a little longer, and you'll be calling out his name. He hopes so, anyway. He certainly likes how it sounds coming from you.

"I'm almost there...can I cum, sir?" You ask, meeting his eyes.

"Not yet, Y/N. Hold it for me, just a bit longer." Martin replies firmly.

"O-okay..." You stutter, gasping slightly when you feel your orgasm about to sneak up on you. You try your best to hold it back, to obey Martin's orders. It's becoming increasingly difficult, however. Your thighs keep twitching, and a constant whine floods from your lips from keeping it all inside.

"Just a little more, I know you can do it. Be a good girl for me." He insists, increasing his pace ever so slightly to up the stakes.

"Fuck...sir, please...I want to be good for you. But I nee—" You beg, which is quickly interrupted by another intense shock. His fingers left you at the last second before he flicked the switch, but the painful waves seem to only extend your pleasure. You continue to moan until he presses the button to stop the electric current.

"I told you to wait, Y/N. Don't make excuses, and don't disobey me." He shoves his fingers back into you, and rapidly curls and thrusts them this time.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out, tears pricking your eyes now. He's purposefully trying to make you break the rules, but you refuse to earn another shock anytime soon. You keep your orgasm tangled up in a quickly dissolving chain, waiting for him to give you the go ahead.

"Do you want to release, Y/N?" He asks flatly, peering down at you. He marvels at your resolve to follow his orders, he knows it's taking everything in you to hold on for him. What a strong little thing she is... he muses to himself.

"Yes! Please, sir! I want to cum so bad..." You exclaim, your bound hands helplessly clawing at the pillow beneath your head.

"Go ahead." He nods, giving you a small smile again.

"Fuck...Martin!" You moan loudly as your release takes over. Your thighs quake, and your insides clamp around Martin's fingers. The pleasure is so intense, like nothing you've ever experienced before. Holding off for so long has made your orgasm ridiculously powerful. You're blinded by bright white light that consumes your entire being, and you can't stop trembling and moaning for a good fifteen seconds. He watches this event unfold, his gaze drawn downwards when your arousal spills warmly into his hand. He takes his fingers out of you, grabbing a washcloth to wipe his hand with as you come down. You're left panting wildly, slathered in sweat that's dampened your hair and the bed beneath you.

"Was that enjoyable for you?" Martin asks, as if he didn't just witness you having the best orgasm of your entire life.

"Yes, sir. It was amazing." You gush, smiling uncontrollably at the utter bliss you feel inside.

"Good. I liked it quite a lot, too." He replies, and you hear the jingling of his belt opening. You open your eyes to see Martin undoing his pants. You watch hungrily as he exposes his clean white briefs, and the stiff cock sheathed inside them. He puts the slacks away, and comes back over to the bed. He makes sure you're paying attention, before slipping his underwear down his legs. His dick slaps against his stomach, the head red and swollen with need. You want to take him in your mouth, or to ride him, it doesn't really matter. You just want him inside you again, to make your fantasies a completed reality.

"Can I suck your cock, sir?" You ask cautiously, looking up at him with doe eyes.

"No, thank you. I've never liked that very much. But I think you want something else a bit more, don't you?" He questions you again, taking hold of his length and stroking it a couple of times.

"Yes, sir. I want you to fuck me." You say boldly, biting your lip.

"I ought to shock you again for that filthy mouth of yours." He threatens, but he's not really all that serious about it.

"Do you not like the things I say, sir?" You ask with a bratty pout, toying with him a little bit.

"I-I do. Much as I shouldn't, I really do." His tone falters, which clues you in to how much he immensely enjoys you saying dirty things.

"Do you want to fuck me, sir?" You continue with your own inquiries, hoping to drive him to slam his cock into you, or even shock you again for acting out of line. You're enjoying this far more than you'd truly expected, and it appears he is as well.

"Yes." He almost whispers.

"Do you want to make me scream your name?" You press on, testing the limits.

"Yes." Martin continues to rub himself as you speak. Slow and languid, not nearly enough to make him lose control. Just revving himself up for when he's deep inside you.

"How do you want me?" You ask again.

"What do you mean?" He replies, confused as to what you're referring to.

"Laying down? Hands and knees? On your lap? How do you want me?" You repeat yourself, your words dripping with lust.

"Oh, I see." Martin blushes slightly at his misunderstanding. He thinks it over a moment, before answering. "This way is fine...for now." He says, climbing onto the bed to join you now. He spreads your legs apart with his hands, tenting your knees and placing himself between them. He gives you another kiss, warming you up before the main event. His hands grab at your tits, massaging them roughly.

"Mmm." You moan against his mouth, wishing you could bury your hands in his hair and tug on it. His lips move lower down to your neck, and he brings a hand to rub against your clit for a moment. "Oh..." You whimper quietly.

"Are you ready?" He asks in your ear, ceasing his touch on your bundle of nerves. He takes hold of his cock, running his tip along your silk.

"Yes, sir. So ready...you have no idea." You reply, waiting for him to penetrate you. Without another word, he puts his head above yours to watch you as his dick slips inside you. "Oh, fuck." You exhale while he fills you up. He's the perfect size, reaching every inch of your soaked pussy flawlessly. "You're so big, sir." You compliment him once he bottoms out.

"Thank you. You're very...warm." He says, somewhat awkwardly. You're guessing that's his best attempt at talking dirty.

"Do I feel nice and tight inside? Am I wet enough for you?" You try to help him out, saying all the vulgar things on his behalf.

"Yes. You're perfect, Y/N." Martin rasps, slowly pulling out before slipping back in. He lets out a low groan at the slickness of your insides. He continues to thrust in and out at a very slow pace, similar to how his fingers were working inside you earlier. But you want more, you want him to rail you like he does in your dreams. You know he has it in him, but you're unsure how to say it without him shocking you again.

"Can you go faster, sir?" You ask politely.

"Not yet, Y/N. Patience." He says in warning, still moving so very slow. You swear he's just trying to make you squirm. You can't help your neediness, so you grind your hips to meet his thrusts. He pulls his cock out of you as a result, and takes hold of the remote to give you another shock.

"Shit!" You shout at the painful current going through your body once more. Your muscles seize up, and Martin just watches the helpless look on your face. He lets it go a little longer this time, making you afraid that you might pass out. But just before you're about to possibly lose consciousness, he turns it off.

"It appears you have a problem with listening." Martin growls, which only turns you on more.

"I'm sorry, sir. I only want you so bad, you feel so good inside me." You explain, the pitchy whine in your voice making his cock twitch. How can he resist you when you sound like that?

"You promise to be good for me? To listen to what I say?" He questions, his expression stone still despite his ever-growing hunger for you.

"Yes, sir. Please...I need you." You beg tearfully.

"Very well." He responds, before slamming his cock inside you.

"Fuck!" You squeal. He proceeds to hammer himself into you now, gripping your thighs with frustrated strength.

"Is this what you want, Y/N?" He asks while panting as he fucks you good and hard.

"Yes, sir. This is exactly what I want. You feel so good." You continue to moan with every thrust, wrapping your legs around him to keep him close. He allows you to do this, using you as leverage to keep pounding your pussy like his life depends on it.

"Should I go harder? Faster? Tell me what you want, Y/N." Martin offers, spellbound by your helpless noises.

"Fuck me harder, sir. I know you can...you're so strong...I can take it." You plead to him, bringing your bound hands down to rest around his neck. You have to hold him, to feel him in any way you possibly can.

"I'm sure you can. You're such a good girl for me." He chuckles, snapping his hips to drive into you with more force.

"Shit, I'm getting close again, sir..." You warn him, though you're not sure how well you can hold it this time. He's hitting your sweet spot with every motion of in and out, and you're sure he isn't far behind.

"You know the rules, Y/N." He burns, picking up the remote again. You watch him with frightened eyes, though your lips curl into a mischievous smile.

"Do it." You blurt the words out.

"What?" He asks, dumbfounded that you're actually asking him to shock you.

"Shock me. It feels really good, sir." You reply seductively.

"If that's what you really want..." He trails off, still thrusting roughly into you as he presses the button. It appears the collar works like a taser, sending an intense shock to you, without affecting him at all. You moan at the sensation, savoring the pain and pleasure mixing together inside your clenching belly. Your walls spasm around his dick, making him groan. That's another reason why you asked him to do it, you knew he'd like it, too. He lets the current go on for longer again, watching your face twist in ecstasy. "You really are something special, Y/N." He says, in awe of you. He flicks the switch to turn it off, and your body relaxes underneath his.

"I try my best." You quip, breathing far more heavily than you were before.

"Here, let's try hands and knees for the end, hm?" Martin suggests, quickly pulling out and rolling you onto your stomach. He pants erratically behind you, waiting for you to get on your knees.

"Mmm, yes, please." You hum, kneeling before him while arching your back. You lean on your elbows, your hands resting just below your head.

Martin takes a moment to look at you in this position, noting your readiness to take him once more. He can deduce that this is your favorite position, and as a man of science, he can understand the anatomical reason as to why. He takes hold of his cock, running his leaking tip along your folds to tease you again. He grunts at his sensitivity, needing to hold back himself so he can fully please you. He'd hate to leave a woman unsatisfied. "Ready?" He asks, barely pressing the head of his dick against your entrance.

"Yes, sir. Please, fuck me." You plead, fighting the reflex to back yourself into him.

"Well, I am partial to begging." He says with a light laugh, before shoving his length into you.

"Fuck, yes." You moan as he hits even better angles inside you from behind.

"More?" He asks, needing you to tell him exactly what you want. He loves how verbal you are, how unafraid you are of sounding so pathetic.

"Yes, sir. Fuck me hard and fast...I wanna cum on your huge cock." You're whimpering and teary-eyed again, but you can't possibly be bothered to care.

"Sure thing." He answers simply, grabbing either side of your waist. He pulls out, making your skin slap together loudly as he thrusts back in with force. You cry out, gripping what you can of the covers below you. It's hard to manage with your hands stuck together, but you try your damndest. Martin grunts very loudly as he continues to fuck you at the pace you asked for. You're almost there again, and he can feel it. He's right behind you, his stomach preparing to tense as his balls tighten.

"Can I cum, sir?" You ask through a moan. You can feel your arousal lubing him up with each stroke, some of it rolling down your inner thigh in warm drips.

"Not yet. Soon." He mumbles, driving himself as deep into you as humanly possible. Your insides are so snug around him now, threatening to strangle him altogether. He's looking forward to feeling you let go around him.

"Please, sir...please, please...please..." You repeat the words incoherently, they're the only things you can think to say. You're an absolute mess, holding your orgasm in so hard that it almost hurts. Your brain has turned to mush, and you know you can't keep it in forever.

"You've been a very good girl tonight, Y/N. Let it all go for me." He growls, sensing his own end taking him over.

"P-push the bu..." You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

"What?" Martin asks, trying to figure out what you're saying.

"The button. Push...the...button." You force the words out, every syllable of which threatening to open the floodgates. But you want to feel that delicious shock as you cum, you just know it'll all be worth it.

"Of course, Y/N." He says breathlessly. He does as you ask, forcing his own climax back for the sake of you violently losing control around him. He presses the button, and you finally feel it wash over you.

"Martin!" You choke out his name as your body seizes up one last time. Your pussy clenches around his dick, yanking a loud groan from his throat.

"God—" He thrusts into you uncontrollably, his cum coating your insides messily. If you could flex your vocal chords right now, you'd scream at how good his sloppy bucking feels. You continue to tremble and convulse, releasing a small mess of juices from your pussy. The warm liquid soaks his cock, making him groan again. "Y/N, I—" He gasps, unable to believe how otherworldly you feel inside. He keeps thrusting through the pleasure, forcing your cum to mix and spill out onto your thighs and the bed.

You're on cloud nine in this moment, savoring every second of electric current pulsing through you, and every needy stroke Martin continues to make inside you. He finally turns off the collar, powering it off entirely. You slump against the bed, taking him with you as he still won't stop fucking your pussy. "Martin..." You moan, trying to warn him that he's gonna make you cum again if he doesn't let up.

"You feel so good, Y/N. I've never felt anyone like you..." He praises.

"G-gonna cum again..." You make a second attempt, but he doesn't seem to hear you. You've broken him, in a way, making him the desperate one now. You let him keep going, regardless of the fact that you're getting a little sore. His thrusts feel so good, and he seems to want to experience you clamping down on him one last time.

"One more, just one more...can you do that for me, Y/N?" He asks with desperation in his voice. His breath lands hotly on the back of your neck, his body sliding around on top of yours as you're both covered in sweat.

"Y-yes...I'll be so good for you, Martin. Make me cum." Your words are all the motivation he needs. He picks up his pace again, pounding you into the bed as he tries to give you another orgasm. You cry out over and over, waiting to feel ecstasy rush through you for the third time.

"That's it...just like that, Y/N. Good girl." He pants, feeling your walls fluttering again.

"Oh, shit...I'm gonna cum, sir. Can I cum, please?" You whimper.

"Y-Yes, you can..." He stutters, and you sense your high taking over once the words pass his lips.

"FUCK!" You scream, thighs quaking as you're rocked to the core again.

"Mmm, ah—" His breath catches in his throat as you soak his cock again, even more than last time. You spill down your thighs and his, every spasm pushing more fluid out of you. You almost start sobbing as your final high subsides, and he stills himself within you. He carefully pulls out, gazing at the sticky mess left between your legs. You lie still, trying to catch your breath. As you do so, Martin gets off the bed and unlocks the collar. He takes it away, putting it and the remote back in its case. He also unties your hands, checking for any bruises left on your wrists. Finding none, he retrieves a damp towel from the bathroom to clean you up with. "How are you feeling?" He asks as he wipes away the mess from your sore flesh.

"I'm great, Martin. That was so fucking good." You say softly, feeling completely exhausted now. Once he's done cleaning you up, he helps you sit up and redress, sans your panties. "Thank you." You say, standing to meet him once you're fully clothed.

"For what?" He asks curiously.

"For giving me what I've been dreaming about for weeks." You reply cheekily, giving him a short kiss. You suppose it's time for you to leave now, to go back home to your parents.

"You dreamt about me?" He questions, as if it's impossible for you to have done such a thing.

"Mmhmm, every night since the first day you came into the store. Shit, I've had to change my panties in the middle of the night so many times because of you." You giggle, playfully poking his chest.

"Right." He gives you a soft smile, unsure how to respond to that. "Well, I can have my driver drop you at home, if you like. Or the store, if your car is still there." He offers.

"The store is fine. Thanks." You reply, and he goes to a phone on the dresser, presumably to speak to the driver. He retrieves a robe to put on to escort you to the door after the brief call, tying a firm knot around his waist. 

"Come along, then." He gestures at the bedroom door, and you open it and head for the stairs. You go all the way down and to the front door, stopping for a moment. "What is it? Did you forget something?"

"No." You shake your head, lifting up your bag to show that you've got everything. "I just...if you ever wanted to do this again, I wouldn't say no." You end with a shrug, unsure he'll even consider it.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that." He answers, smiling a bit bigger for your benefit. Unfortunately, for your own safety, he can't do this again. If only you knew the kinds of things he's gotten himself caught up in these last few years, the awful things he's done in the name of 'science'. He can't put a sweet young thing like you at risk, no matter how amazing the sex is. But for now, he can let you think there's a chance, he can't bear to break your heart. You'll just need some time to forget about him, to move on to someone your own age. That's all. At least, he hopes so. He'd hate to have you come back here looking for him, when this isn't even his real home at all. It's all staged, sitting empty and waiting for him, or anyone else working in the lab, who needs a cover to blend in. It's a shame you fell for it so willingly, though he supposes that's kind of the point.

"Cool. Well, hopefully I'll see you in the shop again. Or around town." You say, going to him for one last kiss goodbye.

"Of course. I'll be around." But no, he really won't. He'll have to avoid your store like the plague now. What a shame, you've got such a wonderful selection of Chopin. He puts a hand on the small of your back, giving you the final kiss you're waiting for. He kisses you hard, wanting to sweep you off your feet one last time. You hum against him, wishing you didn't have to let go. But he makes the decision for you, and the regretful look on his face tells you he won't be coming to you again.

You're not stupid, you know this was probably a one-time thing anyway. It hurts to know he's lying to your face, but you're sure he has a good reason. You figured his vague answer of 'government' as his job meant something top secret, maybe even dangerous. You get it, truly, you do. And he doesn't need to know that you see right through him. Let him have his illusion, it'll only hurt more to shatter it.

"Bye, Martin." You give him a small wave, and go outside to the car that's waiting for you. It's a dead silent ride back to the record store, with the driver glancing back at you suspiciously a couple of times. He drops you off outside Waxed Out, and you walk down the street to the lot where you've parked your car. You get inside, turn the key, and drive home while replaying the exquisite moments you and Martin shared together. It'll be a while before you get over that man, and you don't mind that one bit. He was something special tonight, and you're sure he feels the same about you. At least he has your panties to remember you by.

August 10th, 1983

Dear diary,

I was right. Martin hasn't returned to the store, and I don't think he's ever going to. I get it, his work is probably too much to balance with hooking up with me and taking care of his kid, if he even has one. I still dream about him every so often, and we do all the things we did that night over and over again. I still wake up with soaked panties every time, but all it does is remind me that I'm never going to see him in that way again. I hardly see him around town, either. And the few times I have, he ignores me when I wave at him. It's like I don't exist, or at least, he turns away before I can see him look sad. I'd like to think that's what he's doing, anyway. I know, I know, this was only sex. Wild, crazy, kinky-as-fuck sex. But still, that's all it was. And that's all it needs to be.

As they say, onwards and upwards. Speaking of that, I've finally got my own place! No roommates or anything! It's totally cheap and doesn't look like a complete dump. And it's all mine. No more nosey parents, not after I move in there in a couple days. I've got my shit all packed up and ready to go. My freedom can't come soon enough, diary. Until then, I'm gonna get high and masturbate while thinking about Martin again. What can I say? That dick was something else...

[abuddyforeveryseason]

Alright, this is it, the last of the Buddies.

This, the Buddy for May 11th, marks the end of this little project. It's my 366th upload. As a compilation of all of my previous drawings (you might need to open it in a new tab to see it better), it technically breaks the rule of using only white, black and red, thanks to compression issues on the drawings for March 18th and September 9th. But, well, I figured I did post stuff that didn't break that rule those days, so it doesn't matter. Besides, the project's finished now.

There are some good ones there too, although a lot of them are traces, so I won't be counting those. I liked the pin for May 18th, that's something I had been working on before I started, and I still think it looks better and more polished than my actual art. The sketchy drawing for May 17th is good too, even if it's kind of phoned in.

May 27th looks cute, and June 17th was a good idea, even if the implementation was a bit lazy; but at least it wasn't a trace for once. June 23rd was cool, though I wish I had made it a gif. Lack of time, I guess.

The woman in July 15th looks pretty good, and the gif for July 25th is pretty badass, even if it was a simple one. July 29th was one of my funniest ideas. I like the shading for September 7th. September 19th and October 1st were also female figures, I'm proud enough of those. Some of the drawings on the template for October 3rd were good. October 16th looks pretty good, something I'd use on a comic.

The first "strip" on October 23rd was a pain to make, but I like the joke in it. The nerdy relationship map on November 15th was fun, but it was more for my benefit, not really special, art-wise.

December 1st was different from my usual style, I like it, even if the anatomy is pretty wrong. The tarot cards on December 17th were an earlier project, but also really nice.

The lighting on the drawing for December 20th was fun to make too. January 16th looks really simple, but I like the vibe of it. The strip for February 3rd was an idea I'm also proud of. More women, on February 11th, 19th and 28th. The negative colors effect on Mach 4th worked better than I expected, too.

I think the gif on March 22nd worked well enough, although I rushed it. The joke on March 26th was something that was on my mind for some time.

There was the strip on April 10th with different versions under the main post, those were nice enough. The gif on April 12th was hard to make, and I'm not too happy with it, but it was an ambitious idea..

The Buddy for May 8th looks the closest to what I had wanted to do as a proper webcomic, so I'm happy with it, although there was some trouble making it, and I was pretty bored with the project already.

But, the best Buddy of the year, in my opinion, was, funny enough, the one for January 23rd. The Rob Liefeld parody. It's funny cause I drew it so it'd look crappy, and, well, it does, but still better than my usual art, just with more lines and cliché Liefeld stuff. Pretty XXXtreme.

It's weird that one of my earlier comic ideas was a Liefeld parody, where a seemingly-normal person would get involved in the world of Liefeld badasses and contrast those comics' anti-logic with the real world. I wrote a lot of it, but gave up about 2/3rds in. Not that there's much point in mocking Rob Liefeld nowadays, anyway.

I'm not sure what'll become of this tumblr now. I'm trying to keep focused on art and distance myself from online dumpster fire discourse, so I'm trying to fill out my new sketchbooks for now.

Anyway, thanks for all the likes throughout the year, I appreciate the interest from everyone who found my silly little OC entertaining enough.

[queenmarytudor]

TUDOR ERA FALSE PREGNANCIES

“While Mary’s phantom pregnancies are the most well known, there were other women of Tudor England who also suffered with this, and there was enough concern about it that books on women’s health in the early modern period discussed the issue thoroughly: how difficult it was to be able to tell if it were a true pregnancy or a phantom one.”

CATHERINE OF ARAGON - 1510

Catherine of Aragon’s first pregnancy ended in the miscarriage of a daughter in January 1510, however her physician reassured her that she remained pregnant with its twin. Her miscarriage was kept secret from court, and Catherine’s confessor Diego Fernandez wrote later that “Her Highness believed herself to be with child, although she had some doubts.” 

In May the Spanish ambassador Luis Carroz visited Catherine, reporting that: 

“When I saw the bringing forth delayed I felt sure of that which I had suspected [the pregnancy not being real], and your Lordship may judge for yourself how excusable the error was to affirm and to make her withdraw publicly for her delivery.”

Catherine left her confinement shortly after, with the bedchamber women blamed for making the queen “understand that she was pregnant whilst she was not.” Within weeks she would become successfully pregnant with Henry, Duke of Cornwall, the New Years Prince who lived for 52 days. Five years later she gave birth to the future Mary I.

ANNE BOLEYN - 1534

Anne Boleyn gave birth to the future Elizabeth I in September 1533, and shortly after was suspected to be pregnant again. On the 28th January Spanish ambassador Eustace Chapuys recorded “Anne de Boulans is now in the family way again” and by April she was described by courtiers as having a “goodly belly.”

Five months later, nine months after the first public mention of her pregnancy, Chapuys wrote on the 27th September that:

“Ever since the King began to entertain doubts as to his mistress' reported pregnancy, he has renewed and increased the love which he formerly bore to another very handsome young lady of this court.”

There is no record of a miscarriage or stillbirth. Anne would go on to have a miscarriage on the 29th January 1536, four months before being beheaded.

 HONOR LISLE - 1537

Honor Lisle had given birth to eight children in her first marriage to John Bassett before she married Henry VIII’s great uncle Arthur Plantagenet, Viscount Lisle in 1528. In the winter of 1536 she believed herself to be with child again, and in December was being congratulated by courtiers that “it hath pleased God to visit her with a child”, with John Wallop writing that her pregnancy gave hope to him and his own wife. Despite going into confinement in 1537 no child was ever born, and Honor’s doctor later explained the error had occurred due to the ‘cold’ humours in her body, stating:

“It fortuneth some time that they fall and gather in the mother (womb) where if they fortune to stick fast and congeal together, there [...] is retained a swelling like as the woman had conceived, and it doth move himself neither more nor less than if the child were conformed, which deceiveth and abuseth many folks.  Madame, I esteem that your disease is likened to this last, as the tokens do show us manifestly.”  

MARGUERITE OF NAVARRE - 1543

The sister of King Francis I of France first became a mother in 1528. At the age of 50, Marguerite believed she was pregnant again, writing to her brother in early 1543 that 

“as for my belly, it is still growing, and I cannot hide from you that I often feel something moving that is alive. I felt it with my hand one morning [...] the illness and fevers I have had every month render it so weak that sometimes I go eight days without feeling it and then fear I am not pregnant.” 

In March, believing she was at the end of her sixth month, Marguerite assured Francis that “although I am very pregnant, I am not overly hindered with it.” Shortly after she would discover the pregnancy was false, and wrote to her brother claiming “All the signs that a pregnant woman can have made me hold fast to the belief that I was with child.”

ELIZABETH DUDLEY - 1555

Elizabeth Dudley was the daughter of Henry VIII’s mistress Elizabeth Blount, to her husband Gilbert Tailboys. Her first marriage produced no children, and she married her second husband, Ambrose, son of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland in 1553. In 1555 believed herself to be with child, like her queen. Unfortunately the pregnancy was not real, with rumours of it being some sort of mole 

 “which was about this time found to be the case of the lord Ambrose Dudley’s wife, who had fancied herself with child” 

MARY I - 1555 & 1558

Mary I was the only child of Catherine of Aragon’s to reach adulthood. She became queen in 1553 and married her cousin Philip of Spain in July 1554. Within months of the marriage there was speculation she was pregnant, and at Christmas she wrote to the Holy Roman Emperor declaring “that which I carry in my belly, I declare it to be alive.” 

She withdrew for a month’s confinement in mid April, and by June the Portuguese noble Ruy Gómez de Silva was reporting the delayed delivery “makes me doubt whether she is with child at all.”

At the beginning of August, after months of rumours and speculation, Mary finally left her confinement and resumed her public duties with no further mention of the pregnancy. Venetian ambassador Giovanni Michiel wrote 

“Their Majesties' intimates, who told me several days ago on high authority, perceiving not only that her Majesty's belly did not increase, but rather diminished, have come to the conclusion, although they have hitherto dissembled it, that the pregnancy will end in wind rather than anything else.”

In early 1558 Mary became convinced she was pregnant again, and on the 10th January sent James Bassett, son of Honor Lisle, to tell her husband of her pregnancy which she had “chosen to keep secret until now, a period of seven months, in order to be quite sure of the fact lest the like should happen as last time.” 

Foreign visitor Pedro de Ocaña met Mary in February and observed “she was with child, and living in retirement, as is the custom of the country. They say it is quite certain that she is pregnant, although she tries to keep it a secret.” 

Philip’s friend Count Feria was sent to her in March, nine months after Philip left her in July 1557, and believed Mary was “making herself believe that she is with child, although she does not own up to it.” Though she rewrote her will in anticipation of the birth on an heir, she never went into another formal confinement and all mention of a pregnancy ends after this report. Mary would die a mere eight months after, possibly from ovarian cancer. 

“And yet, though your ladyship should chance to miss of your purpose [of giving birth], you should not be the first noble woman that hath been so by God’s work visited. For if it be his pleasure he spareth neither Empress, Queen, Princess ne Duchess.” - John Hussee to Lady Lisle, 1537

[mandana-the-service-pup]

I’ve had a 102-103 fever all night and it only comes down briefly if I take a high dose of Tylenol. I don’t think the vet would let me bring her in even if I could walk the miles it takes to get there & back.

That said, I’ll get a urine sample from her and if it’s dark I’ll call the vet and if it’s not I’ll wait for another accident before calling. Her urine was dark and kind of red last time but we assumed it was bc of her beet supplement. After her last appointment I took her off that supplement just incase she did get worse. If it’s still dark/red we’ve got big problems.

I’ve been in level 7 pain for 48 hours. To put that into perspective, at level 5 I would gladly take a hammer and break all my toes if it meant I could be rid of the level 5 pain (weird I know but it gets the point across). So level 7 is pretty bad. I can only speak short sentences so I would have to email the vet instead. Level 8 pain is one word responses and screaming in pain so if my fever goes down and they let me come in hopefully I can make it there and still be coherent.

Thank you everyone for your support and for the followers who support in silence I know you’re out there and I appreciate the love. If anyone wants to throw out ideas of what’s wrong with her feel free to do so, it might actually help. Love you all 🫶

Symptoms

The only time she’s ever been incontinent is in the days following up anasthesia. Three times she’s gone under and three times she had incontinence afterwards. She went under for her OFAs the first week of May and a dental fix two weeks later. She had urinary incontinence for a few days after her dental appointment but as far as I know it went away for a while before all this happened.

On May 24th? She woke up with a swollen Vulva but no incontinence. We went to the vet and put her on Neo-Predef. She was pretty much back to normal by Friday so I took her swimming for 20 minutes in a GOOD lake on a people beach that wasn’t closed or anything due to algae or ecoli as far as I know.

The day after her swim (Sat 28th) she woke up with incontinence. It was pretty bad. Happened every time she fell asleep or was about to fall asleep. She started drinking a lot of water so all the potty pads were clear. I didn’t see any blood.

The vet would be closed until Tuesday, so on May 29th I got a good bladder supplement and started giving her the full dose (May 29/30/31). She immediately improved and went from having accidents every half hour due to exhaustion to only having them a couple times a day.

We went to the vet on May 31st for the incontinence. Her urinalysis was completely normal and they didn’t think it was bladder crystals. Her urine sample was dark/reddish which concerned them at first but it was easy to blame the beet supplement she gets. She was put on a broad spectrum under the suspicion she just had a mild UTI that isn’t showing up yet.

Wed June 1st she felt much better and didn’t have any accidents. Thursday June 2nd it got much worse all of a sudden. She started having frequent accidents again and even pooped (normal healthy poop) while she was napping.

Today is Friday June 3rd. The vet had said if she’s still sick by Friday this could be much worse than a UTI and bring her in immediately. I’ve been sick with a high fever and high pain levels for two days so I’m not sure they will let me come in at all. I haven’t gotten out of bed yet due to pain but I’m going to do that now and get another urine sample. It it’s still dark red despite being off the beets for a few days I’m going to try to get an appointment. If she’s acting better and it’s clear then I will wait and see if she’s still having accidents before I call in.

She had a small accident last night but her urine looks pretty normal to me and she doesn’t seem particularly unwell. I changed all her bedding in her room and got her a lickmat until I feel well enough to give her breakfast. I’m going to lie in bed & hydrate until my fever goes down. If she has one more accident I’m calling the vet. Hopefully the bladder supplements & antibiotics will pull us through.

[fumiko-matsubara]

Writing Exercise // AssClass x Tower of God AU - Catching Up

Assassination Classroom - Tower of God AU

Summary: There was a sudden change in team line up and so Nakamura decided to make a call with someone who is floors away.

Word Count: 1,791 words

• �� • ▪ •

"Huh? Asano-kun joined your team?"

Nakamura hummed in reply, her eyes focused on the screen before her, going through the video recordings she had captured earlier during the previous floor test using one of her lighthouses in hopes of finding anything she could use in the near future. "He and that Sakakibara guy apparently got separated from the rest of their teammates during the previous test."

From the other line, Chiba let out a noise of mild disbelief, which Nakamura couldn't blame him for. For an E-rank Regular, Asano Gakushuu had proved himself to be quite the gifted Light Bearer countless of times that just the mere idea of him being separated from his teammates because of a floor test, with how organized and strong the Asano kid had made his nearly perfect team to be as their leader and strategist, is almost laughable.

But considering that the 28th Floor had nearly caused their own team to lose members for good, only having members to be separated seemed more like a blessing than a misfortune.

Nakamura shuddered at the memory.

"Surprisingly, it was them who first approached us when we arrived at the 29th floor," she mused. "Well... the Asano kid to be exact."

"Seems smart on his part, I suppose," Nakamura suddenly heard doors opening on the other line. She assumed that Chiba must have been taking a night walk when he had received her call, as it was currently evening to where she is right now. "I've heard that you guys were the only team to pass the 28th floor for this wave of Regulars... so I guess it's a no-brainer for that guy."

Nakamura swore she could almost see Chiba shrugging his shoulders just as he said those words.

"It's been days since they've joined, you said? No troubles with them so far?"

"Not at all. They've been surprisingly civil with all of us the past few days." Though there was a voice at the back of Nakamura's mind telling her that it was likely because a certain redheaded Light Bearer wasn't around to provoke the Asano. "They even sometimes help nurse some of the others who are still on bed rest."

Chiba chuckled at the other line. "Well isn't that a sight to see?"

Nakamura had discretely installed lighthouses as if they were security cameras at each room of the rather large apartment they had been sharing since their arrival on the 21st floor. It would only take few clicks on her main lighthouse to retrieve the saved recordings of Asano fussing over their injured teamates as he nurses them.

Snickering, she made a mental note to send some of them to Chiba after she's done with her current work.

"Also we definitely appreciate having a rear-type Light Bearer and a Wave Controller since, you know?" Nakamura fought the urge to roll her eyes. "The only ones we had are now floors behind us after stopping their climb to compete at the Workshop Battle?"

Chiba somewhat hissed at that. "I guess that explains why Karma seems to be in a bad mood when we called last month..."

"Yeah, we weren't in agreement that time," Nakamura sighed deeply, closing the tabs and turning off her lighthouse. She supposed it can wait tomorrow.

"I get why."

If Nakamura was being honest, it wasn't the fact that Group 4 joined the Workshop Battle that got the whole team in disagreement. It was the fact that Group 4 have already been planning to compete since they had become E-ranked and yet had never once told the rest of the team until the day they had to claim tickets to join.

Karma may be Team END's key strategist, but the redheaded Light Bearer still had the infuriating habit of strategizing and implementing plans without consulting with the rest of the team, sometimes even executing said plans on his own without anyone's help nor even knowledge.

Nakamura supposed that it was because Karma had initially been trained as a Fisherman before switching to a Light Bearer, but that can't be an excuse anymore since he had over 8 years to break out of that frontliner habit.

It's annoying, really.

Even when Group 4 had won the Workshop Battle with a powerful weapon as their winning prize, it still left a bitter taste on her mouth.

Nakamura hoped that this will be the last time Karma involves their other teammates into his lone wolf shenanigans. They can't afford to be separated much longer the higher they climb the tower.

Not when they still have yet to close the gap to catch up with Chiba and his team like they have promised.

"How are things at your end?" Nakamura asked, wanting to change the topic.

Chiba let out an exhausted sigh. "A bit too fast, I guess. Especially since Kaho's been antsy the past few months."

"Oh?" Nakamura picked up the nearly forgotten tea on the table next to her, prepared by Hara. "What gives?"

Nakamura barely had any recollection of what Tsuchiya is like in personality, as the last time they had personally met was when they were still fairly new to the tower, during the Floor of Tests, which was already about a decade ago. But from the few times that Chiba had mentioned the Light Bearer in their talks, Tsuchiya seems to be a quick thinker who strategizes and improvises well under pressure, especially during battles.

Perhaps that's why Team DREAM had been ridiculously quick with their climb, Nakamura mused.

Well, aside from the fact that they have an insanely solid team line up.

"I'm not entirely sure as we weren't around when it happened but..." There was a slight hesitation in Chiba's tone as he trailed off. "Ever since we saw her with a girl that I believe was from the Harukawa Family, based from her hair and eye colour, she's been like that for some reason."

A Harukawa huh...

Nakamura wasn't exactly the most interested in the Ten Great Families, let alone their relations with each other. But she was at least aware of the common knowledge about the tension between the Tsuchiya and the Harukawa, seemingly started by the Head of the two families themselves.

Could it be rivalry? Mortal Enemies? Nobody knows. But one thing's for sure was that a Tsuchiya and a Harukawa, whether they are direct descendants of the family Heads or not, do NOT get along.

Which is ironic considering that what the two Great families are known for made it seem like they would be a perfect team - The Tsuchiya Family known for their Defenders and the Harukawa Family for their immense talent in Spear Bearing.

But Nakamura supposed that the Tsuchiya daughter already had Chiba for that, who is a talented Spear Bearer himself.

"I mean both families don't get along anyways," Chiba remarked, echoing Nakamura's thoughts. "But it seemed like they personally knew each other beforehand from the way Kaho talked about that Harukawa girl. They probably met during the Floor of Tests... or even before they got called into the tower. Who knows."

Nakamura had never looked so amused. "Childhood rivals?" She snickered.

Chiba chuckled at the other line. "Perhaps."

"So what happens now?"

"Uh well..." Nakamura could hear some rustling from Chiba's side of the call and she swore she just heard faint screeching right after. The sudden noises concerned her a little, so she asked, "Chiba?"

"Nothing. That was Eiji, probably ate something spicy again," Chiba sounded very unamused and deadpan as he said that. Nakamura could faintly hear arguing at a distance if she listened more carefully. "Anyways, Kaho had a burn out. That's one thing."

"It took that to stop her huh," Nakamura replied with a huff. "How many floors have you guys cleared then?"

"Five in 3 months."

What the fuck.

Nakamura's jaw hung wide open when the words had registered in her mind. A normal team would take at least a year to complete 3-4 floors, nevermind five. This is ridiculous. This team is ridiculous. "Geez... and you guys still managed to keep up with her plans and all..."

"To be fair though, the previous floors have been relatively easy," Chiba waved her off nonchalantly. "I would even say that the 20th Floor was much difficult than these five."

Nakamura sighed, leaning back to her chair. Considering it took Team END a whole year to complete the 20th Floor after numerous fails, she supposed she could believe the Spear Bearer's words this time. "Say, how many of you all are from the Ten Families?"

There was a short pause at the other side. "Well there's Kaho of course, then Miki, Daisuke, Miho, Jungyoon, and then me..." he counted.

If Nakamura was smiling right now, she was sure it would have tightened uncomfortably.

It had always slipped from her mind that Chiba himself is a Ten Great Family member despite not being a direct descendant of the family Head, the family tree he's in known for their Water Users, which Chiba had utilized to form his own spears.

But nevermind that. Team DREAM had 6 members from the Great Families? No wonder they're climbing at an incredibly fast pace.

Chiba really found himself a formidable team after he had gotten separated from Team END.

"But even then, only Miki is a direct descendant. The rest of us are too unimportant to be actually feared of as a whole..." Chiba laughed sheepishly. "Well except for our family names of course."

Nakamura would beg to differ.

"Anyways, we're at the 46th floor right now," He continued the previous topic before Nakamura had made that short intermission. "But we'll be taking an indefinite break until all of us had recovered enough to continue our climb again." He informed.

Knowing where he was getting at, Nakamura sighed for the umpteenth time. Unamused, she replied, "So you want us to catch up quickly while you all are basically dormant then, is that right?"

Shit. There is no way they could clear 17 floors before the monster team springs back into action.

Nakamura could feel the cheeky grin that Chiba must be wearing right now.

"Well you have a direct descendant from the Asano family with you now, right?" His tone sounded almost challenging when he said that. "Should be easy enough."

"You can be really annoying sometimes, Ryuunosuke." Nakamura glared at the visible Pocket floating in front of her, as if she can somehow magically transfer a sort of attack towards the other line. It didn't help that there were chuckles coming out of the mechanical sphere.

"Well, what can I say? I learned from the best."

Maybe she shouldn't have teamed up with him and Maehara at the 2nd Floor.

[that-house]

The Advertiser (A City of Mammon story)

Thursday, June 8th, 3358

I finally have a job! It pays really well, and the hours are super generous. I’m an undercover advertiser! From 10 to 1 on weekdays a marketing AI or my human manager takes control of my  mind and body and uses me to advertise for various companies. My contract prevents me from telling anyone about it, so I’m writing about it in my journal.

Friday, June 9th, 3358

It’s a little scary. I black out at 10 AM and I come to 3 hours later in a different location. It’s worth it though. I’ve never had so much money! Ever since the Free Will Law was passed in 3352, forcing companies to double the salary for jobs that require the employee to sacrifice their free will, I’ve been dreaming of getting a job like this. It’s one of the highest-paying jobs available to Middle Marketers!

Monday, June 12th, 3358

I think I dream while I’m being piloted. I don’t remember the dreams, though. But there’s some semblance of memories.

Tuesday, June 13th, 3358

I got a bonus! People I’ve interacted with on the job have been purchasing the products I’ve recommended them. Just once, I’d like to be able to see what goes on. Do I still act like myself? Are the ads subtle or do I just scream about my favorite brand of toothpaste? I might put up some cameras.

Wednesday, June 14th, 3358

THAT IS NOT ME. Do you know how creepy it is to see yourself moving in a way you never would? I’m not a graceful person, but whatever is controlling me does so with fluid precision. I only put up a camera in my house, so I don’t know anything else about the job. I’m going to spread my surveillance network further out.

Thursday, June 15th, 3358

I’m getting tired of taking taxis back home. The fees are racking up. Today I wound up halfway across the city. I suppose they don’t want me interacting with people who know me. They might recognize that it isn’t me. I’ll be putting cameras up in my neighborhood this weekend.

Friday, June 16th, 3358

I think I had another dream. I don’t know where my mind goes when I get taken over, but I remember feeling something. The AI seems to know my body better than I do. Everything it does looks so smooth and polished. It knows where my limbs end. I could never imagine it stubbing my toe or hurting me in any way. Its control makes me feel safe, but I’m also jealous that it’s using my body better than I ever could.

Monday, June 19th, 3358

I got my cameras set up. They cover a few blocks. Today they picked up something… unnerving. Today, whoever was piloting me was most certainly not the AI. They were clumsy and didn’t seem to understand the dimensions of my body, but they moved with so much purpose. They stalked to the door and waited impatiently for a taxi, got in as quickly as possible, and sped off. When I came to, I was unharmed, and didn’t notice that anything was different until I watched the video.

Tuesday, June 20th, 3358

The AI was back today. I don’t know what yesterday was. I’m confused. The pay is still excellent, I’m still unharmed. I guess my manager must have stepped in yesterday, though why they did I don’t know.

Wednesday, June 21st, 3358

Today was unsettling for two reasons. My manager took control again, and I had a nightmare. It’s weird seeing my unconscious body which I’ve gotten so used to being graceful and calm being almost angry instead. But nothing bad has happened yet, other than the nightmare. I felt the familiar symptoms of the blackout coming on, the fuzzy vision and the mild headache, and the next thing I knew I was falling. I landed in a pool of blood, hot and red and sticky and tasting of iron. It was just deep enough that I couldn’t quite keep my mouth above the surface. I tried to scream but the blood flooded into my mouth, choking my cries before they could make it out.

Thursday, June 22nd, 3358

I need to spread my cameras further. My manager took control of me again. There’s something about the way I move when they’re in control that scares me. Too much confidence and too much anger.

Friday, June 23rd, 3358

Today my manager took the stairs. They took me outside and up to the next floor, maybe higher. My cameras are focused on the ways the taxis tend to go. I hadn’t considered that I might walk somewhere. I know everyone in the building. Surely they would notice that something’s wrong.

Monday, June 26th, 3358

I put up more cameras. I don’t think my manager is advertising. They’re going up and down the building. They aren’t going to anyone I don’t already know. There’s no way they could mimic me well enough to not give themselves away. They clearly aren’t trying to sell anything. The nightmares are getting worse.

Tuesday, June 27th, 3358

I got another bonus. I don’t think I’ve sold anything in a week. I can afford more cameras. At this point I could start my own security firm. I haven’t been controlled by the AI in a long time. I miss it.

Wednesday, June 28th, 3358

Someone put up missing person flyers throughout the building. Mr. Sharpe hasn’t been seen for a few days. There were signs of a struggle, blood in his apartment. The day they think he went missing I had a nightmare. I dreamt I saw his face. It was awful. By Mammon it was awful. His teeth were ripped out, his nose was cut off, and there were scissors in my hands. I’m beginning to worry that I had something to do with it.

Thursday, June 29th, 3358

If you were a serial killer who could kill through other people wouldn’t you do it?

Friday, June 30th, 3358

Fuck. I’ve slept on it, and I think my manager is killing people through my body. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I will continue writing in this journal until this problem has been concluded. Should the writing in this journal end before we have reached a satisfying end, it is likely that I myself have been killed.

Monday, July 3rd, 3358

I called my employer to ask who my manager is. They said they weren’t at liberty to tell me. I had another nightmare, this time about Ms. Hathaway. I won’t be surprised if flyers bearing her face are up tomorrow.

Tuesday, July 4th, 3358

Happy Dollar Day! The flyers went up. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do. My manager has been doing a good job sneaking around so far. The security drones still aren’t looking for me. I’m worried it’s only a matter of time. I need to find my manager, and soon.

Wednesday, July 5th, 3358

Another nightmare. I might as well report Ms. DiAngelo’s disappearance myself. I can only assume that if her body is found, it will have been brutalized with a hammer. That’s what happened in my dream. I feel like I’m stuck watching myself commit atrocities from the outside.

Thursday, July 6th, 3358

Upon further examination, there’s blood under my nails. I’m a weapon for my manager. They’re using me to kill people, and if I get caught they’ll move on to another undercover advertiser. They might be using multiple people at once.

Friday, July 7th, 3358

I want to quit, but I can’t. Quitting won’t stop my manager. They’ll keep on killing unless I stop them. I’m the only person who can do anything. I don’t know how much blood is on my hands. They’ve been used to kill at least three people, but there could be more. I may not be the mind behind the killing but I’m guilty enough. It’s my responsibility to end this.

Monday, July 10th, 3358

Normally I write following my shift, but as soon as it ends I’m heading to the company headquarters. I’m bringing a gun. This ends today. I’ll write another entry when I get back to provide closure, and then I’d like to put this journal and this grisly business behind me.

[wildwoodgoddess]

You Blew Into My Life Like a Blizzard: The first meeting of Holmes and Watson

(This is an ongoing series about the historical case for how canon Sherlock Holmes and John Watson could have been women. It is leading up to the launch of my new web novel series on Patreon, Ladies of Baker Street—a sapphic/wlw, Victorian women adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.

As usual, I’m using the hashtag #A Study In Victorian Women for this series, if you want to follow along. If this interests you, please follow me as well as comment on/like/share this post. Thanks!)

I posted a bit about this a couple years ago, but I thought it deserved re-visiting, especially for my new followers—welcome!

All of us Sherlock Holmes fans know that January 29, 1881 is the historic day that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson met (sure, Baring-Gould thought it was January 1, 1881, but this is one of my small nods to the BBC Sherlock fandom because in that show, it was the 29 of January. I’ve kept the 1881 year suggested by Baring-Gould but used Jan 29th as the day).

(Well, okay, there's also some disagreement about whether the year was 1881, but look, I'm not willing to overhaul several years of effort over it...this is, after all, a pastiche of work by Sir Arthur "Continuity? Never met her" Conan Doyle.)

So anyway! What you might not know is that on January 29, 1881, London was still digging itself out from one of the worst blizzards to ever hit the southern part of England.

The snow began on January 18, 1881, and continued for about 3 days in some places. Strong winds created drifts of three feet deep even in central London, though total snow accumulation was only about 9 inches. And it was freaking cold! Historians don’t have accurate temperature measurements, but it was well below 0℃/32℉.

Trains were buried, the city was cut off. An estimated 100 people died from cold exposure and maybe another 400 in the days that followed due to bronchitis and pneumonia.

To make matters worse (because obviously Mother Nature had it in for Britain that week), the fierce winds uprooted trees in East Anglia, damaged roofs and chimneys in London, and teamed up with a high spring tide to drive the icy waters of the Thames straight into the heart of London. About 100 people drowned in their homes, and of course all that water froze and created one hell of an ice rink.  London wasn’t the only area hit, of course. In fact, many places were pummeled even worse. The Isle of Wight got nearly 3 feet of snow (not drifts, just snow). Plymouth had no water for a week because the aqueducts froze. It took 1,000 men 5 days to restore the water supply. Telegraph lines were downed, and the postal service was brought to a halt. People waited over 26 hours to be rescued off trains that got stranded. In total, about 3,000 people may have died across the UK, not to mention the similar devastation to wildlife, especially birds.  During this time, our poor Dr. Siân Watson would have been shut up in a sad little hotel during one of the worst blizzards in London history. It wasn’t until the 28th and 29th that things warmed up enough for London to start thawing out. It’s no wonder she was so eager to head out to the Criterion. I think she probably wanted to lend her medical skills to helping those affected by the storms, but my head canon is that she was still too recently an invalid herself and would not have been able to help.

And one wonders what our Miss Sherlyn Holmes did to occupy herself, holed up in her lonely flat on Montague St. Perhaps this is why she found her way to the Royal Free Hospital’s chemistry lab, and why it was so uncharacteristically empty—no one except necessary workers would be expected to be there at that time. For those few days, can you imagine them feeling so cut off from the world, listening to the winds howl, feeling the ice sink into their bones, and not even knowing that in just days, their whole existence was about to change?

Next Time: On January 29 (TOMORROW!), I’m posting the first chapter from A Study In Garnet, the first book in my gender-swapped, Victorian, queer Sherlock Holmes series, Ladies of Baker Street. The full book is being serialized on Patreon, but I will be posting the first ten chapters for free on my website. I’ve been working on it for a couple years now, and I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with you! I’m indebted to the following sources for the above info on the London Blizzard of 1881: Great British Weather Disasters, By Philip Eden Wikipedia: Blizzard of January 1881 New Scientist, Jan. 10, 1963

[likelightningafterthethunder]

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter Two: Reprieve

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Fic navigation to read the fic on tumblr

–

Katsuki wasn’t surprised to see one of his former classmates’ face on the news report with the tagline “found dead after hero-villain fight.” 

The reporter gave a rundown of the fight that had happened a few days earlier on the other side of the city, between a small gang of villains and Ochako. The villains themselves weren’t very high ranking― potential to be B-rank if they were more organized as a group, but C-rank individually― but they had managed to cause a decent amount of damage before Ochako had arrived on the scene. The news replayed the footage taken live from the battle, showing Ochako using her quirk on larger pieces of rumble to assist the lower ranked heroes in the area with evacuation as she charged forward towards the villain group herself. 

The footage wasn’t ideal. It was grainy from trying to capture the scene just outside of the limits of its scope and if it weren’t for the pink of Ochako’s hero costume, Katsuki was certain the camera person would not have been able to keep the camera centered on her. The footage continued until Ochako grabbed one of the villains, freezing seconds after the villain began to float. A red circle appeared around the villain’s face along with a mugshot before cutting back to the reporter.

In the aftermath of the fight, that one villain was never found. 

Ochako had been frantic when they had met up after, her gaze thousands of miles in the distance every time Katsuki looked. She denied anything being on her mind despite it being so blatantly obvious that something was, but Katsuki chose not to question it. After all, if she had wanted to talk about it, she wouldn’t have asked to meet him.

The report continued to explain the search procedures that had taken place over the past few days before describing a call on the tip hotline that ultimately resulted in the discovery of the villain’s body. While they didn’t show a photo of the body, Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder just how bad it was for the report to completely skip over the cause of death.

In the end, Katsuki supposed it didn’t matter what caused the villain’s death. Ochako was certain to end up finding a way to blame herself, for not paying better attention during the fight, for not trying hard enough to find the villain after, for being the last person who saw the villain alive. 

Even if she didn’t, there were parts of society that would make sure she would never forget.

Cheeky: can you meet up with me today?

Katsuki: Takeshi’s?

Cheeky: yeah

Cheeky: drinks/dinner on me after if you want

Katsuki: I’ll be there at five. Don’t be late.

Cheeky: got it!

Cheeky: hey wait why are YOU telling ME not to be late when I’M the one who asked YOU to meet me

Katsuki: You know why.

Cheeky: it was ONE TIME KATSUKI ONE TIME

Katsuki was at Takeshi’s gym a quarter before five, reserving their usual space and changing into workout attire before sending Ochako a text to let her know he was already inside. He started his stretches, looking up only when he saw a pair of pink sneakers approach the ring.

“You’re late,” Katsuki said, continuing his stretches. 

“By five minutes!” Ochako dumped her water and towel on the bench next to Katsuki’s, quickly joining him in the stretches. “I was outside before five, waiting for you!”

“I sent you a text saying I was inside.”

“Yeah, like two minutes before five!” She huffed. “I was totally on time.”

“Whatever. Hurry the fuck up.”

They continued preparing in silence, speaking again only to confirm that the other was ready to start. This time, only a couple of the guests flinched when Katsuki charged forward at Ochako yelling out “die!”

After the fifth time a hit landed that Ochako would have normally been able to block with ease, Katsuki stood down. Her form had been lacking for the better part of the past hour, and there were a few times that her blows hadn’t hit with the full force Katsuki was familiar with. She didn’t even react to Katsuki’s change in form until Katsuki had walked over to the bench for his water.

“Wh― hey! What gives?” She frowned but joined him for a water break when he didn’t return to the ring right away.

“Don’t insult me,” Katsuki rolled his eyes at the shock on her face, “You’re distracted. What kind of fucking spar is worth the time when your opponent isn’t giving their all?”

“I’m focused on the spar! I’m totally and completely here! I wasn’t insulting you but I am now, you’re just saying that because of your enormous ego,” 

Katsuki paused, looking at her directly in her eyes. She didn’t flinch.

But the longer he held his gaze, the more Katsuki could tell that she was holding back.

“First,” He began, “Don’t be cheeky with me―”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be so cheeky with you if you didn’t call me cheeky all the time!”

Katsuki held back an amused smile.

“Second,” He continued, “I hit you five different times in ways that you should have been able to block with your eyes closed.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment, because what I’m hearing is that you think I could fight you with my eyes closed.”

“Insult. You didn’t fucking block the hits, dumbass.”

Ochako huffed, crossing her arms. “Whatever. I’m going to focus on the compliment part of it.”

“Third, you didn’t even notice I walked away until after I reached the bench.”

“I― I was expecting you to come back! That it was some sort of trick to get me to lower my guard or something!”

“And fourth, you speak faster when you lie.” He let Ochako stammer for a while in response, continuing when her shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh. “You sure this is the break you need? I don’t mind wiping the fucking floor with you if that’s what you want but you better respect my time back and fucking fight me with your all,” He shifted his weight a bit before adding hesitantly, “I can try to listen if you want to talk instead but that’s not really my thing,”

Ochako didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a drink of her water. Katsuki waited as patiently as he could, although he did offer her a glare to try to speed up her thought process. 

She put her water back down and hit her knuckles together, briefly reminding Katsuki of Eijirou. “Okay! One more round. I need to redeem myself before we leave for drinks,”

Katsuki grinned, shoving her lightly with his shoulder as he walked back towards the ring. “Whatever you say, Cheeky. You’re still going to fucking lose.”

“I’ll make you eat your words, Katsuki!”

She did not, but not for lack of trying. Ochako actually paid full attention to the spar after the interruption and while Katsuki still had the upper hand on brute strength, she was nimbler and lighter on her feet. Katsuki was fairly certain that had the shift manager not interrupted to tell them that their time was up that Ochako was only a handful of moves away from finding some “barely legal in a spar between friends but completely legal in a rules free battle against a villain” opening and winning the round. While technically neither of them had won, he did agree—after some teasing and pestering— to counting it as her point in their ongoing scoreboard, adding, “But if you want me to count it as eating my words, you’ll have to fucking try again.”

Ochako seemed to be in a brighter mood when they met up again post-changing in front of Takeshi’s. She bumped shoulders with Katsuki as he approached and began chattering about work and her day as they made their way over to the restaurant they usually ate at after sparring sessions. He didn’t offer much other than the occasional “yeah” and swear when her story necessitated it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She spared him from talking until after they were already seated and ordered their food and drinks. 

“Oh yeah! I heard from Tenya that you finally sent in your response to the reunion! Do you know when you’re heading down to Musutafu yet? We should get on the same train so that the ride isn’t as boring— well, kinda, since you’ll probably not be talking,”

“Shut the fuck up, I can talk when I want to,” Katsuki scowled, rolling his eyes when all it resulted in was a laugh from Ochako. “I haven’t looked at the train schedule yet. The Shitty Four Eyes approved for both the 28th and 29th off though.”

“Nice! Well, when you figure out when you want to head down, let me know and I’ll be your Anti-Explosion Time buddy for the ride down,” 

“Oh fuck off.”

Ochako laughed again. Katsuki hoped this would be the extent of the reunion talk but she continued, “It’ll be great to see the entire class again, don’t you think?”

“You make it sound like we never fucking see anyone. I literally saw you a few fucking days ago and you spend half your weekends with Frog Face or Four Eyes or the fucking Nerd or whoever the fuck,” Katsuki pointed out. “We see basically everyone at the Billboards too,”

“Don’t be such a bore, Katsuki. Reunions are different from the Billboards. We don’t have to deal with those ‘damn extras’ at the reunion,” She put on her best Katsuki impression at “damn extras,” extending her palms outwards and adding a playful “Boom! Pow!” 

“I don’t fucking sound like that.”

“Yes you do. I’m the great Katsuki Bakugou! Die you fucking piece of shit! Boom! Bam! You fucking extra! Bow before the king! Boomboom!”

Katsuki let the faintest hint of a smile slip. “I have never said ‘bow before the king,’”

“Oh come on Katsuki, you tried to name yourself King Explosion Murder, don’t deny it. Even if you’ve never said it, you’ve definitely thought about it.”

He scowled, muttering a “fuck off”, refusing to acknowledge that yes, yes he had thought about saying it once or twice.

“So you admit that I’m right!”

“Fuck off, I said no such fucking thing.”

“You didn’t say ‘no’ either though.”

“I’m demoting you to a fucking extra, you shitty fucking extra.”

Katsuki was given a brief break from any potential cheeky response from Ochako when the server stepped in with their drinks. They raised their glasses, a silent toast to making it another day alive, to making it as far as they had come, to their friendship.

To the silent understanding that there were some struggles that were best left unshared.

He didn’t press further about whatever it was that was stressing her out, even if he had a strong feeling about what caused it. She didn’t comment on the circles under his eyes or how his mind seemed to wander after she brought up certain high school memories. They talked, ignoring their stressors, and for a while, they could pretend everything was fine.

[josefavomjaaga]

Helfert, “Joachim Murat”, Chapter 4, Part 3

Neapolitan retreat, Austrian advance, and preparations for battle on both sides.

On the 12th, Mohr moved from defence to attack and, from the bridgehead at Occhiobello, broke through the Neapolitan position at Ravalle and Casaglia, finding the way to Ferrara open on the 13th. At the same time FML Bianchi advanced to the Panaro, on the 14th to the Secchia, on the 15th forced back General Pepe, commanding in Carascosa's absence, behind the Reno, and on the 16th made his entry into Bologna, which King Joachim had to leave in such haste that he could not collect the war tax he had imposed on the city. At Bologna, where the commander of Lombardy, G. d. C. Baron Frimont, was present, a council of war was held and, against Bianchi's opinion, it was decided that the imperial army should henceforth split and move in two directions towards the south: Count Neipperg on the right wing with 16,000 men and 20 guns along the Adriatic shore, Bianchi with the centre with 12,000 men and 28 guns through Tuscany, to which Nugent, with not quite 3,500 men and 4 guns forming the outermost right wing, was to prepare the way.

King Joachim, apparently soon enough aware of this division of the Austrian army, took his countermeasures without delay.

Again judging from Helfert’s footnotes, he follows Italian writer Colletta in this. According to Pepe, Murat learned much later about it. Helfert seems to be a bit lost between his sources here as Colletta seems to describe events in a much more positive light.

His plan was to retreat slowly from Neipperg and to keep him in sight until Bianchi was separated from him by a long distance, so that one army could not quickly bring help to the other, and then to attack and defeat one after the other, Bianchi first, with his combined superior force.

Sounds like a very Napoleon-like plan.

At the same time he decided to enter the path of negotiation, if only to gain time by stalling. To this end he sent off Legation Councillor Questiаux to his Vienna Congress Legation, April 18, and sent Colonel Carafa as parliamentary to General Neipperg with a letter addressed by his Chief of General Staff Millet to the Imperial Commander-in-Chief, in which he sought to portray the forward movement of his army as a mere security measure, since he was unclear about Austria's intention, April 21. But Questiаux, who arrived in Trieste on the latter day, was not allowed to continue from there, but had to turn back without having achieved anything, and on the 24th Neipperg replied "that the supreme commander had given the most definite instructions to continue the operations with the greatest zeal".

In the course of these days the king, followed at a reasonable distance by Neipperg, had successively evacuated Imola, Faenza, Forli, while in the west his guard legions were retreating from Florence via Arezzo and Perugia towards Foligno. When the Austrians entered Forli, they were told that King Joachim had expressed his intention to fight a battle at Cesena, but then, whatever the outcome, to withdraw within his borders and offer a truce, lest it should appear that he was making common cause with Napoleon.

Uhm... but he had only just received Napoleon’s brother ...? Surely he must have suspected the Austrians to be aware of such communications?

In fact, the Neapolitans under Lecchi's leadership seemed to want to dispute the imperials' passage over the Ronco, which brought about a fierce battle that ended with the retreat of the former behind the Savio. The king, after having deployed in battle formation south of the river at Bertinoro and Cesena, broke camp and in the night of the 22nd to the 23rd retreated via Savignano to Rimini. It was of little comfort to him that here he received a letter from his wife, with a message from his imperial brother-in-law, who was quite delighted with the king's enterprise. But the question was whether Caroline's letter, which Joachim showed around to his generals, was not intended solely to raise the sagging courage of the army, which was retreating from one position to another.

So, Caroline with a fake letter would have supported an enterprise she had so fiercely opposed? I’m confused again.

At Cattolica, on April 26 and 27, the king again seemed to want to engage Neipperg, had entrenchments thrown up in order bring in batteries, but finally changed his mind and went back to Pesaro, Fano, Sinigaglia. His rearguard suffered one defeat after another. On the 28th, already in the darkness, the G.St. Captain Count Thun and Captain Monbach attacked a Neapolitan detachment at Santa-Marina near Pesaro, then entered the city at the same time as the fugitives through the open gate, where Pepe was just having dinner with a friendly family, while Carascosa was already in a deep sleep, caused hopeless confusion among the garrison and, carrying three and a half hundred prisoners with them, withdrew from Pesaro, which the royals now evacuated in a despicable haste.

On the 29th Joachim was in Ancona where he issued an army order to his troops: "the long-awaited moment of battle had come, the previous retreat had been a feint, victory over the Austrians was easy and certain". On the 30th he arrived in Macerata, where the two legions of his guard had already moved in.

FML Bianchi had arrived in Florence on April 20, and with him Grand Duke Ferdinand III. Here, if it had not happened earlier, he was joined by the British envoy to the Court of Tuscany, Lord Burghersh, who from then on remained in his main quarters and, when it came to fighting, was regularly at his side, sometimes intervening himself. On the 23rd Bianchi was in Arezzo, Starhemberg with the advance guard in Cortona on the Tuscan-Roman frontier. Even further ahead, already deep in the Papal States, in Bolsena, Monte-Fiascone and Viterbo, stood Nugent that same day, hurrying in forced marches towards the area of Naples.

In a letter of the 29th, FM Prince Schwarzenberg informed Bianchi that "His Majesty has deigned to transfer to you the command of the army against Naples"; in fact, Bianchi had taken it over even before he had received this communication, because Frimont, called away by other business, hurried back from Pesaro to Lombardy on the 29th. The Vienna Cabinet continued to show the greatest consideration for his opponent. On May 3, Baron Frimont received a letter of order stating that the King of Naples, by his attitude, had given Austria the means to assert the right of conquest against him in the fullest sense. "Nevertheless," it continued, "Murat has been recognised as king by our government, and His Majesty therefore wishes him to be treated as such until the last moment and to be called King Joachim in all negotiations and public writings until further notice." From this letter one can see that on our side, in the higher ranks, modesty and caution set the tone, while the officer and the common man were burning with the joy of battle, as if everything had to succeed. That is the right relationship. The soldier should and, with good leadership, will always consider himself invincible; it is up to the commander not to triumph too soon, to consider all the vicissitudes of the fluctuating fortunes of war. Over in the Neapolitan camp, it was the other way round: great confidence, or at least the appearance of it, on the part of the king and his entourage, wavering confidence, little courage, much unwillingness in the ranks of the army.

Actually, I do read this in a somewhat less friendly manner. This clearly means that, from this moment on, Murat’s removal from the throne was the campaign’s official aim. But let’s remain polite until the last moment.

[ceaseless-enemy]

TURNTABLES AU: THE KRIEGHAUS CORRESPONDENCE LETTERS

CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of torture methods, evil RHM content, death, corpses, trauma, very vague descriptions of medical procedure

you have been warned

February 27th, 2014

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

I’m surprised you decided to contact me. I was under the impression the Toppats were an “every man for himself” sort of group.

That said, I think you were right to be concerned this time around. The impression General Copperbottom gives off is of someone that believes Toppats are tantamount to war criminals.

I’ll talk with The Lieutenant soon and try to assure things remain as civil as possible in this situation, although I can’t exactly guarantee he’ll be receptive. He seems to be very irritable since Canterbury’s arrival.

April 2nd, 2014

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

He wasn’t very receptive. In fact, he got angry at me for even suggesting that we try for more peaceful resolution. I didn’t expect him to agree with something fully nonviolent of course, but it was like he couldn’t fathom a solution where it wasn’t required.

He went as far as to mention the idea of enhanced interrogation. I reminded him that people are debating about it right now; that a majority of people in the US find it barbaric, and him enacting it would cause unneeded controversy.

Usually The Lieutenant is a very practical and logical man, but I’m worried that what I told him won’t be enough to sway him.

May 17th, 2014

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

He enacted the first set of interrogation techniques that I mentioned in my last letter. I didn’t exactly expect him to do it, but now that he’s crossed that line, I’ll have to shift my goal.

I can’t prevent him from breaking ethical codes, but I’ll try to dissuade him from going into more physical interrogation methods. I don’t have much else to say.

I can barely register it all.

January 23rd, 2015

To: Lieutenant R. H. M.

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

I read what you’ve written down. Your recent activities, and your thoughts behind them.

What’s wrong with you?

I’m serious. I never expected all of this to come from you. Sure, you’ve never been the most expressive person, but you’ve always had a good core. You’ve always cared about people.

The way you talk about it is all I can think about. Like you’re doing menial housework. Like you’re cleaning a window. You hate it, but once you’ve done it, you sound so proud.

I can’t believe that you’d just do that. There has to be something I’m missing. We need to talk about this as soon as you have time off.

February 7th, 2015

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

I talked with The Lieutenant again the other day. I’m a little out of sorts. I’m sorry if this isn’t as succinct or formal as usual. I failed at dissuading him from more unsavory ideas again. It’s like he’s determined to do this.

What does he even have to gain? What does he want from the Toppats? Do you know? Is there even anything specific, or does he only have venom for you because he’s General Copperbottoms sycophant?

I’m sorry. You don’t even know what I’m so upset about. Next week, he’s incorporating more barbaric enhanced interrogation techniques. I can’t guarantee Canterbury’s safety (mental or physical) anymore. If there’s anything I can think of that I can do aside from giving you updates, I’ll let you know.

February 15th, 2015

To: Lieutenant R. H. M.

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

You haven’t come by my office lately. I assume it’s over our disagreements? Look. I don’t want our friendship to end over political differences.

I may not agree with you, but why is that a problem? Please consider: If you understand my perspective, and I understand yours, it can be beneficial to the both of us. As people, as friends, and as military workers. Just food for thought.

I don’t think having only the general as company is good for you.

April 3, 2021

February 29th, 2015

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

The more time passes, the more this escalates. From what I’ve heard, Canterbury’s jaw is broken. There isn’t much I can do for him at the moment. I have no way to access him.

This entire situation; The Lieutenant, The General, having to lie to the higher-ups, having to see my colleagues lie for their own sakes: It’s FUBAR.

This surpasses the legality of what you do. This surpasses legal jargon in general. This sort of thing is ethics.

The most I can do is document, although I don’t know how helpful that is right now. I’ll keep you posted if anything new comes up.

To: Lieutenant R. H. M.

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

I’ve been thinking about the Canterbury situation, lately. More specifically, about his broken jaw. I don’t think he’ll be able to confess anything in that state.

I know it’s pointless to ask you to stop the enhanced interrogations, but may I suggest stopping the waterboarding? It’s impractical.

I just want you to think about it.

May 27th, 2015

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

This will be brief. Not much new has happened, just more torture. It brings me no pleasure to write that so flippantly.

Today, though, was a lot. Several hours ago, everyone in the camp heard screaming. Not just yelling, or your standard screams of distress we’d almost grown used to; this was different. It was inhuman shrieking.

I asked The Lieutenant what happened, but he just shrugged and said “nothing”. He’s never lied about what he’s done before. I believe him.

… What was that, then?

June 28th, 2015

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

Canterbury’s brother was threatened, according to the Lieutenant’s logs. I would recommend checking on him, or keeping an eye on him in general.

The Lieutenant hasn’t crossed that line yet, but I don’t know how long that will last.

[12:23 AM]

July 20th, 2015

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

The Lieutenant has become unrecognizable to me at this point. I never thought he’d go this far. At this point, he’s stopped caring whether or not Canterbury ends up dead.

At first I thought he was never this type of person. A big part of me desperately wanted to believe that General Copperbottom took something small in him and twisted it into something horrible.

The fact of the matter is, The Lieutenant was like this all along. He just never got the opportunity to show it until now.

September 7th, 2015

To: Hubert Galeforce

From: Wilhelm Krieghaus

The Lieutenant came into my office today. He looked so tired. There wasn’t anything else there. He announced: “I killed him.” And sat in front of me in silence for an hour, before leaving.

After an entire year of torture, horror, lying and corruption:

This can’t be how it ends.

The Final Canterbury Log

-Wilhelm Krieghaus

September 9th, 2015

This is the last I’ll write or speak of the matter. After this, I’m done, I’ll wash my hands of this affair, and strive to get court-martialed. Two nights ago, Thomas Chestershire brought H.J. Canterbury’s corpse to me.

I asked him what for, and he told me “The body’s our best chance of getting those two in trouble”. He seems more tired of them than I am. I never really noticed how he felt before I guess. It never mattered.

On top of the conditions Canterbury had been subjected to for a year, rigor mortis had already set in quite a bit. There wasn’t much chance of being salvaged, but dammit I was tired of the constant stress.

So I did what I could.

There was so little left of him at the end of the day, but there was enough. All you really need is a brain; who you are, how you feel, and all your memories. I could have had nothing but a brain.

I had his brain functioning pretty early on, but most of his organs, all his limbs, and his mess of a bottom jaw had to be replaced with advanced augmentations.

It cost me two nights of sleep and basic self-care, but that’s a given.

I have him strapped to the bed currently, for his (and my) safety. His condition is stable but I don’t know when he’s going to wake up.

When I’ve sufficiently explained the situation, I’ll need to find a way to get him to the Toppats undetected and unsuspected (pardon the rhyme.) That is, assuming he will even be able to function that well.

It’s also a possibility that he’ll wake up, with very heavy physical and mental impairments.

I’ll need to make a plan for that.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 29th, 2000

Emile smiled, looking over at Remy, who was more excited than he had ever seen his new friend before. They had gone down to a local arcade to fool around and play some games, and Remy was super invested in Pac-Man. Like, more invested than Emile was in cartoons. And that was definitely saying something.

Remy finished the level he was on and whooped. “All right! New personal best, baby, let’s go!”

Emile laughed. Remy was a little abrasive around the edges, but this was proof that he could soften with time, or at least, hold his tongue in check and not be hurtful if he really wanted to be. Not one bad word left Remy’s lips, not even for the ghosts when they almost ate him. Emile was...surprised. He was starting to realize that he was fond of Remy. Not even out of pure spite. He was just fond of him as a friend.

  March 28th, 2004

Emile was sitting in the living room of his parents’ house, with his grandfather sitting next to him on the couch. Things had been really strained ever since Emile had delivered the news that he was going to marry Remy. But today, Emile could see just how much that strain had been affecting his grandfather. He looked older, withered, and Emile swallowed. If Emile and Remy hadn’t been able to get married, how likely was it that Emile would only hear about his grandfather when he had passed on?

No, stop it, that line of thinking wasn’t helpful. His grandfather definitely hadn’t been pleased that he was going to marry a man, no matter what they did behind closed doors, but he was still alive. “So...you wanted to talk to me?” Emile asked hesitantly. He cringed at how uncertain his own voice sounded.

His grandfather nodded. “I have been doing some thinking, ever since you said you were bisexual.”

Emile flinched minutely. “I don’t regret telling you back then. And I don’t regret telling you I got engaged, either. It would be wrong to just...not invite you to the wedding.”

“It’s all the way in Massachusetts,” his grandfather said, almost petulant.

“They’re the only state where gay marriage is legal, Grandpa. They may not recognize us as a legal couple here, but we wanted the ceremony as a symbolic thing. If and when gay marriage is legalized everywhere, or at least here, we’ll redo the papers and make it so that yes, we are legally married no matter what state we go to,” Emile said. “And until then, Remy and I can get papers to enter a civil union. Next best thing, although in our minds, it’s not enough.”

His grandfather put on a brave face, a fact which Emile appreciated. “And...you’re certain about this?”

“As sure as I have ever been about anything,” Emile said with a nod. “This is something both of us are positive we want. And we’ve both been tested, neither of us have any nasty surprises in the form of...you know...sexually transmitted diseases. No HIV, if you were worried about that.”

“I had...friends in the eighties, who never told me they were gay, until they got sick and couldn’t hide how they got it anymore,” his grandfather said. “I definitely don’t want that happening to you.”

“It won’t,” Emile said, putting a hand on his grandfather’s knee. He hoped he was being as reassuring as he was trying to be.

“And this makes you happy.”

Emile smiled. “Grandpa, Remy makes me feel like the happiest person alive. I love him with my whole heart.”

His grandfather nodded. “Then, there’s something I want you to have. Consider it an early wedding present of sorts.”

Emile’s eyebrows shot up as his grandfather passed him a nondescript brown package. He tore into it and he laughed when he recognized the shade of pink that had given him so much pride in the past. He stood, pulled it out and unfolded the bisexual pride flag... his bisexual pride flag. He thought he might cry.

Although, considering he had given Remy permission to bust in here should he start crying, that might not be the best idea.

“There’s another flag in there, for your fiancé,” his grandfather said.

Emile turned back to the package and pulled out a flag, folded up in a triangle like his was, sporting the red and orange stripes that Emile immediately recognized. “I...wow. Thank you, so much,” he managed, putting it back in the package.

His grandfather stood and hugged Emile tight. “I may not understand, but I don’t have to. It makes you happy, and that’s all that matters.”

Emile actually cried at that, Remy be damned, and hugged his grandfather tight. “Thank you, so much,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

“Just marry the man of your dreams, Emile. All I ever want for you is to be happy,” his grandfather said.

Emile grinned. “And Remy, too?”

His grandfather sighed and nodded with a weak smile. “And Remy too.”

Emile laughed and called, “Rem, get in here!”

Remy immediately burst into the room, wide-eyed and worried. “What?!”

“Grandpa has a gift for you,” Emile said, passing the opened package to Remy.

Remy looked inside and pulled out the flag in shock. “Wow,” he said, stunned. “I don’t know what to say.”

Emile’s grandfather shrugged. “Emile could do way worse,” he said.

Remy’s hackles were starting to rise and Emile stepped in. “Remy, Remy! Remy, he's joking,” Emile assured.

Emile’s grandfather had a sly grin on his face and his shoulders were shaking. “Emile and I don’t pull punches with each other, and we would tease each other to Hell and back when he was younger and going through a rebellious face. It’s a form of love, I assure you,” his grandfather explained to Remy.

“You’re on such thin ice,” Remy said, but lowered his guard just a fraction.

“Considering your history, I probably should have put more thought in before I said that joke,” Emile’s grandfather mused. “But my point still stands. Emile could do way worse than someone who makes him this happy, and who he trusts without a second thought.”

Remy turned a little red, and Emile laughed. “You might have broken him, Grandpa!” he teased. “And before we could even exchange vows!”

His grandfather laughed, but Emile didn’t miss the strain in it. “I’m gonna be honest, Grandpa. You don’t have to come to the wedding if this...makes you uncomfortable.”

“Emile, don’t be ridiculous,” his grandfather said. “Do you want me there?”

“...Yes,” Emile said softly.

“Then I’ll be there. I’ll get comfortable enough to throw rice on the newlyweds after you say your vows and make out at the altar,” his grandfather said. “Your wedding invitation showed me how committed you were to not only Remy, but to me. You gave me chance after chance to connect, and, well, I may have had my head in my ass for a while but I’m no fool. I’m growing old, Emile, and I want to be in touch with you whenever the Lord calls me home. I want you and your future husband and I to be in good standing when that day comes.”

“Hopefully it won’t come for a while yet,” Emile said, tears still falling as he hugged his grandfather tightly.

“Now that we have the...feelings all out of the way,” his grandfather laughed, “What do you say to some catch-up? How are your studies going?”

“Oh, Emile here has only gotten one ‘B’ his entire college career,” Remy laughed, clapping Emile on the shoulder. “And that was in gym. Apparently, his teacher was a bit less endeared by Emile’s giant puppy coordination than most.”

Emile’s grandfather laughed. “That sounds like my grandson,” he said, beaming at both Remy and Emile in turn. “So I take it you’re still on-track to graduate, then.”

“Yeah,” Emile said, scratching the back of his neck. “Like, there are kids with four-point-oh grades, so I’m not going to be the valedictorian speaker, but I’m still pretty proud of those grades. Especially considering that for a while, I was pulling night-shifts at Target, and I still work there to help fund everything.”

His grandfather nodded. “Things never seem to get cheaper as life goes on,” he said sagely. “The way inflation’s going, I don’t think it’ll ever get down to what it once was.”

The three of them got comfortable in the room, Emile and his grandfather on the couch, Remy sitting on the coffee table. Some time later, Mom and Dad walked in. “Everyone’s made nice, I take it?” Mom asked.

“I don’t think Remy would be sitting on the table if they hadn’t, honey,” Dad pointed out.

“Okay, you’ve got me there,” Remy laughed. “I don’t usually do this around people I’m uncomfortable with.”

“I hope that I can continue to make you more comfortable around me in the future,” Emile’s grandfather said. “The way I acted before was...immature, and uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Remy said with a little smile. “You’re owning up to your mistake and learning from it, and that’s all anyone can really ask for. I learned that from Emile, here, over the years.”

“Stop,” Emile said, blushing.

“What? It’s true,” Remy argued. “I was a heartless bitch when I first entered college. You taught me that it was okay to feel. I owe a lot of my growth to you.”

“Not all of it,” Emile pointed out. “You’re the one who decided that you were going to grow. You made that choice, I just added the...stakes and the twine.”

“Still, stakes and twine are pretty important,” Remy insisted.

“Boys, boys, you’re both pretty, and pretty important to each other. No need to debate it,” Emile’s grandfather cut in.

Remy snorted at that, and Emile burst into giggles.

“You know, you’re not bad,” Remy said to Emile’s grandfather. “You had a bit of a moment, there, but I think you can get better. What’s more, you think you can get better, which is what really matters. And I, for one, am very relieved that you’re willing to put in that work. I know that you coming to the wedding has been a source of some of Emile’s anxiety for several months now.”

“Well, someone couldn’t see me until Spring Break, not that I exactly blame him for needing some time away from me,” Emile’s grandfather said. “And it wound up working out, because those pride flags I got you came in late, and if we had met up before February, I wouldn’t have had them in time.”

“I definitely appreciate the pride flags,” Remy said, laughing. “It makes things ten times easier at Pride Parades. People will seek out those specific colors like a code and once they see you with it, they’ll come up and talk to you a lot faster, because they know you’re one of them.”

“It’s a community thing,” Emile filled in at his grandfather’s confused look. “The parades bring people all over the city, or sometimes, the county or state or nation to be themselves at this one place at this one time in June. Remy and I try to make a point to go every year. It’s really nice.”

“Well, I might not join you in that, because Lord knows I’m not as young as I used to be, and I don’t handle summer heat well, but that sounds like fun for you two,” his grandfather said.

They chatted a while longer, before Mom pointed out it was getting late and everyone had a stretch of driving to go before they made it home. Emile and his grandfather hugged for a long time before they left the house.

Emile’s grandfather and Remy shook hands, exchanging friendly smiles as they stood at the edge of the house. “Good night, Remy. I’ll be pleased to see you at the wedding,” he said. “And...for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that whoever hurt you in the name of religion did so. I’m starting to learn that faith and traditions are much more fluid than rigid, and those who hold onto those beliefs will one day end up a byproduct of ages long past. They will be on the wrong side of history, and...I hope that they come to see things this way. Even if they don’t, you’ll always have a grandfather in me, and I think Emile’s grandmother, God bless her soul, would have taken an immediate shine to you.”

Remy stood there in shock at Emile’s grandfather's words, before he choked out a watery, “Thank you, sir. Really, that means a great deal more than you could imagine.”

They all exchanged one final goodbye before getting in their cars. And as Emile dozed in the passenger seat on the drive home, Remy looked at the pride flags, and excitedly chattered. Sometimes, people could indeed come around. Emile’s grandfather, and Remy himself, were proof of that concept. Emile smiled sleepily, closing his eyes. All was right with the world.

[officialdcshepard]

The Marble Emperor

**DISCLAIMER: This short story was originally written back in 2014 for a college writing class.**

*May 28th, 1453*

Byzantine Emperor Constantine XI Dragaš Palaiologos knelt on the cold marble floor of the Hagia Sophia, the church at the center of Constantinople, with his head bowed and his eyes closed in prayer.

“To surrender the city to you is beyond my authority or anyone else's who lives in it, for all of us, after taking the mutual decision, shall die out of free will without sparing our lives,” he had growled as he threw the Turkish delegation out.

His father Manuel II, his mother Helena, and his older brother John VIII had prepared Constantine his entire life for the possibility that the Ottomans would one day try to destroy the Empire. (If they were here, they would know what to do, he thought solemnly.) Their stories of the centuries of Muslim atrocities against Christians horrified him as a child. And he suffered a bitter military loss when the Turks drove his armies from an attempted conquest of Athens back to Corinth in 1446. Therefore, from the moment he took the throne in 1449, he undertook to strengthen the city and spill their blood fighting for it. But now those very words of defiance came back to bite him like vipers that now hissed with the accusation, What empire is there left to destroy? What empire indeed? The Byzantines were the eastern, Greek speaking descendants of the Roman Empire, which once had uncontested dominion from Britain to Persia. After ten centuries of weathering attacks from barbarians, Muslims, and Christians alike, however, the Byzantines now only ruled a small portion of the southernmost part of Greece called the Despotate of the Morea (astride what used to be Sparta), a handful of Aegean islands, and the immediate environs of Constantinople.

And yet, Constantine reflected, he was not truly alone in this fight. Kneeling in prayer beside him was Giovanni Gustiniani. Constantine had joked to Giovanni during a rare break in the siege that he was the only good man to ever come out of Genoa. But it was true. The Italian had sailed to Constantinople’s aid with seven hundred Genoese mercenaries. But far more importantly, he quickly became Constantine’s protostrator (or second in command) and made sure the ragtag Byzantine, Genoese, and Venetian soldiers remained unified and could effectively defend the walls. Without his help, the city would not have held out for as long as it had so far.

Right now, though, Giovanni looked worried as he turned to Constantine. Constantine did his best to not show the fear that this look caused to spread through his whole body. If Giovanni was nervous, then surely something must be wrong. But Constantine dared not show his trepidation. He certainly could not afford to appear weak in front of the throng of thousands of civilian refugees who had been praying with them. They now took shelter in the center of this cathedral that remained strong for them and that housed the priests who fed them with meager stores of bread, even as paint from the mosaics peeled off and critical masonry in the walls started to show cracks and strain. It seemed to the Emperor that his subjects were also barely holding themselves together, especially recently.

On the night of May 22nd, when the Moon rose, it was partially eclipsed by the Earth's shadow and its light glowed red like blood. This already caused enough panic for Constantine and what remained of his government in a city that had been besieged for a month to have to deal with. To make things worse, rumors flew around that there was a prophecy that the city would fall after a blood moon. Then four days later, the entire city was blanketed by a large, thick, and choking cloud of black fog. When the fog lifted, there appeared around the dome of the Hagia Sophia a strange multicolored light, which some hoped came from the fires of foreign armies come to relieve the city. Most, however, despaired, wailing throughout the crumbling streets that the Holy Spirit had abandoned the capital to the heathens.

Under these circumstances, Constantine could not blame anyone for panicking. He almost envied that they were able to scream.

"Is there something that troubles you, my friend?" he asked calmly, placing a large, weary hand on the Italian captain's shoulder.

"I don't know quite how to say this, my lord..."

"Please. We have known each other long enough, Giovanni. It is Constantine."

"Alright- Constantine," Giovanni stammered quietly, hoping that he wasn't disturbing the Latin and Greek churchmen and the Imperial nobility who sat immediately behind him as the service continued. "I am afraid I must beg leave to attend to the walls. It appears that the Turks are concentrating their cannon fire on the Blachernae." These were the most weakened walls, and were situated in the northwest of the city.

“I will excuse you and ask for God's forgiveness on your behalf if He should be offended by this," Constantine nodded.

As Giovanni attempted to slink towards the exit without arousing the panic of the commoners or the offended huffs of the churchmen, Constantine wished that he could leave. He was, of course, a very devout Christian, and it was important that the Emperor remain implacably, solemnly beseeching of God's mercy at a time like this. But now he could very well feel the weight of the sword on his right hip and the shield leaning on his left arm, and he knew they would soon be needed.

*****

*Rumeli Hisari, Ottoman Fortress Just North of Constantinople*

"Are you sure that it will not break this time?" Sultan Mehmed shouted at Orban the Dacian, his Hungarian gunsmith. He did this not out of any anger towards the other man, but simply in order for his words to be heard over the constant gunfire.

"Yes, my lord," Orban bowed. "I have made several small but important improvements to the design since the last time we fired it."

"Excellent, my friend," Mehmed replied.

However, the Sultan made a careful mental note to keep an eye on Orban. He had initially offered to work for the Byzantines. It was only because his asking price was too high and because the Byzantines did not have the resources necessary for what he was asking to create them that he had changed sides, and that would pose a problem.

“When will it be ready?"

Orban's blond mustache trembled before he said, "I- I have the full team of sixty oxen and four hundred men rolling it into position in front of the fort even as we speak."

"Good," Mehmed smiled, something which Orban had rarely seen.

Orban then enthusiastically cried, "I will go down there and personally make sure that it is aimed and fired properly. Where would you like me to aim it?"

"See how the other cannons are concentrating their fire at the northwest corner?" Mehmed asked and then pointed.

Orban nodded and immediately rushed down and made preparations to fire upon the Blachernae. At whatever price his loyalty may have been bought to start with, with that gesture Mehmed was now confident that Orban would remain on his side.

When he came to the throne two years earlier after the death of his father, Sultan Murad II, no one would have ever thought that Mehmed, then only nineteen, would ever inspire any kind of loyalty or do anything great. Even Mehmed himself had not been confident in himself when he took the throne.

He had done it before, ruling for a short time when his father abdicated in 1444. But he was only twelve at the time. Frustrated when his teachers assumed he could not do anything competently, took power out from under him, and then nearly ran the entire nation into the ground, Mehmed had had to supplicate his father to return to the throne and resented being lectured by the old fool afterwards. Thereafter father and son bitterly resented each other.

Mehmed had not wanted to have to go through it all again, and almost cursed Allah for taking his father away and making him do this.

But as his father lay dying in 1451, he had summoned young Mehmed into his chambers and had him sit beside him on the bed and read from one of the hadiths, a report of the deeds and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him). In it he said, "Verily you shall conquer Constantinople. What a wonderful leader will he be, and what a wonderful army will that army be!"

"I know that you can do what I could not, my son," Sultan Murad coughed, and then closed his eyes and drifted into Paradise.

His teacher Ak Şemseddin had drilled into him from the moment he could read that it was his Islamic duty to capture Constantinople. And now, as he wept for the loss of his father, Mehmed was reminded of that. He knew what his first act in office must be, and knew that the Christian and Muslim enemies that surrounded him would never take him seriously unless he did this. Therefore, from the moment he had taken the throne, Mehmed prepared his armies to crush Constantinople. In doing so, he would succeed where Muslim armies had failed since 678. In the process he would eliminate a small but annoying foe in the middle of his country, establish for it a natural capital, and turn his Sultanate into an heir to the glory of Rome herself.

Of course, since he was a reasonable man, he had first offered a way for Byzantine "Emperor" Constantine to step down without bloodshed. He didn’t expect Constantine would *agree*, but all this blood was now on the Greek.

"Fire!" the Sultan cried once Orban had positioned the cannon correctly. It was now midnight on the morning of May 29th, and the Sultan now prayed that this would mark the final assault that would deliver the city to himself, his people, and to Allah.

No sooner had the fuse been lit then the hiss and pop of the fire dancing on the edges of the rope that fed itself into the monstrous bronze beast echoed within its cavernous belly. To some who were on the ground, it was almost was as if this cannon, which was heavier than several ships put together, was an unholy djinn taking a deep inhalation before breathing out terrible fire upon its enemies. And when it belched its black smoke, wheels taller than two men standing on top of one another nearly buckled from the recoil as the ball sailed across the Golden Horn, the small inlet that formed the northern boundary of Constantinople.

Several soldiers immediately noticed another loud bang emerge from the metal dragon. But none of them remembered loading and firing it at all, which seemed odd. One went to take a closer look. By the time he heard another angry shout emerging from the cracks, however, an enraged fireball devoured him and spat out only ash in its wake. The frightened rabbits ran for their lives but it was already too late. Mehmed could not bear to watch the carnage below him. When the bloated weapon finally shuddered and died, he despaired to learn that was left of Orban had been incinerated in the blast and crushed by falling pieces of bronze as well.

Struggling to keep away tears so as not to panic those men who still lived and were dealing with the horror of seeing their mangled comrades, the Sultan's eyes followed the cannonball for a moment before he knelt on the fortress's walls and made this solemn prayer.

"Allah, if it be your will, bring Orban into Paradise and let his death not have been in vain. Bless our endeavor this night and deliver Constantinople unto us."

"What will you have me do, my lord?" the Commander of the Janissaries, the Empire's brave, elite soldiers, asked the Sultan.

"Assemble every man you have and prepare to attack!"

*****

"All of you, get away from the walls and take cover!" Giovanni cried. He was at the front of the line, waving with his sword and banging his shield to get the attention of those who were still manning the Blachernae guard posts at that moment.

Most saw his message and tried to escape by leaping away from the towers and onto piles of hay below. This did not work at all, but fortunately, when compared to those who were caught on the walls when the cannonball slammed into them, their deaths were swift and painless.

Giovanni squinted as his entire body and his suit of armor was coated in a thin layer of powdered limestone from the hole that had been punched through the city's defenses. And worse, mere moments seemed to pass before a horde of howling Turks streamed through the walls, seemingly endless. And not just any Turks.

Janissaries.

Brutal, merciless, and born only to kill and maim, these monstrous, gnarled mercenaries drove fear into the hearts of the defenders.

"Stand your ground!" Giovanni yelled. "For we will fight and die honorably and on our feet, as our Roman forefathers did before us!"

He did not get to say much more before a river of Turkish shields slammed against his own. The Italian leaned his shoulder into his shield to push back against them and stabbed his foes through whatever hole in their guard he could find, coating the cobblestones generously with their blood.

Just as Giovanni was about to say something further to rally the defenders to push the Turks back towards the breach in the wall, a crossbow bolt lodged itself in his throat and stifled the Emperor's friend forever. And as word of Giovanni's death spread around the ranks, the Byzantines and their foreign allies broke ranks and retreated now that the man who had single-handedly kept the Empire together was gone.

“Why are they retreating?" Emperor Constantine asked to himself with his hands folded behind his long purple robes, even though he already knew what the answer was.

"I do not know, my lord," one of the churchmen said.

"The Turks are pouring into the city like a river!" a man who used to be a merchant yelled. "We're doomed!"

"I just saw two priests disappear into the cathedral walls! God is punishing us up for our sins," a woman sobbed.

But then, even though Constantine was coming apart at the moment he knew the city was lost, the Emperor walked calmly through the teeming masses and said, "My friends, fellow Romans! Do not despair. For whatever happens this night, trust in our Lord and Savior, for he has said to us, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven'."

With that, Constantine commanded the guards still inside to bolt the doors to the Hagia Sophia, quickly picked up his sword and shield, and ran through the city in full armor, fueled by adrenaline to meet with his men before they could completely retreat.

His robes were long and cumbersome and the trappings of what little of his Imperial office he had left now only served to slow him down. With that, he cried at the top of his lungs, "The city is fallen and I am still alive," tore them off so as to no longer distinguish himself from his soldiers, and charged into the fray with them. After that, no one saw Constantine again.

Some say even to this day that just at the moment of his death, an angel flew in and carried the beloved last Emperor of Rome away. Others say he left the battle, stood atop a platform overlooking the carnage, and wept before hanging himself.

From that moment on, he became the Marble Emperor, turned to stone and entombed underneath the city until he would awaken again in its hour of need. Simultaneously, legends grew that the two priests who disappeared into the walls of Hagia Sofia would reemerge when the city would be retaken by the soldiers of Christ.

*****

The great oak doors to the Hagia Sophia now leaned slackly against the rotting pillars of stone as the Sultan entered the passageway. It had only been three days since the Ottomans captured Constantinople and already his workers were busy painting over the mosaics of Mary with child with beautiful white Arabic lettering on top of a simple black background, as well as placing minarets at the tops of the towers. Within a month, his planners told him, the mosque would be renovated enough to allow for Friday prayers to be read.

Mehmed's soldiers had also been hard at work looting over the past three days, an enterprise that personally disgusted the young ruler. But this had to be allowed, if only for this limited amount of time, for soldiers on any side of a war these days were often a fickle bunch, prone to deserting if every little demand of theirs was not met. For instance, he had had to build Rumeli Hisari in the shape of the Arabic letters for Muhammad in order to keep morale up, and that had only lasted a week. (It hadn't hurt, however, that his name was styled the same way.)

The results of the three day looting period were almost too much for him to gaze upon. Elderly men who just days earlier had been praying for deliverance from the prophet Isa, who they called Jesus, were now stacked on wagons and preparing to be dumped into the Bosporus. Children were in shackles, about to be sold to slave markets as far as the Songhai in the heart of Africa. And women and young girls were weeping, their clothes in tatters.

He could do nothing about those whose freedom had already been lost, but now his voice boomed through the mosque,

"Henceforth, those who are still in hiding will not be harmed."

Hopefully, he thought, this would be the first step in beginning to rebuild the city to its former glory. Soon, he reasoned, it would become the glorious, shimmering golden crown of an Empire without end. It would welcome commerce from all over the world, shelter Muslim, Christian, and Jew, and become the greatest power the world had ever known. "The spider weaves the curtains in the palace of the Caesars and the owl calls the watches in the towers of Afrasiab," Mehmed had proclaimed when he first stepped into the city. Hopefully, that would not be the case for much longer.

[therainroguefanfiction]

Sportember Writing Event!

September 1st - 30th, 2020

⚽ Introduction

Hello Hello, welcome to my first ever writing event! ^~^)/ I'm quite excited for this, so I hope you will be too! This has probably been done in the past?? But even so, this will have my own personal style intertwined within it. I was inspired to create this after I started up Haikyuu!! and I didn't actually plan on sharing it until it was time to post it, but where's the fun in that? I hope we can all come together as writer's across all of the genres and fandoms to have fun, make some friends, and write some incredible pieces! So, what are you waiting for? Click that "Keep Reading" button and let's get started~

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

🎾 I Don't Like Sports, Though

Now, before you blow this event off because you're not into Sports Anime or Sports in general, hear me out! You do NOT have to be a fan of sports or sports-themed fandoms in order to participate in this event. Your fics do, however, have to be some sort of sports-au/themed fic with mention of any of the numerous sports we have in this world (except golf because we don't stan golf as a sport in my house - that was a joke, golf is allowed).

Here's an example of a fic you could write for, say, a kpop star like Jimin from BTS. You could write an AU where he's a soccer player, maybe in college, may professionally, and you could use a prompt like "massage" to give him a massage after he gets home from a game. You'd still be writing about sports, but you wouldn't have to write about any games or technical terms!

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

🏐 I Want to Participate, But How?

It's quite simple~ Just choose a prompt from the list and get writing! Make sure you tag your work #sportemberwritings so others can find it and read your work! Any fandom and any genre is allowed, the only restriction is that your fic(s) have to somehow be related to sports, whether it's in-depth or just mentioned in passing. There's no requirement to follow anyone or interact with this post, though a reblog would be helpful in spreading the word to other possible writers.

I also request that you only post them within September, but that's not a requirement!

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

⚾ Time's Not My Friend, Can I Still Participate?

Absolutely! I'll be providing a theme/prompt for every day of September, but you are by no means required to write for every single day! Whether you do just one a week, one for the month, or every single day, your fics are welcome!

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

🏀 I'm Ready, Gimme the Prompts!

** WEEK 1; Sports or Song Lyrics (use one or both)

Sep 1st - Volleyball OR "We're not nameless, we're not faceless, we were born for greatness."

Sep 2nd - Basketball OR "Do you wanna start a cult with me? I'm not vibrating like I ought to be, I need a purpose."

Sep 3rd - Soccer OR "Promise me you'll never leave my side. Show me what I can't see, when the spark in my eyes is gone."

Sep 4th - American Football OR "I'll be more than just a fable, I'll be written in the stars."

Sep 5th - Tennis OR "You will never know, it's the price I pay. Look into my eyes, we are not the same."

Sep 6th - Swimming OR "I'm the poster child of denial, there's nothing I can't hide."

Sep 7th - Running OR "Life is walking on a tightrope, with nothing but a blindfold. It's a long way down."

** WEEK 2; All Rounder Prompts

Sep 8th - Adversary

Sep 9th - Announcement

Sep 10th - Massage

Sep 11th - Goals

Sep 12th - Bet

Sep 13th - Keep Going

Sep 14th - Professional

** WEEK 3; Sentence Prompts

Sep 15th - "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Sep 16th - "That's not a sport."

Sep 17th - "Why do you try so hard?"

Sep 18th - "I don't want you to get hurt."

Sep 19th - "Let me do that for you."

Sep 20th - "I don't get paid enough for this."

Sep 21st - "I dislike sports."

Sep 22nd - "I'll win - for you."

** WEEK 4; Angst or Fluff Prompts (choose one or use both)

Sep 23rd - Injured / Protected

Sep 24th - Insecurities / Loved

Sep 25th - Pressure / Encouragement

Sep 26th - Jealousy / Secure

Sep 27th - Sacrifice / Admiration

Sep 28th - Disappointment / Hopeful

Sep 29th - Cruel / Kind

Sep 30th - Enough / Believe

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

🏈 Final Thoughts

And there you have it, the Sportember Writing Event by TheRainRogue! ^~^)/ I hope you're excited as I am to get started. Remember these wise words from Louis L'amour;

"Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flower until the faucet is turned on."

A special thank you to @prettywordsyouleft​ for reading over this and encouraging me! <3 You’re the best.

xoxo Rain

[skgway]

1829 Jan., Tues. 6

5 3/4

10 1/4

At my desk at 7 20/60, having been 1/4 hour further and finally preparing for M– [Mariana] 

“Thank you, Sibbella,” (letter wrote on Sunday) for your 1st letter this year (which I received this morning) and for your so kindly wishing me to be happier every succeeding year, than the last – Perhaps my best hope is, that the circumstances, ‘that caused you unspeakable misery have been those that have led you step by step to the prospect’ of all the good at present in your view – 

For the last 8 or 9 years of my life, I have had nothing more sincerely at heart, than your happiness – This gained, much is done towards my own – Not to be easily reconciled to any plan that really and securely promotes your welfare, would argue a degree of selfishness of which I should be ashamed – While your scheme is merely in theory, we may possibly differ in opinion; – But the moment I see it put in practice, and realizing your hopes rather than my fears, I shall be reconciled, and satisfied – 

The reasonable persuasion that we are ‘spending a life of usefulness,’ will do much to make us contented in any case – To a mind like yours, is it not half of what is requisite to make you happy? I do not attempt to guess at what you may possibly allude to – You will tell me when we meet; and I shall endeavor to be patient” –

Account of her health better than I should dared to expect – No doubt Mr. Long will on every account do his best –

“I only wish, there was not such a perpetual prolongation of the time required. But the curtain seems a little drawn aside by the following sentence, ‘he shakes his head, and says, you never will see Paris’ – I cannot ‘calculate his influence – If it be paramount, I hope it is for good” 

. . . . think the climate of Paris mistaken – My aunt after 2 1/2 years residence cured of a host of complaints that hourly threatened her life in England – 

“I shall not be in town till next month (I have delayed my return, and shall continue to delay it, by every possible excuse, as long as I can), and, by the time you reached your journey’s end, the fine weather would be awaiting us – But may you decide according to the wishes, and advice of those best able to advise; and heaven prosper the event! 

I shall be delighted to have you with me, disappointed to leave you behind, but perfectly reconciled, and perfectly satisfied to be thus disappointed, if it be for your good – What gives me greatest pleasure, is your occasionally having your uncle with you – I do not quite understand your correspondence being promised for you by another, without your leave; but I am persuaded, it will give so much pleasure to your correspondent. ‘Tis possible, your time might not be better employed – 

‘I have many surprising things to tell you’ – Would that you had that one thing to tell me which occurs to me at this moment! Would that your life of usefulness were on behalf of that one for whom I am interested on your account! I am more than half persuaded, you do not yet know me well enough to be aware how deeply I am anxious for all events to work together for your good – 

‘Yes! I do guess what passed in your mind, but think not of it’ – I will endeavor to take your advice, but do not promise more – I trust, however, that these pages will not leave upon your mind any impression which is not as cheerful, as you yourself would have it – 

No! No! Sibbella, it shall not be I who throw one momentary shade across the brightness of your prospect, be that prospect what it may – But may its brightness be no fictitious glare that, like the ignis fatuus, lures but to deceive! If your plan be good and true, God speed! 

Yet why, Sibbella, this sentence? ‘I feel assured you will not like this plan, but I may in time reconcile you to it’ – I am more anxious about you, than you think; and it will be a comfort to me to see you” – 

Glad she approves my plan of being in the same house with her – Shall not care 2d [pence] about having a fire in my bedroom –

“Tell me, if you think it ‘no joke’ to be kept 1 month longer under Mr. Long’s care, what do you think it to be ket 3 months longer, with the prospect of still delay upon delay? Is it Mr. Long’s opinion, that you can live entirely in London, or that the climate of Mull, or Edinburgh, or any part of Great Britain where you can conveniently settle, is better than that of Paris?

It grieves me to hear of your coughing so much ...... Long may you have ‘the thanks and blessings of all sides!’ But what is love that thus amuses some, bewilders most, and recompenses few? How often ‘tis an idle dream, an empty sound, a charm that worse than lulls to sleep! In such a case, how difficult to give advice, how difficult to take it! 

But you will think the air of Shibden makes me prosey – Perhaps you may think right – Or these may be some lurking ever that Mr. Long’s infallible should remove – I hope to see you in about a month – May your health be better and your plan be good, and may this year, and every succeeding year be happier than the last!” 

Mention expecting M– [Mariana] a today for a week or 10 days – If I send a box or 2 of books has Miss McL– [MacLean] room for them? Mention the account of my aunt and her getting about – 

“It will be a sad disappointment to her, if you do not return with me – But may you do what is best! My own opinions shall never be selfishly opposed to yours, on any subject – I never think of you but to wish your happiness, and am always, Sibbella, very faithfully and affectionately yours A[nne] L[ister]”

At 8 25/60 sent off by Jno [John] my letter (vide yesterday and Sunday) to “Madame Madame Barlow, Rue des Champs Elysees, No [number] 6, Paris” and my letter as above to “Miss Maclean of Coll, 13 Nottingham Terrace, New Road, London” – 

Vide Miss McL– [MacLean]’s letter received on Sunday 

“Your last has left a deep impression on my mind almost of sadness – You said nothing I can assure you in your 2nd last that caused the slightest irritation of feeling – You know I have long, long considered myself consumptive – And do you suppose, I could feel any vexation that others should know it . . . . . . Then banish the thought from your mind, – And do not say I write on ‘relentless’ – 

Yes! I do guess what passed in your mind, but think not of it – I have many surprising things to tell you when we meet – Most singular have the circumstances of the last year of my life been, and perhaps the very events that caused me unspeakable misery have been those that have led me step by step to the prospect of spending a life (if I live) of usefulness – 

Not less, than in former years tho’ far different – But is still only in imagination I feel assured you will not like this plan, but I may in time reconcile you to it – If ever I put it in practice, which does not altogether depend on me” –

Her cough bad – Got cold from the hot rooms of her friends, and could not refuse the pressing invitations – Always gets cold at Lady Stuart’s – Lady S– [Stuart] “is I may almost say, an inveterate enemy to Mr. Long” yet said on seeing her last “well, you really are looking much better” –

Thought her spirits so good she must be “feigning”

“but I really feel so free from oppression in my chest, and that heavy feeling in my side quite gone, it has given me an indescribable cheering feel” –

All her friends raise objections to her going before for

“3 months yet, they say it will be doing both myself and Mr. Long injustice at such a season to go. He shakes his head, and says, ‘you never will see Paris’ – After a little discussion he says, ‘Well, in 3 months you may go’” – 

Rides out with him every day in his open carriage – He says it is absolutely necessary for her health, and she receives much benefit from it – 

“The most affectionate brother could not be more careful of me. I am engaged in a love affair. All parties have put the concern into my hands which is rather a bother, tho sometimes amuses me most exceedingly. I have as yet the thanks and blessings of all sides, but how it will end it is yet impossible for me to say – 

Assure yourself I am going on well, but slowly . . . . I wrote to Miss Hudson a few days ago – Mr. Long without my leave made a promise that I should” 

Vide my aunt’s letter received on Sunday, received my letter and enclosure on the 29th ultimo – Quite well – Had been to call on Mrs. B– [Barlow] “and walked up all except the last flight of steps to her apartment” and on the 28th returned “accompanied by my kind friend Mrs. B– [Barlow] I went to the ambassador’s chapel, and received the sacrament” –

Thinks I shall not be back before February – And that M– [Mariana] has “done well to make up the breach between her parent and friend, it will be a satisfaction to herself” – Sure of liking Miss McL– [MacLean]

“I only wish any feelings of partiality she may possibly have for myself, may not be entirely on your account – As to how long, or how short a time we may remain here, circumstances must determine – I shall, I hope, never wish to do anything, that may not be advisable at the time – another year or 2, is a long time to look forward” ..... – 

Wrote all the above of today, and had just done at 9 10/60 – Breakfast at 9 20/60 in 20 minutes – Went out at 10 – Met Throp in the road near the entrance gate) returning from planting 4 single trees (elms) in Charles H– [Howarth]’s field opposite to Pump and 2 ditto (beeches) in Jno [John O– [Oates] field opposite Dove house – 

Went with him then planted 2 single sycamores in the Allen Car, and then 4 beeches at the top of the wheat or wood field behind the barn – Then about 11 3/4 set off to H–x [Halifax] to meet M– [Mariana] stopt by the way and paid for my 2 pair shoes at Booth’s – Ordered the trespass act then called at Whitleys, Mr. Briggs’s office – Not in – Would send John – 

Then went to Mr. Parker’s office – Should like to know how soon the church money could be paid – would be a great convenience to have it by the 10th instant – This could not be Mr. P– [Parker] thought but might get it soon – Would lend me ￡700 (had it in the bank) till I got paid the church money – Much obliged – Might perhaps avail myself of the offer having a considerable sum to pay – 

Surprised to hear the coal bought of Wilkinson – The agreement signed on Friday by Holt – Brought it back with me – Hurried off to the Pineapple – There at 12 1/2 by the church – The mail should have arrived at 12 20/60 – Did not arrive till 12 40/60 – The man at Bradford would not have the horses sharpened and they had 8 or 9 men to help them up one or 2 of the hills – 

M– [Mariana] arrived – Walked home – She had been up all last night and had nothing to eat this morning – Had cold mutton and a glass of wine and went out with me a little before 2 – Along the walk in the fields M– [Mariana] planted 3 beeches near the brook in Lower brook Ing opposite Wellroyde.

Then went to Wellroyde brow wood where the wallers are preparing for planting a quickwood fence, then got it the new Northowram road sauntered past upper brea, then returned by Goldey and Benjamin’s B– [Bottomley?]’s and came in at 4 40/60 – 

Sat talking – Dressed – Dinner at 6 20/60 – My father and Marian came between 7 & 8 – Came upstairs at 8 20/60 – Looked over the coal agreement – To pay ￡40 per dayswork ￡100 down on excecuting the purchase 2 February next – Then looked at the list of proposed rents brought by Jno [John] from Mr. Briggs – Leaving out the advice on Marsh, upper place, and nearly the whole advice on Lower place, should gain by Mr. B– [Briggs]’s valuation – seventy six pounds a year.

Went down to coffee at 9 – M– [Mariana] and I came up again at 9 1/4 – Wrote the last 7 lines – The ground white this morning but more with frost (tho’ not severe) then snow – Very fine winter’s day – 

𝜋 [Pi - Mariana] very fond of me I am persuaded. Sitting after dinner explained why Steph thinks of leaving York. A profound secret even to the family. No field for his talenn [talent] o[r] variety of practice. The rich pay ill and the poor cannot afford to pay and he lives at great expense – 

Major and Mrs. Bailey parted. He could live with her no longer and left her in Paris recently – She seems almost even now an abandoned, headstrong criminal woman – He to allow her ￡210 per annum – 

Told M– [Mariana] I had no fire at night – Got up between 5 & 6, and lighted my fire then – Began on this plan with M– [Mariana]. She looks pale and thin – Rest will do her good –