#was honored more in the breach than in the observance

[nouearth]

double-stuffed.

peter parker x male reader x jaime reyes.

summary: nothing bonds two men who hate each other more than a sloppy mouth, and a sloppy hole.

wc: 13.1k. genre: smut. warnings: college au, friends with benefits, top!peter, tasm!peter, jealous!peter top!jaime, jealous!jaime, bottom!reader, threesome, rough-sex, blowjobs, handjobs, double-penetration, dirty-talk, muscle worship, body worship, fingering, ass-eating, mouth-fucking, dry-humping, breeding, eiffel-tower, filthy smut, loads and loads of cum, peter and jaime are rivals, reader is a slut, and reader also has a stretched out and sloppy hole by the end!

notes: how tf did i just write 13k of pure smut. ok well, not pure smut since i added some backstory, BUT. i wrote a lot, like??? hello??? someone check up on me!!!

The cold air breached through the cracked-open window in Peter’s bedroom. It’d been the winter season for months, yet snow had become a rarity with every passing year. It was much appreciated when you saw the ice crystals accumulate and cover the ground until it felt like you were practically walking on crunchy clouds.

Though, despite the weather, it didn’t stop classes from continuing unfortunately.

Another gust of wind blew into his bedroom, and you pressed closer into Peter’s body. Legs entangled with his longer limbs, and he’d bring your front leg over his hip for extra comfort, simultaneously providing himself another opportunity of friction to thaw out his goosebumps.

“Pete…” You muttered into the kiss. It came out in hesitant sputters, breathless as his hips began moving against yours in a lazy yet fruitful pressure. 

You weren’t sure when it happened; Peter had an incredibly poisoning effect on you that blurred time altogether; but your jeans were tossed to the corner, leaving you in your sweater and briefs. He was dressed, or rather undressed, similarly; a blue sweater that contrasted your beige, except his pants were unbuckled down to his knees.

“Why did you open the window? I’m cold.” He muttered back, detaching his lips from yours to settle onto his second favorite part of your body—your neck. 

Peter was observant. He had catalogued sections of your skin that would honor his ears the sweet and delectable sounds of your moans from many times prior. 

Simply kissing your neck wasn’t enough. Licking multiple stripes beneath the underside of your jaw made you stiffen and swallow down any potential sounds. It was a leap forward, but you were resistant to him—at the very least, you did well in feigning it—and he’d start suckling to hammer ice picks at the barricade that had seemingly repelled all of his actions.

“Would help if you had your pants back on, you know—“ You answered after several long moments. Your mind had pivoted to Peter’s pair of lips by now, closing your eyes to the sloppy sounds of his markings as you breathed in the scent of his shampoo.

When he felt a swallow, your adam’s apple bobbing for aid—to catch some sort of breath—Peter could see the barricade crumble, feel his liability in infecting you with desire and lust as he felt a tent forming in your briefs. And he’d bite a mark into your flesh to let you out of your misery, drawing out the poison with several hard sucks until it was bruising. A gasp and multiple drowsy moans of his name heightened his senses and Peter felt his ears redden with heat from how absolutely devouring you sounded.

You felt his hand slip under your sweater and made its way towards your chest, pinching and circling your nubs with gentle fingers.

“Besides,” There was a familiar heat being stimulated with every grind of his hips, every tweeze of your nipples, and you’d thank Peter in between with a motion of your own. A languid kiss accompanied as you pressed intimately close, slowing the eagerness of Peter’s movements as both of your bulges collectively rubbed and throbbed when direct contact was being made. “Doesn’t seem like the cold is affecting you much.”

He chuckled at your tease. “Yeah? I’m just getting started too—“ The same hand that was thawing the goosebumps off your chest cascaded back to its rightful place on your thigh, then to the cheeks of your covered ass before he playfully squeezed and slapped in turn.

You let out a laugh, pushing yourself back onto his palms when he’d begun kneading at your flesh. His eyes were focused on your bitten lips, clearly isolating any more noises that would make his ears burst into flames if they hadn’t already. 

But he was selfish. He needed more of you.

Whenever you pushed back, he pulled you forward, rocking you into him—into the tent forming stubbornly in his boxers. One hand rested on Peter’s cheek and there would be moments where you’d ever so  gently cupped the plumpest section of his skin when you rolled into him just right.

“Fuck, Pete—“ It started off innocent with your hips moving back slowly, languidly into him as if you had no intentions of finishing what you started.

You were spellbound. He tantalized every ounce of thought until he had become the sole proprietor of your brain, leasing you a vitality that you could only repay in pure and absolute pleasure.

“Shit—“ The collaborative movements had enough momentum to coincidentally shift his boxers until the slit aligned with the tucking of his erection, and with one more roll of your hips, you drew Peter’s weighty cock out from the opening. 

“Keep doing that… fuck. My dick’s out.” He was desperate in his demands and equally distracted as he constantly switched gazes between the way your clothed bulge rubbed against his hard-on, and the parting of your swollen lips, to which he immediately seized the chance to slip his tongue inside of you.

He explored you in every way possible, licking inside of your mouth then pursuing your wet muscle in a brief yet sloppy chase, swiveling his tongue around yours until you surrendered into his hunger. His hands remained on your ass, squeezing and kneading at your cheeks as you continued to hump him—continued to hump his cock, your bulge pressing intimidate against his as Peter’s erection was sandwiched between your bodies, providing no window of escape.

“Wait,” You gave him a slight push on the chest when you familiarized yourself with the golden hour streaming past his window, and somehow Peter took your movements to maneuver you on top of him, sitting you on his lap. He kicked off the remaining length of his pants while you searched the surface of his bed for your phone, scoring when you felt a familiar weight in your hand. 

You clicked open to the lock screen as Peter’s hands continued roaming free around your body, practically fucking himself into the barrier that were your tight briefs, and sighed. “Class is in thirty.”

“And? You can make it in time, or skip class? Fuck—I’m close…“ He reasoned and pleaded with his eyes, almost comically desperate.

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head, pressing your lips into a firm line as you grounded yourself to falter Peter’s hips to a disgruntled pause. “It’s a twenty-minute walk from here. And I don’t want to keep my partner from waiting! We were supposed to meet up earlier—“

“You seriously giving me blue balls right now? That’s a first—“ He grumbled, unwilling to let you go as his grasp tightened around your hips. It only loosened when you pressed a kiss to his lips again, whispering a soft apology in the delicacy of it.

“Sorry… I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

You lifted yourself off of the bed to Peter’s dismay and re-adjusted the tent in your briefs, slipping into your jeans after.

“Partner?” Peter’s curiosity was piqued, only because his courses rarely had group projects beyond the usual lab-work. “Is he nice? She? They?”

He followed after you, begrudgingly rolling off of his bed when the mere mention of your classes reminded him of his own deadlines approaching. He tucked himself back inside of his boxers. Though, a large tent greatly remained.

“He. You might know him? He told me he was in a couple of my classes before then, and those were all the same ones you and I were in.” Your eyes scanned for your books, collecting it into your arms when you found them, then for your backpack after.

Peter gave your shoulder a small nudge and you turned back, finding your backpack hanging by his fingers. “Yeah? Who?”

“Thanks,” You took your bag from him, swinging it onto your shoulder, and then pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek. “Uh… Jaime! Jaime Reyes.”

“Jaime…?” Peter paused in thought, then frowned as if he ate one of your favorite sour candies. “That… asshole in Film Studies?” 

He followed you from behind as you exited his bedroom and headed towards the entrance of the apartment.

“You remember him? I don’t think I even remember what we watched in that class, to be honest. Was he that bad?”

“Yeah… Always dismissed my critical theories like they were completely wrong. Remember how we were randomly assigned a partner and we’d be stuck with them throughout the semester? He was mine! Peer-reviewing was hell with him… ” Peter bitterly recounted the memories as you listened.

There was a puzzled expression on your face that Peter found himself half-humored by, but your gaze snapped into a bright realization, as if the lightbulb above your head had exploded, the more he explained.

“Oh, yeah…! You guys were constantly going at each other when we would do those Socratic seminars. Thank god for you two, otherwise I would’ve been the one debating or asking questions.” You half-joked, but cleared your throat when there was little to no amusement in Peter’s demeanor.

“Well, maybe he thought you were cute.” You attempted to reason. “And that was his way of flirting? Or maybe he was intimidated by another smarty-pants in the class and he was over-compensating.” You snorted, holding onto the wall as you slipped your shoes on a foot at a time.

“Maybe…?” He sighed, observing you as his erection took a painful lap in its journey back to being flaccid. “Don’t take it out on me if you get a migraine because of him.”

“Pft, I deal with you on a daily basis. I can handle anything.” You finalized your outfit with a coat and a scarf around your neck. “I’ll be back!”

“Wait—“ Before you exited, he pulled you back to him by your wrist, grinning. “You got something in your eye.”

“I don’t feel anything—“ Peter took ahold of your cheeks and cradled them in his palms—plump flesh that were warm enough to convince you to skip your class for today and make a blanket fort with him instead. You smiled as he leaned close, centimeters from touching his nose with yours, and you could feel your heart weighing heavier than usual, swelling with ease the longer Peter gazed into your eyes.

And somehow, it didn’t even burst when he abruptly blew into your eye, obnoxiously laughing. “Now you do.”

“Asshole.” You elbowed his arm, his laugher quickly infecting yours, and you bid him goodbye with a peck on the lips. “Do your homework!”

Taking a painful glance at his desk from the entrance hall, piles of textbooks, notebooks, and sticky notes mocked and taunted Peter of his impending deadlines.

He groaned, dragging his feet back into his bedroom and towards his desk. “Can’t promise that.”

There was indeed something way worse than having blue balls.

“You’re still up?” Peter stepped out of his bedroom with a scratchy yawn. The dryness of his throat never failed to rouse him awake around 3 AM. His tousled hair bounced with every sluggish step towards the water filter, pressing a kiss to your cheek mid-way. 

“When am I not…” Your voice was dull and monotonous as you remained fixated on the screen of your laptop, typing away at a filled word document. You had a late reaction to his kiss, turning towards Peter for a kiss on the lips instead—a reward for your hard-work for the day—but he’d already left to chug a glass of water down.

“I thought you were finished with your project by now?” He filled another cup of water before properly joining you on the couch.

Peter’s appearance for the night alerted you to clear your mind and take a breather. Your laptop was shoved off to the side and his arm immediately opened to bring you closer. You could feel the warmth of his gaze glazing over you with worry as he passed his cup of water into your hand.

“Yeah…” You sighed, drinking the lukewarm liquid in tired sips. “Turns out we needed to write an essay per topic, not include the three we’ve chosen in one collective essay.” When you finished explaining, you gulped the entire glass down, and set it on the coaster.

“That’s… tough, and annoying, and I’m sorry.” You and Peter laughed as lethargy devastated him of the vocabulary needed to properly sympathize for you, but his presence was more than enough. He rubbed your shoulder, giving one side an affectionate squeeze as a simple act of support while you leaned into him. “What’s Jaime doing?”

“The same thing. He’s coming over in the afternoon, so we can hopefully finish the rest.” You could feel Peter stiffen. If he had a switch on his body, it was flipped and glued to defense mode because as much as he hated to admit it, he was intimidated by Jaime. 

“Be nice, okay? I mean, what—we were sophomores? We were all figuring ourselves out early on.”

“Hm.”

Peter was intimidated by how much time Jaime was spending time with you in and outside of class; by how quickly you seemed to have bonded over the course of a few weeks; by how intimate you seemed to have gotten with him judging by the fresh amount of hickies displayed on your neck, dethroning Peter’s own set of bruising marks.

It was all his fault—Peter’s. 

He was the one that insisted on whatever you and him have had going on instead of pursuing a romantic relationship like you wanted. There had been many times where he regretted that decision; times where he thought making you his was simply a fleeting thought and nothing more. But it backfired, and regret came back in a full, disastrous, home-wrecking storm of karma.

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.” It was Peter’s sudden movements that made you jolt after enduring the long silence. He got up from the couch and walked back into his bedroom without sparing you a glance.

As if the thickened air in the room wasn’t telling enough, Peter’s stoicism solidified your assumption. You sighed a weight that fueled the tension looking free.

He was furiously jealous.

Peter hated how you came back from class later than you usually did. He hated how Jaime’s cologne of cedar wood and musk stung his nose instead of your usual scent of oak moss and citrus peels. He hated how every time he caught a glance of your phone, it was a text massage from Jaime. He hated how Jaime had a bug emoji next to his name, similar to how Peter had a spider next to his. He hated how Jaime had infiltrated your life, to the point of you having to base your schedule around him now.

And Peter hated how every time he was inside of you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Jaime’s cock was buried deep in your ass, how you willingly bent over or spread open for him, how you kneeled on the floor and most likely whined and begged for his cum as you jerked him off, emptying your thoughts of what was left of Peter for him.

For Jaime.

Peter was losing you—losing to Jaime of all people—more and more with every passing day.

But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“Jaime…” You whined, drawing out the last vowel of his name as you stretched forward to loosen the tense muscles knotting along your lower back. A groan escaped when the pad of your fingers grazed your toes, and you immediately snapped back when a cramp began to settle in. “Can we take a break? I swear, I’m starting to go blind.” 

You and Jaime have been sitting on the floor, circled around your coffee table in the living room as you both worked on finishing the essays, as well as the accompanying presentation.

“Uh-oh, seems like we gotta take desperate measures then. Who else would hype me up if you go blind?” He joked, then stretched his arms upwards until a loud crackle drew a satisfying groan from him. “Dinner?”

“Uh…” You looked around for your phone, spotting it on the couch you were leaning back against, and clicked the device open to reply to Peter’s messages. “Peter said he was getting pizza for us after class. Should be on his way now.”

[Petey 🕷️]: All pepperoni ok? [M/N]: yeaaaap, can you get pineapple on one side too [Petey 🕷️]: Oh god, I forgot that you’re a pineapple person [M/N]: IT’S GOOD TO ME! 🍍🍍🍍 [Petey 🕷️]: You could dip it in a can of pineapple juice and there would be no difference

[M/N]: shut up, i’m the one paying for it

“Huh, really?” Jaime was surprised, straightening his posture as he took a nonchalant peek at your phone. For a moment there, Peter’s kindness took ahold of Jaime’s pessimism by the reins and pressed a non-existent brake. “That’s… nice of him.” 

Frankly, it was your suggestion to Peter, which surprisingly didn’t take much convincing since it was his favorite pizza joint. All he really needed was a kiss to seal the deal.

Jaime’s gaze flickered between the sprint of your thumbs and your growing smile. Blue and grey colored message bubbles appeared one after another, and the snickers that fostered briefly colored him red. Rather than finding the sound of your voice annoying, it was the person nourishing the joyful noises out of you that ticked him off.

Since middle school, he had always been at the top of his class. Whether it was because he truly enjoyed the subjects in school, or because he wanted to be the hero that pulled his family out of poverty—failing wasn’t an option. 

Then came Peter Parker. He’d been in four of his courses since sophomore year, but it was Film Studies that truly roused a flame within him. Maybe because it was a smaller class as opposed to a seminar like the rest of his classes with him. 

Or maybe because it was his first class with you, absolutely head over heels for Peter.

Peter, who would come into class late because he overslept. Peter, who would fall asleep during a viewing of a film instead of analyzing the mise-en-scene. Peter, who would be awaken by their professor and somehow manage to conjure an answer that would satisfy her—or worse, impress her. Peter, who didn’t have to work hard as him because he was… Peter Parker.

Peter Parker, who was the sole captor of your bright smile that Jaime had preferred over a hot cup of coffee when mornings were tough; the motivation for you to come out of your shell because Peter didn’t want you to be a loner like him; the person you would rely on because you trusted his opinion; the reason Jaime could find the courage to get a word in when he approached you because Peter was always by your side.

Peter, who Jaime could never be.

“Hey,” Your ear twitched as a gentle draft blew into the canal, and you immediately turned to face Jaime, ticklish in your endeavor. “I’m here too.” His lips pressed onto yours, sweet and fulfilling despite there being a bitterness in his tone.

“Sorry…” You murmured, tossing your phone to the side as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close and relishing in the softness of his lips.

Jaime let his muscles go limp, immediately toppling over your body once you pulled him close, and your bodies clumsily collided onto the rug with a small thump, a fit of laughter breaking the kiss apart in midst.

He positioned himself on his side after rolling off of you, cushioning your body with one of his arms beneath your back in turn. “Why is your rug comfier than my bed?”

You shrugged, sprightly raising your brows. “Doesn’t stop us from making out on it.” Your hand rested on his cheek briefly before swiveling it over to the front of his hair, brushing it back in one stoke, and settling on the back of his head to pull him face-to-face, nose-to-nose. 

The dark curls of Jaime’s hair fell forward over his forehead in delicate and thick clumps, and you sniffed a familiar waft of spearmint that was pleasant to your senses. “Do that again. Feels nice.”

“Yeah?” You chuckled because Jaime’s voice lowered to a calming whisper, feeling his lips brush ever so slightly over yours—feathery and light like a brush—as you repeated your strokes. Your nails scraped lightly over his scalp, enough pressure to close his eyes and coerce a satisfied sigh out of him, and then another into your mouth when he kissed you as delicately as your touch again.

Every swipe of Jaime’s lips—of his tongue—muted the sounds around you, phased you out of reality, and lulled you out of the migraine you’ve been enduring for pulling an all-nighter. The last sound you recalled hearing was Jaime’s zipper, an enchanting pitch that needed no verbal cue for you to sneak your hand down his pants. The eye-rolling massage at the base of his head was abandoned, but it was immediately compensated when you rubbed and cupped at his clothed bulge.

For a moment, Jaime perfectly fit in your palm, letting your fingers do most of the work without much wrist movement as they pressed and squeezed at the soft lump. As you continued, you gradually felt the lump expand into a meaty mass that had you practically drooling into his mouth because you remember the taste and smell of his thick cock.

And defeated, because you recollected the uncomfortable stretch he’d summon when he was inside of you.

“Fuck.” Jaime hissed when your thumb pressed the smooth fabric of his briefs to the plump glans of his uncut cock, forcing the fabric to swivel his foreskin over the head in tantalizing circles—until thick drips of pre-cum stuck and stained a spot of the white briefs into a deeper shade of grey. “I could come just like this, you know?”

“Would be a waste of cum, though.” You simpered, looking pleased with the effect you had on him. Your hand began stroking the thick shape of his cock, pushing his tuck upwards until the tip poked out from under the waistband, greeting you with a delectable coat of pre-cum when you peeked downwards.

Jaime exhaled a shaky breath, pulling his shirt off. “Knowing you, you’d probably suck it right off the fabric, wouldn’t you?” The starry haze in your eyes; the constant licks of your lips; the harder grasps at his cock to pursue more dribbles of his pre-cum; he recognized the symptoms of your lewd vehemence straight off-the-bat, promptly rolling onto his back and kicking his pants off. 

“Fuck, yeah.” You were famished, absolutely starving from the way you attacked his lips and sloppily explored his mouth with your tongue after straddling on top of him. You pressed onto his bulge, pushing against the center of his briefs with deep ruts until the head of his cock was exposed. Your mouth swallowed every profanity that would slip out of Jaime’s throat, fueling your hunger and channeling it into harder grinds.

He briefly put you on time-out to sit up and help you undress, one article of clothing at a time, beginning with your shirt. Jaime latched his mouth onto the first surface of skin he laid his eyes on. As you lifted your shirt, exposing more of your body, his lips trailed behind the hem soon after. He licked upward in one long strike, then dragged his tongue over the center of your chest, murmuring as you held his head close.

“Have I ever told you how much I loved your body?” It was a sweet confession, some would reckon that it was wholesome, and that was more of a reason why it made your cock throb in strong pulses, begging for your sweatpants to release them for oxygen. He chuckled, one hand squeezing you at your bulge. “Guess I haven’t enough.”

First, he tongued at your nipples, flicking the wet muscle on one nub before moving onto the next as he held you by the waist with one hand, balancing your straddle on his lap, and massaging the print in your pants with the other. Your cheeks ignited into flames when you caught his gaze; half-lidded and drowsy as if the sound of your moans was his lullaby. Then, he gently bit when he figured you’ve been hypnotized by the languid swivel of his tongue for far too long, disrupting the chain of moans into staggers. “Jaime, fuck—“

“Try tugging on them with your teeth.” Your brows furrowed, wrinkles creasing in the middle of the two arches, as you were puzzled by a sudden voice that sounded distinctly different from Jaime’s.

When you met his gaze again, his expression mirrored yours, frowning because your lips never moved when the voice came up. “What did you—“

There was a silhouette that loomed near the open kitchen that pulled your gaze from Jaime and towards the shape of a familiar body instead. Jaime’s gaze quickly followed yours after witnessing your pupils dilate.

Peter was leaning back on the kitchen island, watching with one hand down his pants and a smile that rendered you speechless and frozen in place. “When did you—I-I didn’t even hear you come in—“

“Few minutes ago. Good thing I didn’t miss the miss the show. It was getting good.” 

Before you and Jaime could begin scrambling for your clothes, Peter was already on his way towards the two of you, halting in front. You scanned him from head to toe for any anomalies, a break you’d expect to see if someone was caught almost fucking on their living room floor. What you got instead was a familiar gaze that you’ve accustomed to your own intimacy with Peter, then he lightly tapped his foot against Jaime’s lower back.

“Not the ideal situation I’d like to… meet you again in, but… I will say that I like it a lot better than what I had originally imagined.”

“Seriously? What do you—“ Jaime met Peter’s eyes, an awkward yet heavy tension in the air forming, but once his gaze fell to the center of Peter’s crotch being palmed by his hand, he felt a lightbulb go off. “Ah.” He scoffed, a gale of chuckles following after because of the absurdity of the situation—to cover up the guilt that he found it hot at the same time.

That he actually found Peter attractive.

“Peter, I don’t think this is—“ You reasoned, but Peter deprived your speech when he began stripping off his own clothes. What the fuck is happening…?! 

“(M/N) likes it when you tug on his nipples with your teeth.” He ignored you, nonchalantly repeating to Jaime. Though, it was hard to ignore the dumb-stricken look on your face when he approached closer to you, your confused gaze following his every movement. To appease you, he gave your chin a gentle cup, fondly stroking the center with his thumb as he shared a look that you could only deem as trusting from him.

You only began to relax when Jaime forged his suggestion into reality when he brought his mouth back up to your nipples and gently tugged at the nubs with his teeth. Every pull yanked a moan out of you, but you couldn’t help but feel entirely exposed and ashamed, knowing that Peter was watching you with another man.

It was allowed. Jaime and Peter have known about each other as flings for quite some time now, so it wasn’t like you were cheating, but… why did it feel wrong?

Once Peter stripped himself down to his boxers, he approached your side again for support, a large tent begging for you to release it from the loose restriction of the pattered fabric. Jaime’s gaze curiously followed Peter, watching his every move as he suckled, bit, and pulled at your nipples. He repeated despite the fact that they were swollen in between his lips, gratified that they were becoming perkier with every torment he’d inflict upon them.

Despite the fact that you had given into Jaime’s touch, into Peter’s demands, you looked up at him with concern, a daunting guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders, and he recognized that look with sympathy, assuring you with a calming smile and a soft kiss for good measure.

“Be a good boy for me, and stroke my cock.” Peter murmured lowly, stroking your cheek with doting knuckles, and you felt pacified right then and there. “And when you’re stroking my cock, you’re going to stop being selfish, treat Jaime like the respectable guest he is, and suck him off—got it?”

It was rare for Peter to be verbal like that. It wasn’t him, he claimed once, explaining that it was awkward because it sounded like he was in a cheesy porno.However, even if it was terribly and overly used in those pornos; a porno was a porno, and Peter was turning you on more than ever right now.

You inhaled, absolutely enraptured by what you were demanded to do that you forgot to breathe for a brief moment—but Peter kissed you again as a reminder, and you nodded. “Got it.”

You could feel Jaime throbbing under your clothed ass, his bulge prodding at the center of the fabric in desperate beats, as if he was agreeing to Peter’s ultimatum. Guess the dirty talk got to you too, huh?

As you climbed off of Jaime’s lap, Peter tossed a couple of throw pillows to him for his lower back and his head. Then, he did the honors of pulling your sweatpants off. A collective sigh of relief was heard as Peter and Jaime realized you went commando when your cock sprang free, throbbing and begging solely on the basis of Jaime’s mouth and Peter’s voice.

You knelt on the floor and bent forward, pushing your ass back while you slowly tugged Jaime’s briefs off to reveal his thick, uncut cock, seeping in its own pre-cum. “Pete, look how wet he is.” You slurred on your own drool as Peter knelt by Jaime’s hip, rubbing at his own cock.

“Geez, no wonder you were such an ass. Probably kept ruining your pants—“ Peter amused himself, taking one glance at the flushed expression on Jaime’s face, and chuckled.

“No, that’s not— we’re going to talk about my problem with you later.” Jaime stammered, but then halted when a sigh huffed past the dry of his throat as you took his stiff dick in your hand and stroked, squeezing until his foreskin covered the swollen glans completely and let the pre-cum pool within the folds, and then pulled the skin back and spread the thick coating back over the head again, somehow thicker with every cycle.

“Fuck…” Peter watched in awe, continuing to palm at his erection until the restriction of the garment had become unbearable to sit in. He slipped his boxers off and tossed it to the corner, then positioned his hips to sneak his cock into the palm of your free hand.

There was an expecting look on his face when you glanced over; a brow raised and a nod to his cock that seemingly reminded you of his demands. Balancing on his knees, Peter’s thighs pulsed, his taller height putting more weight on his muscles and making it look all the more sculpted as if he’d selfishly stolen limbs from Michelangelo’s workroom. Even though you’d seen Peter naked more times than you could count, you found yourself staring marvelously at his body. You never noticed how with every stroke of your hand, he sucked in his stomach, to pace his breathing, and his abdominal muscles would naturally divide into sharp, defined lines.

Somehow even more so, when he began thrusting into your fist.

As Peter helped you with one of your tasks, Jaime naturally found himself spreading his legs apart when you began lowering your head. You’d never admit it because out of context it sounded incredibly comical, but you loved cock. If you had to utilize the formal language of your essays, you’d say that you treasured it. It was one of the many reasons why Peter and Jaime loved having you around; why you found yourself on your knees after they returned from a long day of classes; why you’d gotten better at taking them down your throat because it’d become a daily practice, a hobby you’d reckon.  

Because you knew how to appreciate a cock when you saw one, how to make love to one, and you would do anything to make your men feel at ease, even if it was at the cost of your own abandoned pleasure.

“So fucking big…” Your left hand continued to pump Peter’s cock while you shoved your face in between Jaime’s thighs, nuzzling and feeling the warmth of his balls loose over your nose. You inhaled his musk, repeating the deep whiffs of Jaime’s ball sweat, before taking his heavy sack into your mouth and suckling. Occasionally, you’d abandon his scrotum to lick at the underside of his cock as it laid thick and hard—pleading to be tended to—over his pelvis. 

“Shit—fuck, I love it when you play with my balls like that...” You tugged on the stretchy skin with pressed lips to the base of the sack before taking him in again and rolling the spheres over the surface of your tongue like two gumdrops. You watched Jaime writhe as you tongued him, his stomach flattening and then puffing abruptly because he was precisely sensitive over the right side of his scrotum.

Jaime’s weak attempt at controlling himself from spilling a load right then and there was an example of how twitchy and overly-stimulated he could be if you found—played with—the right spot. Thankfully, he found the grace of God to hold it in and reminded himself to breathe; slow and methodical as he watched you with arousing awe.

He switched his gaze over to Peter hazing over you, and smirked. The hard gulps Peter would take, the stiffen of his jaw, the nostrils of his nose flaring up. He was blatantly jealous, scorched by the sun type of jealous, and Jaime got off on that, found himself growing impossibly harder knowing he was victorious in this moment.

Jaime was always good at reading people’s expressions. Even if they had tried to conceal it with a smile, their eyes told a different story. With your mind solely focused on pleasuring Jaime, your hand had gone limp despite still being wrapped around Peter’s own length. 

“Just like that, fuck, baby.” Jaime reached down to affectionately pet at your head, a physical encouragement that stroked a delighted noise out of you, and you’d repeat until his hand gradually fell to the nape of your neck. By the desperate pulses of his hand, his palm slightly angling upwards to push your head forward; you’ve been with him long enough to recognize that he needed his cock sucked.

“Wait,” Peter abruptly spoke up, confident and authoritative, as you let Jaime’s balls go and bent forward an inch more, beginning to hover your mouth over Jaime’s cock. 

You and Jaime curiously looked over. Your mouth parted open to ask him what was wrong, but Peter seized the opportunity to brush past your breath and invade your mouth with his cock, the abrupt aid of his hand surprising you as it leveled your head lower to meet his pelvis. “Just a little warm-up.”

“Peter—“ The gasp of his name was shoved down your throat, immediately coming back up as gargling instead since Peter offered you little time to prepare yourself. You heard Peter let out a strong exhale, his body melting into a limp once again when your mouth wrapped around the tip of his cock, then the first few inches of his erection the more he pushed your head down. You braced your hands against Jaime’s strong thighs, squeezing harder and harder when it became a struggle to take Peter’s thick cock.

Jaime would’ve called the pain at his thighs unpleasant; your dull nails digging painfully into his bronze flesh followed by a scratch; but all of that was forgiven because of the scene before him and how incredibly hard it made him. Like a scene found in one of his browser’s bookmarks, you were choking on a cock that was too big for you; on a cock that you pathetically had to warm up for before beginning to throat it deeper; on a cock that would be considered a miracle to shove it down your throat in the first place. For a brief second, Jaime had second thoughts on whether you’ve sucked anyone else’s dick but his own. 

Peter offered you little patience, only pulling you back up to take a small breather because you begged him through an incoherent whine that could’ve easily been mistaken for a moan. After a few seconds, you were back downing on Peter’s cock as if you weren’t struggling to take him moments prior. It played out exactly like the plot of his favorite porn scene.

The feigned innocence, the porn star dick, the teary bottom; Jaime’s cock was dripping, envious of the sloppy and warm lathering that Peter was enduring, that Jaime was so close to experiencing again before Peter took it all away from him—because he was fucking jealous.

Jaime’s mouth fell open the exact moment Peter’s did when you pushed your head lower than you did previously, then lower, and it seemingly never stopped until your swollen lips flushed to the furry hairs of Peter’s pubes. “Holy shit, (M/N)…”

“Has he ever deep-throated you before? He’s getting better at it.” It was so nonchalant, Peter’s tone, as if he got to experience your glorious throat every single day. If Jaime digged deeper, he heard a cockiness to it as well.

Something possessed Jaime—a rapturing feeling that made his chest feel funny, his cheeks stain with red, his cock throb with fervor. That feeling again; jealousy.

“Yeah? Give me a try then, (M/N)?” Jaime wet his lips when a large dribble of drool rolled down the corner of your stretched mouth. He met eyes with you when you glanced, beckoning you with a wave of his thick cock then slapping it multiple times onto his palm. The loud smacks were like a spell, and he knew he succeeded when you pulled Peter’s cock out with a delicious slurp.

“Actually,” Peter’s grasp on your head hardened, turning it back to face his cock when his fingers swiped your chin, and shoved his cock back into your mouth, quickly before you could rouse a sympathy for Jaime. “Seems like he’s pretty occupied with something at the moment.” 

“Seriously—“ Jaime watched with one brow raised, irritation written all over his face while stroking his cock to keep himself hard. Thankfully, you saved him from completely going flaccid as you replaced Jaime’s hand with your own, stroking him as you bobbed and sucked on Peter’s cock.

It only lasted a couple of minutes before Jaime got up, still clearly displeased, and for a minute, you’d thought he would’ve walked out right then and there, until he began standing next to Peter instead. You pulled away from Peter’s cock to take another breather, sitting flat on your bottom and then welcoming Jaime with a couple of strokes while your other hand worked at Peter’s cock at the same rhythm and pace.

“Since you’re getting so good, why don’t we introduce something new then?”

“What’s that? Am I sucking two dicks at once or something?” You joked, too distracted wiping the drool off your mouth with your forearm to notice Peter and Jaime exchanging a look that surprisingly wasn’t of malice. It was as if they hit jackpot. Their eyes brightened at the suggestion and the smallest creak of their smiles signaled a sinister connection that puzzled you.

They loved sexually tormenting you.

“Wait. Guys, I was just kidding—“

“If anyone could do it, it would be you.” Peter flashed you a grin, knocking on your lips with the tip of his cock as if it was an entrance to the warmest cock-furnace in town. “Come on.”

“Yeah. You always told me to try out my options first before deciding whether it wasn’t for me. Shouldn’t you follow your own advice?” Jaime hummed, Peter agreeing after, then joined Peter in his mischievous endeavors. He traced the outline of your lips with his cock, smearing your plump flesh with his pre-cum. 

You were apprehensive, looking up at them as they straighten their posture in anticipation. Their cocks stood heavy and intimidating, weighing heavily on your lips, and you were sure if you opened up your mouth in this moment, they would certainly take the opportunity to push past your complaints and fuck your throat again.

“Make me a deal, then.” The salt of Jaime’s cock compelled you to speak, offering him the tiniest licks because you felt bad for abandoning his cock earlier. With your tongue offering him little resonance, Jaime rolled his shoulders back to get some kind of fixture, as frustrating as it was.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, greedily pressing the head of his own cock to Jaime’s so he was spared a few licks of your tongue. It was almost distracting—how the plump tips of Jaime’s and Peter’s cock connected together in thick, web-like strands. You felt yourself give in for a moment, taking both of their cocks into your hands—one in each respective grasp—and mouthed the swollen glans while speaking.

“No more fighting for the rest of the night. And if we’re ever doing this again,” You realized you had the power to control them all along, the power to make them succumb to your demands because without your mouth, who else would they go to? “You guys are going to make amends and be friends. Deal?”

“Deal.” They collectively agreed in unison, a quite comical interaction that you were confident they were going to reel back on their promise once you squeezed a load or two out of them; their minds would be cleared and their decisions wouldn’t be drawn by the simple promise of sex.

“Fuck,” You couldn’t help but compare their cocks as your hands stroked them down in your spit, coating them in a glossy sheen that caught the light above. It was glorious seeing their cocks in this position, with Peter and Jaime towering over you, their cocks sticky and wet from your spit. “Wish you could see what I’m witnessing right now.” 

You were envious that they only had one subject in their center of vision. You had to constantly alternate between Jaime and Peter to make sure one wasn’t feeling neglected. If you presumed they did, you’d recompense through a cycle of sucking their cocks, playing with their balls, slapping their dicks on your face, tongue included, until your cheeks were covered in your own spit.

Whatever they wanted, you’d do it for them because you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing your boys were unhappy.

Peter’s dick was a spitting image of one of those famous male porn stars that you recalled obsessing over; a strong curve to the length with the girth thickening towards the head; it was always a struggle to fit him inside of you. If you had to be modest, you’d call it a handsome cock as natural veins pumped throughout his cock, making it evidently clear where all the blood was rushing to; a natural eye-widener, and a throat closer, for everyone.

Peter liked making sure your face was free of any anomalies. Whether the number of obscurities were the bad lighting in the room, casting shadows in place that masked your mouth, to the locks of hair covering the tiniest bit of your face; you were a wonderful performer that needed to be seen, and Peter was here to ensure that, especially with a guest in the room. 

His eyes casted over you while you went down his cock under the control of his palms. He liked having you follow his rhythm, follow the pace of his urges. If he wanted for you to focus your tongue on the head of his cock, then he’d pull you back at his own time and make sure to pull his hips back whenever you needed a fix of something more. If he wanted you to deep-throat him until you couldn’t breathe, he’d make sure you were on your very last grasp of life before you turned blue.

The sound of your saliva building and welling up in the back of your throat was a beautiful noise to him, one he could hear in his sleep and happily have wet dreams of. You sucked on his cock, slobbered over the weight of it through several coughing fits and chokes, and you made sure to look up at Peter with tears in your eyes, seeking for some kind of approval. He breathed out slow, seemingly controlling himself from spilling all over you right then and there, and found that if he didn’t stop himself now, then you’d never get to Jaime. When he told you to open your mouth and pant with your tongue out like a fucking animal, a wide and dark smile spread across his face. It wouldn’t be absolute control if he didn’t succeed in humiliating you.

“Good boy,” Peter bent over to slap you hard on the ass, a loud echoing smack resonating in the room. You winched, but nonetheless smiled up at him because Peter approved of your skills. “Now, make me proud.” He sent you off with a kiss, roughly patting the side of your cheek where his cock once bulged through, and did you the favor of shoving your mouth down on Jaime’s cock with no warning.

For Jaime, it was as if his own uncut cock couldn’t handle the weight and mass of his meat, making it naturally curve downwards that made it less difficult for you to slide him down your throat. What he lacked in length, he massively over-compensated in thickness and girth. A prominent vein ran down the center, and it made your heart skip a few stones or two when you realized the thick blood vessel was the reason why he built up a delectable amount of pre-cum.

The definition of control was interpreted differently between the two men. Where Peter forced you to suck his cock and move at his own pace, Jaime preferred constraining your head in between his palms and force you to take his cock, like you were some kind of blow-up doll. With a slightly bent posture to properly fit himself into your mouth, Jaime hooked one thumb at the corner of your mouth and stretched it open to accommodate his girth, and fucked into your warm mouth. Your knees felt bruised, burning in agony as you took every one of Jaime’s heavy and selfish fucks with absolutely no complaints. You clenched your eyes tight when he hit a little too hard at the back of your throat, then again, and again, because he loved how you sounded when his cock dented into you. He also loved how you couldn’t contain yourself and let an endless amount of saliva waterfall from your tongue and mouth, making it all the easier to slide down your throat.

“Fuck yeah, dude…” Peter was in awe. You felt one of his fingers toy with the pucker of your hole after he took a scoop of your saliva and spread it over the length. In circular motions, Peter was teasing in his endeavors, chuckling to himself as he felt you clench at the tiniest appeasement. “Think he likes how you’re fucking his mouth.”

“Yeah? There’s room for two, you know.” It was the most they’ve exchanged conversations since the last time they saw each other in class; although this time, it was a much more pleasant interaction. Jaime pressed his cock to the right side of your mouth, and you whined, giving his thigh a slap because it was a strange and uncomfortable sleeping. He pacified you with a couple of head rubs, then briefly taking his cock out for you to recover your breath.

“Let’s move to the bed, my knees hurt…” You grumbled while simultaneously catching up on your breath. You didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer as you already made your way into your bedroom with footsteps following you from behind.

It only took a few seconds for the three of you to work out your positions; Peter and Jaime laid flat on the bed, with each men taking the opposite end, similar to a bridge. Their legs tangled, thighs sat atop of one another, Peter’s feet at Jaime’s head and vice versa, and ballsacks pressed with the cocks facing towards the respective owner. You were the interconnecting piece, the final key in completing the puzzle, as you sat by the side of their hips. You had Peter on your left and Jaime on your right, jerking them off with your respective hand.

“Comfy?” You asked both of them, nonchalant in tone as you briefly went down to lick at the precum dribbling down Jaime’s cock, then to Peter’s as you caught the strong pulses of his length at the corner of your eye.

“Very much…” Jaime sighed, mirroring Peter’s position and cushioning his head with his arm. Contrary to how they’ve been treating you and your mouth, their gaze had softened as they’d been watching you. Peter had his warm palm running continuously down your spine, while Jaime’s arm traversed around you to take his time in teasing your hole with a finger, slow and sweet like the taunting delicacy of your tongue.

“So fucking big…” You marveled when you pressed their stiff cocks together and stroked out a groan from either one of them. The lights of your eyes dilated into sparkles because you could barely wrap your hand around them with this one grasp, and out of curiosity, you squeezed to impossibly squish them together, effectively earning a needy rut of their hips from Peter, then Jaime, and your throat caught a profanity because it was the hottest thing ever.

Stiff veins pressed into one another and Jaime’s precum made it too slippery for you to properly hold him and Peter without one of them slipping out of your hand. You were growing impatient, and you could see it in their eyes that they were too. Jaime’s was pleading for some kind of warmth, while Peter’s was almost threatening, as if he was about to pass out any second. 

After a couple more taunting strokes, you gave in and appeased them. You lowered yourself, smelling the sweat and musk that both the men heavily extruded through the slurry of pure sex, and shoved both of their cocks into your mouth. At least, you attempted to.

“Oh, fuck—“ Jaime’s eyes widened, then tightly closed because he was overwhelmed.

“Shit…” Peter muttered under his breath, the words leaving his mouth open because he’d only seen this in porn scenes.

It disappointed you, you couldn’t possibly fit them inside of your mouth except for the heads. If only you had a bigger mouth, or maybe knew how to disjoint your jaw muscles to somehow fit them both completely in—but you didn’t. Despite the limitations, you settled on fitting the heads of their cocks and suckling. As your tongue ran over Peter’s bulbous head, then Jaime’s thick glans, you made sure you were stroking what you couldn’t find in your mouth. Instead of lamenting over the loss of a stretch, you marveled at the way it felt when you wrapped your mouth around the glans, then at the way their dicks rubbed against one another desperately, imperfect in rhythms because Peter and Jaime were selfish in their own pursuit of your mouth. 

“So fucking hot, god…” Your internal thoughts came out in a moan, slapping their cocks on your tongue as you stared longingly at each one of them, wanting this very scene to seep into their mind and allow you to be the defining example of a cock whore. 

You then pulled away to dribble bubbles of spit over their needy cocks, lubing them each until you proceeded to struggle to fit them inside of your mouth, only barely being able to push your lips past their heads. You knew they liked watching you struggle, watching you do your best to pleasure them, and it was mutual benefit because you liked having the attention all on you.

“Need to fuck you…” Jaime demands almost came out as a whine, and you found it absolutely adorable considering his meat was weighting heavily on your tongue.

“Fuck, baby, me too… I need to fuck your hole.” There was frustration pent up in Peter’s voice, and he took it out on the grasp he had on your ass, kneading your left cheek until you could mentally picture a handprint on your skin. You winched, pushing out to relieve some of the sting, but Jaime’s hand abruptly smacking down on your right cheek rutted you back.

“Only if you guys promise to dump your loads in me.” You moaned, feeling someone’s finger climbing into your hole again and pump inside of you. Then another, spreading and curling the two joined digits. And another, three now, pumping at a slower rhythm, because your tightening walls were restricting their movements. Peter’s gaze darkened, because he swore you were clenching on purpose to taunt him.

“As if there was any other option on the table?” Peter questioned, rising to sit on his knees, and Jaime would later join. 

“His hole’s made to be filled with cum.” Jaime added with a smoldering expression, flipping you onto your stomach, then provided proof of his comments by spreading your ass cheeks out until you felt completely vulnerable and exposed. You resisted with a few clenches, but Jaime’s grasp on your ass cheeks was forceful stronger; there was a gratification that helmed his palms as he showed off your pucker to Peter. You felt something wet flatten against your opening, rearing you with inquisitive licks and prods like it was searching for something inside of you, “Tastes good.” Opening you further like its intention was to make your body writhe in toe-curling and ass-pushing exaltation. Your back arched into the mattress and you spread your knees further apart, gyrating your hips into the thick, musky air because the slightest draft made your cock harden and tremble with a whimper.

“Fuck, look how tight he is too…” You moaned when Peter curiously slid two lubed fingers into you despite being well acquainted with the tight cavity once Jaime pivoted to licking at your taint, then the base of your balls. The opening of your legs provided enough space for Jaime to sneak his head in between them and take your cock into his mouth to suck you off, holding you steady at the base.

“J-Jaime, fuck—Peter!“ His mouth was warm, strangely comforting, and whimper inducing. You felt yourself sink onto your knees and lie pliantly as you let him take you, as you let Peter invade you with two more fingers; a total of four digits pumping inside of you now; though you made sure to lift your hips up to leave enough room for the man who’s been slobbering all over your erection. 

If only you had eyes at the back of your head so you could witness Peter and Jaime touching themselves, so you could watch Peter’s mouth gape open when he slid his large lubed cock into as if he hadn’t done that countless times prior, so you could see how Jaime’s free-hand guided Peter’s hips to push further into you because they both were well-aware how accommodating your hole can be. It was a struggle to even fit the head of his cock into you, like you’d expected, but you were thankful for Jaime as he gave Peter the push he needed.

“Oh, fuck,” You strained, gathering yourself onto your forearms to toughen out the discomfort—practically planking—as Peter breached himself into you moaning at the tightness, then began moving his hips.

Slow and steady, you felt more of Peter residing into you with every thrust, rocking your own hips to thrust into Jaime’s mouth. It was a messy, interlocking of sweaty bodies, but you couldn’t have asked for anything better. Jaime’s tongued swirled around you, inhaling and working you with a greedy tongue. When he pulled off with an audible pop, you felt his saliva dripping off of the span of your cock in heavy webs, that were then used to lather up his own cock before rolling off the bed to stand before you. He tipped your head back, making you look up at him flushed and intoxicated from Peter’s quickening thrusts, and pushed his cock back inside your warm mouth in one smooth slide.

You didn’t know where to dispose your moans now that your mouth was filled. Once Peter efficiently picked up his pace, he steadied his balance with a firm grip on your hips; the left lag was braced on its knee while his right leg was heeled on the mattress, fucking his cock into you deeper with his new position.”Fuck, I could watch you take my cock all day.”

Your cheeks were hot as your moans ballooned nowhere but around Jaime’s cock. Whimpers and joyful noises vibrated around him as you sucked his cock off, and you’d occasionally lose your balance when you tried to stroke whatever you couldn’t fit inside of your mouth, but you caught yourself before you could fall flat onto your face. You didn’t want to waste a single second of not both of your holes filled.

“Fuck yeah, keep fucking him like that.” Jaime exhaled, reaching out to fist-bump Peter as there was a mutual indulgence the two provided for each other. His body was slick with sweat when you noticed droplets of heat running down his muscles. He pumped out a few puffs of breath when he fucked into your mouth quick and desperate, enveloping and pressing your head to his abdomen to keep you steady, to keep his cock from falling out of your mouth because you had a habit of pushing him out whenever he pushed past your limits. Your field of vision was basically hidden as you stared into nothing but Jaime’s trimmed pubic hairs, your passive mouth sore and hurting, and your cock was equally sore—dripping on its own accord now—because you found it so incredibly alluring to be used thoughtlessly like this; Peter selfishly driving himself into you, panting because he was close, and Jaime pushing back into your gags with eager ruts of his hips, a tolerance that you knew would have you sore tomorrow morning, but a fucking comfort to know that you pleasured the two men with your own body.

“Switch.” Peter and Jaime exchanged positions once they knocked out a low high-five. It was on your own terms to flip yourself onto your back in the meantime, hanging your head off the foot of the bed for Peter to mouth-fuck you while you bent your legs up to your chest in anticipation of Jaime. Peter cooed, petting your spit-wet cheeks before leveling himself to meet his cock to your lips, then pushing your mouth open. It was adorable to see how you knew your place without a single spoken demand. “Mm, fuck—Jaime kept you warm and nice for me.”

“Can say the same for you, Pete.” At nearly the same time, Jaime supported himself by using the back of your thighs as leverage, squeezing a glorious amount of lube over his cock before pushing into you. Within the first slide, you were reminded of how thick he was from the way you were too distracted to suck Peter off and let your mouth agape, croaking out a discomforting moan. “Fuck, he’s warm.” He didn’t waste to time in letting you adjust to his size, because—well—Peter did the work for you, and began burying himself deep and close to that certain spot that never failed to send tremors down to the bone of your body.

Jaime snapped his hips with precision, the loud claps of sweating skin snipping at each other being one audible evidence of his experience with you. Your thighs and ass rippled sharply, then your muscles stretched as he pushed forward to fold your knees to your chest and slot his cock into you with momentum, gravitational force pounding him down into you like ocean waves crashing onto shore. Every time his impact moved you an inch off the bed, he brought you back with a tug at your thighs because he needed to be close to you. He needed to watch you gag on Peter’s cock, your throat struggling to close around his girth when it was sheathed deep enough for Peter to bulge through. When it occurred, Jaime showered delicate kisses to the center of your throat, moaning when he could feel the span of Peter moving inside of you, and then feel your throat constrict when he pulled out in a slow slide to draw out your breath for a little longer, to watch you desperately inhale for fresh air.

“Do that again.” Jaime couldn’t resist his temptations, caressing your chest and stomach because it had been flexing the entire time Peter and him had been fucking into you. The darkest desires compelled him to roam his hand towards your neck and wrap it around while Peter buried himself down your compliant throat again, and he squeezed his hand around you, your eyes clenched following the added pressure, while your throat locked around Peter’s juicy cock. Your gags lodged, bubbly in agony because they had nowhere to escape, until Peter pulled himself out what felt like minutes away of seeing the stars, and you immediately spilled into desperate intakes of breath, panting yet moaning because you had never felt such an intense adrenaline rush in your entire life.

Dragging his balls across your face, Peter loved seeing you sexually tormented like this. Red in the face as the blood rushed to your head, delirious on the sole entity of cock, winded through staggered pants as he had you gagging down his cock as if he had a lifetime warranty on your throat. It was beautiful; your words slurred because you were too exhausted to form coherent sentences and he’d use that as leverage, asking you to repeat yourself knowing that he’d deprived you of oxygen. Almost always, despite the promise that he’d let you catch your breath, all of that is thrown in the gutter when Peter sheathed his cock back down your throat like a man who had been cut off of your services cold-turkey, returning back with a vengeance, and as a man who had become a fiend for pleasure.

Jaime and Peter cheered like frat boys you’d see in porn, laughed because you looked so adorable when you asked for a small break; your cheeks were guttered with tears and your voice scattered into puzzled cracks. It was hard to resist coddling you with praises and affectionate kisses, even had they turn up their demeanors to an eleven. You would always be someone they treasured.

“You did fucking great, (M/N), god…” Peter was awe-stricken, rewarding you with a kiss on the lips to breathe life back into you, briefly holding your head up so he could unfurl the clouds until they dissipated for the time being.

“Mmf…” You thought you were a lot stronger than this, but your muscled had turned into jelly. Jaime slowed his thrusts down when he noticed how limb you’ve gotten and he figured stroking your cock again would do wonders for your peace of mind. “Need…” You muttered something under your breath, and for a moment, the two men paused because they thought you’d had enough and wanted to stop.

“Hm?” Jaime did his best to control his hips, panting. Judging by the death grip on your hips, it was obvious he was nearing his climax.

“Need you two…” You groaned out, replacing Jaime’s hand with yours as you switched your gaze between Peter and Jaime, collectively begging for them with the yearning gaze in your eyes. “Need you two in my ass, fuck…”

“God, you know how to make a man happy.” Peter laughed, breathing a sigh of relief, and you swore his cock had grown bigger at the simple thought of sheathing himself inside of you again. “Up, up.” You lifted yourself with the help of Jaime’s embrace when Peter positioned himself under you, and then Jaime lifted your legs up and hooked them over his shoulders, angling your ass out just right after pulling out.

Jaime did most of the work as he was the only one kneeling, whistling an impressive note when your gaping hole was exposed to him, and for his viewing only. “If only you could see this, Peter.” He prepped you and Peter with a generous amount of lube, then himself, chuckling as he stroked himself to the expanded opening of your hole. “We stretched him out real good.”

“Fuck, won’t be too difficult to fit us in then.” It was a rhetorical question that you knew the answer to, and you could feel Peter mischievously smiling into the back of your neck as if he told the funniest joke in the history of mankind.

Peter’s arms traversed around you, his palms reaching to hold your ass open while Jaime intruded into you first. The lube made his entrance a lot easier than the first time and you immediately welcomed his meaty cock with a tight suction, holding his thrusts as you felt the bulbous tip of Peter’s cock prodding around for a gateway into you.

It was a slow and methodical approach. For them, it was more important for you to feel comfortable instead of potentially letting the consequences of rushing everything ruin your experience.You felt flustered, overwhelmed, and your body followed in pursuit as you felt a stretch you’d never dealt with before. The hairs on your body stiffened. Heat spread throughout your body in hot splotches and left your cock limp and flaccid, spidering from beneath layers of skin until goosebumps raised from the sweat when you felt Peter trying get inside of you.

“Peter—oh, fuck—“ Your voice caught in your throat as you tried to open up for him despite the buzzing pain. You were pacified, and then encouraged by the deft of Jaime and Peter’s comforting hands. A pair of Jaime’s calloused hands ran over your legs, then thighs, then stomach, all over your body, to get you to relax your muscles. Another pair massaged your thighs, Peter’s; he whispered sweet and calming encouragements in your ear, dousing the strain of your neck in tiniest kisses while he attempted another push to fit himself in.

“Let me in, come on… We’ll take care of you.” Peter never lied. You trusted him. You trusted him to not hold it against you if you couldn’t. If you decided to stop because it was too painful. You let out a few nervous breaths, your stomach flexing, and then came Jaime, rallying your will with wet yet delicate kisses, just the way you liked it, as a way to distract you. Little by little, you felt yourself give in, your muscles slacking the more they touched you everywhere, including your cock again. Your body was burning with heat not because of apprehension, but because they couldn’t take their hands off of you. You felt deified, like a god as Peter clamped his lips around your neck, his strong hands kneading at your ass, while Jaime moaned into your mouth, electrified by the sweet taste of your wet tongue.

You breathed.

You met Jaime’s gaze, then turned to kiss Peter on the lips after meeting his, moaning as Jaime began thumbing the head of your cock.

You trusted them.

Your mouth alternated from Peter’s to Jaime’s in a heavy and tense session. Greedy tongues reaching for whatever was laid before them, and you were sure Jaime and Peter briefly made out because they were so fucking lost in the heat of it all. Their passion and lust had poured a newfound energy into you within a cycle of heavy kisses. Tongues worshiped your body from the neck and shoulders down, and you felt weightless.

And you let Peter in.

Slowly, your hole stretched to accommodate the incoming cock, and you let out the most heart-swelling and cock-hardening groan when you felt the fattest part of Peter’s glans breached you, then a yelp when the entire cock-head slipped  inside of you abruptly.

“There we go, shh…” Peter’s hand ran down your arms, a sincere attempt to stabilize and calm the trembles in your body. His lips remained attached to the shell of your ear, whispering words that had gone from one ear, scrambling letters into gibberish in the process, and then out the other. “Slowly…” Peter said, more so to remind Jaime, and he nodded with assurance.

They gave you a second to recover while you held tight to Jaime’s shoulders. Sweat trickled down your chest, your spine, framed your forehead in droplets, as you rode the wave of pain. After subsiding the gut-wrenching pain with a few deep breathes, you gave them a nod, giving them the pass to continue.

“Fuck,” Jaime wished you didn’t press your face into his neck as you were sandwiched between the two of them. There was nothing more attractive than watching you suffer, as morbid as it sounded. He thought you looked beautifully broken, sounded beautiful too as you whimpered when either one of them moved their hips. With slow and methodical ruts, they gradually felt you relax with the occasional jerks. Peter’s cock slipped deeper into you when Jaime thrusted out, and gradually, they found a rhythm that worked for your comfort, opening you, stretching you out as their cocks rubbed stiffly against one another. “Feels so good—“

“You’re amazing, baby.” Peter assured you, a motivation for you to loosen your muscles again. He held your ass apart to ease their combative motions in, and once you let go through the careful and spoken truths that Jaime and Peter kept praising you with, the fear that you had latched onto and kept vaulted in the rigid of your body seemingly had been let go—thrust by thrust, you felt yourself opening up and things got much easier for you.

You panted, shoving yourself down and back so you were fully impaled on the cocks fucking you, confronting your fear and winning for Jaime and Peter. You have two cocks inside of you, taking two cocks whole, fucking your tight hole and spreading you open. You reminded yourself because it felt like a dream, whimpering when Jaime began going balls deep with every thrust, and Peter would follow in pursuit, holding your weight up and your ass open. 

Finally, you felt your cock harden again; the span of it springing into a familiar mass, taunting Jaime to move faster as your cock throbbed when he came down onto you, then a few dribbles of precum leaked when Peter came up. They let out a moan when they met in sync, occasionally fucking you with their cocks as one big mass, their voice rattled with rapture because you were taking them in so well, so inviting despite your ability to clench and hold around them. You don’t, because you were fucking free, wiggling your hips without a thought, without a single rhythm in debt to your ass, and the only beat you follow was the sound of your heart as it began to accelerate.

You can hear it soar, decibels rushing loud and alarming in your ears as they fucked and fucked more into you. Cocks rubbed as one, then Peter would purposely delay because he loved burying himself into you as a single unit, grounding your hips to him because you were his first, and you heard shards of spirit break into a gazillion pieces, a barrier that had protected your sanity.

All of that had exploded, fireworked itself into shooting stars when Peter doesn’t waste a second to pound up into you, his breath fogging the back of your neck, then your shoulder when he hooked over his chin to kiss you again, swallowing your whimpers to turn them into his own delectable moans.

Forget holding your legs back, Peter abandoned them and you were on your own, your limbs relying on your own core strength as you struggled to hold them up, while his cock drive madly into you, Jaime’s chasing after in equal, heavy ruts.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck.” You huffed, closing your eyes because you were so close. You felt yourself getting closer relying on the thought that you hadn’t even touched your cock because you were so distracted, so well-fucked that you didn’t need to be touched.

Like that, just like that, keep fucking me like that. And just like that, you cried out and your cock throbbed once, signaling a fountain of cum that would then shoot out of you like lava seconds after, and your pucker would clamp around their cocks moving inside of you, pounding into you. Thick ropes of cum landed over your chest, then on your face when the impact of their thrusts was forceful enough to give it some height, and your hole throbbed around their joined cocks because you relieved yourself with a throat-cutting shudder, goosebumps returning back to form from head to toe.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ Jaime repeated himself, fucking into you harder, deeper, faster. You felt his heavy pants on your chest when he leaned down to taste your cum, and then witnessed his eyes roll back when the taste was heavenly, a creamy merit that made the ache in his back worth it because you tasted so fucking good. You looked so fucking good, exhausted and melted, taking two cocks in you at once without a single complaint.

“Fuck.”

Jaime’s hands gripped your hips harder, and he let out a deep groan, burying his thick cock deep into you as he came. The weight of Jaime’s strong pulses drew multiple moans out of Peter, bursts of pleasure inflicting on the latter as he fucked into the hot flood of cum, fucking you sloppily with his cum-lathered cock, fucking alongside Jaime’s sensitive and swollen glans, vaulting it from leaking out of you.

It wouldn’t be long until Peter was triggered to let loose as well and spare you of his own thick loads with a raspy groan. He snapped his hips upwards once when he came, then delivered another hard snap to push out multiple strong and thick loads, and then another for good measure, because he was obsessed with how it felt to have his cock drowning in the creamy and warm mixture of his cum and Jaime’s. Your pucker throbbed, both of them completely breached inside of you to the hilt of their cocks, and your ass felt so fucking full—so fucking raw—knowing that you were double-stuffed with endless streams of their cum loads.

“Guys…” Your voice trembled, your muscles giving out as your legs dropped from fatigue, but they wouldn’t stop moving their cocks in you, sloshing their thick cum inside of you. Once your legs dropped, you felt a river of cum dribbling out of you, cold in its journey out of your ass, and you shivered despite being sandwiched by two warm bodies. “Mmf, tired…” 

One by one, they slipped out of you. Peter first, whimpering because he rubbed his sensitive cock against Jaime’s during its removal, making him twitch and shudder. Then Jaime, unwilling at first because you were so warm, but nonetheless unsheathed himself out because he was curious.

You didn’t know what they were doing, nor did you care, because exhaustion had caught up to you, reminding you that you barely had slept the night before, and now the physical strain on your body only added more to the overwhelming drive it could barely handle. You rolled flat on your stomach, nose-dived into the pillows, and then whined because a pair of hands wouldn’t stop kneading at your ass, spreading them wide open for your hole to expose itself.

And when you looked back over your shoulder, Jaime and Peter had their phones out, snapping photos of your violated hole; gaping and raw, and breached as cum was spilling out of it like a leak. It was the fucking hottest thing for them, mouth-watering, and when you scoffed and scanned their sweaty bodies, you swore their dicks twitched.

“You fucking rockstar.” Peter laughed, love-tapping your asscheek before joining you by your side. His hand never left your ass, a strong urge to relieve the pain, if you still had any, with comforting rubs and squeezes.

“Didn’t hurt you too much?” Jaime asked, smoothening his palm along your spine.

You silently shook your head, murmuring. “It was a good bonding exercise, don’t you think?” They laughed, and for a brief moment, Peter and Jaime exchanged a cordial look towards each other, approving the other with a firm nod.

“To new beginnings.”

Jaime joined you from behind, feeling an arm traverse from under your stomach, and pulled you closer until you were on your side and he was spooning you. You could hear both of their heartbeats running at full pace, then slowing as they sank their heads into the pillows, their breathing becoming shallow as they were just beginning to recover from their exertions. Gradually, Peter’s hand stopped rubbing your ass and after you looked back to see if Jaime was asleep, so was Peter, drifting off with a warmth that you wished would stick by you for eternity.

“To new beginnings...”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[racefortheironthrone]

Since SAG AFTRA has also gone on strike, does that mean the negotiations between the WGA and executives went poorly?

This is a great question, because it allows me to do some educating about labor law!

Today's topic: "bad faith" bargaining.

While often honored more in the breach than the observance, U.S labor law requires employers to engage in collective bargaining with unions, once those unions have been recognized as the "exclusive representative" of the workers via card check or union election.

Because Leon Keyserling and Senator Robert Wagner were not idiots and could see it coming that employers would drag out negotiations in order to try to destroy the union through attrition, the Wagner Act of 1935 required employers to not just negotiate with unions, but to negotiate "in good faith" and made it a violation of the law to negotiate in bad faith.

Two major forms of negotiating in bad faith are "dilatory tactics" (deliberately using the procedures of collective bargaining and labor law more generally to delay the process) and "surface bargaining" (where the employer goes through the motions of meeting with the union, but refuses to engage in substantive discussions). This can include stuff like sending representatives who don't have authority to negotiate, refusing to schedule sessions or trying to unilaterally control the timeline, not asking questions or engaging in back-and-forth discussion, refusing to discuss topics that are germane to conditions of employment, and so forth.

These kinds of actions are considered Unfair Labor Practice violations and the NLRB can issue "cease and desist" orders and "affirmative bargaining" orders, as well as some rather creative "special remedies" that get around the Wagner Act's lack of monetary penalties. As that suggests, however, part of the problem is that because the Wagner Act doesn't have significant monetary penalties, a lot of companies will just budget a line item for breaking the law and treat that as the cost of doing business, while using the same dilatory tactics to appeal NLRB decisions through the courts in the hope that they can outlast the union. (This is why one of the most effective labor law reforms that could be passed in a Democratic Congress would be adding compounding daily monetary penalties and streamlining the ULP process in both the NLRB and the courts.)

From what I've read of the negotiations, I think there's a pretty clear cut case that AMPTP engaged in surface bargaining and used dilatory tactics, with the intent to run out the clock and thus provoke a strike in which they believed economic pressure would force the union into surrender, essentially a lock-out without declaring a lock-out.

I think it's backfired on them. A big part of AMPTP's strategy for winning that strike was to divide-and-rule - hence why they came to an agreement with the Director's Guild - by getting through the lean months by filming and releasing shows and movies with already-completed scripts. Now that SAG-AFTRA is on strike, that lifeline of content is immediately cut - which means AMPTP is going to run out of revenue in the near future, which as WGA leaders have pointed out means bad quarterly earnings reports, which means stock prices tank, which means investors and boards of directors get angry and executives become the ones facing the prospect of losing their jobs at the same time that all the compensation they've structured as stock options to avoid taxes loses value.

[aihoshiino]

The other day, I had a random thought about VTubers and OnK.

In Japan, VTubers are often considered a variation or splinter of idol culture. Hololive fans recognize that as a custom more honored in the breach than the observance, but the cultural connection is still there. (Look at the drama preceding Uruha Rushia's termination for a well-known example.)

VTubers also have a pretty obvious element of false persona, both in the typical "this performer is performing a marketable version of themself if not outright pretending to be someone else" sense and the "this performer is not literally an AI with a pink bow" sense.

The point I'm meandering towards is that VTubers have significant overlap with the substance and themes of Oshi no Ko, particularly since both B-Komachis are at least moderately familiar with streaming. (The new more than the old, but I'm sure we've all read 45510.) So it seems like a lot of the OnK cast would develop strong opinions about VTubers once they learned about them.

Do you have any thoughts about that? Whether Ai would envy their ability to cleanly separate their persona from their actual flaws, or Ruby would get snobbish about them being fake idols, or something?

So like the ask about streamers in general, this comes with the caveat that I don't really know shit about VTubers in general apart from things I pick up from being adjacent to VTuber enjoyer friends and also that I have HimeHina songs on my Spotify playlist lol. But I think in terms of least to most Opinionated:

Akane and Kana are probably equally Offline about it in that they know VTubers Exist but that's about it. Kana has like 2 seconds where she considers giving it a try now she has that fat ass gaming PC but the idea just slides right out of her brain because she doesn't really care that much. 

Aqua is also in the "sure, that exists" category but he's probably done editing and clipping work here and there just for some extra cash (since he says he was doing extra work online) and if clips or shorts come up on his feed he might watch one or two in a row but the rest of the time he literally forgets VTubers exist until reminded of them. 

Ai thinks VTubers are pretty cool but in a slightly befuddled 'gosh what will they think of next!' sort of way LMAO. I think it takes her a while to really understand what's going on with them because she gets a bit confused by the avatars and all the wild-ass lore, but when she eventually gets her head around it, she thinks it's a pretty effective way to split your public and private selves.

Mem and the StrawberryPro crew have a healthy respect for them as fellow creators! The agency probably manages a bunch since Miyako mentions them mostly pivoting to net talents and Mem's always on that grind and actually has had IRL collabs with VTubers on the official OnK youtube channel. LMAO

Ruby's last because I think she feels the most strongly and the most positively about them! For all the issues there are with the corpo structure, VTubing at its core (at least in the circles most adjacent to idol culture) is a space that afford opportunities to people who have what it takes but whose barrier to entry is that they don't fit into strictly defined 'mold' of idolhood - but most specific to Ruby, there are lots of 'idols' so to speak in the VTuber space who have disabilities that stand in the way of their taking more traditional roots to idolhood - IronMouse is one of the most famous, but there are plenty of others. I think this would be an incredible thing to see for Ruby who herself was cut off and robbed of her own dreams as Sarina and had absolutely no outlet for her passions or ambitions. I think she'd wholeheartedly support everyone and want to see them succeed! OnK AU where she wants to audition for Hololive or some shit WHEN

[mariacallous]

What ended Israel’s last invasion of Lebanon in 2006—and made the latest incursion all but inevitable—is a once-heralded U.N. resolution honored more in the breach than the observance. The sad saga and uncertain future of Resolution 1701 act as a mirror to nearly everything that has happened between Israel and Lebanon in the 18 years since it was passed.

In the summer of 2006, U.N. Resolution 1701 became that vanishingly rare creature—a unanimous U.N. Security Council resolution on the Middle East—that put an end to Israel’s unsuccessful 34-day invasion of Lebanon, which had been intended to oust Hezbollah, the Iran-backed militant group. The resolution, heartily welcomed in Tel Aviv and Beirut, seemed to point the way toward a lasting peace by obliging Lebanon to rein in Hezbollah and Israel to respect Lebanon’s sovereign frontiers.

What ended Israel’s last invasion of Lebanon in 2006—and made the latest incursion all but inevitable—is a once-heralded U.N. resolution honored more in the breach than the observance. The sad saga and uncertain future of Resolution 1701 act as a mirror to nearly everything that has happened between Israel and Lebanon in the 18 years since it was passed.

In the summer of 2006, U.N. Resolution 1701 became that vanishingly rare creature—a unanimous U.N. Security Council resolution on the Middle East—that put an end to Israel’s unsuccessful 34-day invasion of Lebanon, which had been intended to oust Hezbollah, the Iran-backed militant group. The resolution, heartily welcomed in Tel Aviv and Beirut, seemed to point the way toward a lasting peace by obliging Lebanon to rein in Hezbollah and Israel to respect Lebanon’s sovereign frontiers.

For both drafters and diplomats at the time, the agreement seemed to give both countries something that they deeply craved. Lebanon, just emerging from the shadow of Syrian occupation, would see a chance to enforce its shaky writ over the entirety of its own territory and get a promise from the U.N. to perhaps, one day, look into the territorial disputes around the Shebaa Farms area that have vexed the region for decades. Israel would gain a security cushion along its northern border, with the troublesome Hezbollah pushed back at least as far as the Litani River, if not disarmed nationwide. 

None of that, alas, came to pass. Hezbollah not only remained in southern Lebanon, south of the Litani River, but also grew and rearmed itself exponentially in the wake of the 2006 war. Lebanon never did get satisfaction for the simmering land dispute on the border with Syria in areas currently occupied by Israel. The large U.N. peacekeeping force in southern Lebanon had no remit to take on Hezbollah, which was the only way to actually keep the peace. And the Blue Line marking the border between Lebanon and Israel became not an inviolable frontier, but rather a trip wire for nearly two decades of provocations, threats, and attacks.

That is why on Tuesday, as Israel launched its renewed ground incursion into Lebanon, Israeli security officials pointed to the failures of U.N. Resolution 1701 as a casus belli. 

“There is a U.N. resolution, still valid, that requires Hezbollah not to be deployed south of the Litani River, and the Israelis can point at that all day, every day,” said Matthew Levitt, an expert on Hezbollah and terrorism at the Washington Institute.

It’s not that the diplomatic end to the 2006 war was a bad idea; it’s that the optimistic assumptions rooted in the resolution never came close to becoming reality.

The resolution is “a great benchmark. Both Israel and Lebanon could benefit. But there is no credible enforcement mechanism,” said David Daoud, an expert on Lebanon and Hezbollah at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies.

The fundamental problem with the resolution is that its core premise was that the Lebanese state (and military) would at least keep Hezbollah out of southern Lebanon, if not move to disarm the group entirely and reclaim the monopoly on armed violence that is the hallmark of actual sovereign states. That plan never came close to realization, and despite optimistic visions in 2006 of Lebanon’s future, likely never could have.

Hezbollah is not just a militia, or part of the anti-Israel “axis of resistance,” or an Iranian proxy, or a terrorist group. It is all of those things, but it is also, as Levitt has written, a shadow state within Lebanon. It is part of the government without being the government. It snared more votes in the last legislative elections than any other formation and has a de facto veto on every governmental decision in the country. It runs social services, finds jobs for supporters, and is wildly popular among the large and growing Shiite community. It is also the most heavily armed and combat-capable organization in the country.

“The implementation of Resolution 1701, because it depends for implementation on the Lebanese state, would require Hezbollah’s prior consent, and Hezbollah is not in the business of destroying itself,” Daoud said. The combination of its strong public support and armed might means that any effort by the government to disarm or neuter the group would lead to another Lebanese civil war, he added. “And Hezbollah would win. So it is a combination of the Lebanese government being both unwilling and unable” to fully implement the resolution after all these years, he said.

Earlier this year, the Lebanese government balked at implementing the bits of the resolution that carried obligations for it (dealing with Hezbollah) by noting that the parts of the resolution that carried a prize for it (resolution of the land dispute) were still nowhere to be seen. Lebanon, said Foreign Minister Abdallah Bou Habib, “will not accept half-solutions.” 

As the drums of war beat louder, the Lebanese government said earlier this week that it was ready to finally implement Resolution 1701 by deploying the Lebanese army to the border region in southern Lebanon. But it never tackled head-on the resolution’s requirements to defang Hezbollah, which continued, as it had since the opening of the Israel-Hamas war in October 2023, launching thousands of cross-border attacks on Israel and displacing tens of thousands of Israeli citizens from the northern part of the country.

That is what Israel meant when it invoked Resolution 1701 in launching the latest incursion: If the Lebanese government is unable or unwilling to keep Hezbollah away from Israel’s border as it is required to do, then Israel will do that itself. 

The tricky part, as the U.N. mission in southern Lebanon helpfully noted in the early hours of the latest invasion, is that Israel’s cross-border incursion of Lebanon is itself a violation of the terms of Resolution 1701. On the surface, violating a key U.N. resolution seems an odd way to go about enforcing it.

In reality, under international law, a state that is the victim of a terrorist group has the right of reprisal if, after years of fruitless efforts, the state harboring that terrorist group refuses to act. The United States deployed just that logic in dealing with terror threats in places such as Kandahar, Afghanistan, and Abbottabad, Pakistan. 

The bigger question is whether Israel’s latest invasion is ultimately an effort to resuscitate Resolution 1701 and all its promises, or rather a bid to demonstrate once and for all that no scrap of paper, if backed only by the will and reach of the government of Lebanon, will bring security to Israel’s northern border.

“I think the Israelis are thinking: ‘We want to get our citizens back home. We can’t have Hezbollah sitting across the border planning Oct. 7-style attacks, so here is this resolution that was never implemented; it’s designed to guarantee peace and security on both sides of the border, so let’s implement it,’” Daoud said. In that vision, Israel might impose a buffer zone in southern Lebanon and essentially push Hezbollah closer to the Litani River, as the resolution was meant to do.

France and the United States spent recent weeks working to craft a diplomatic solution to the looming conflict, trying to delink Israel’s tensions with Hezbollah from its ongoing fight with Hamas further south in Gaza. But, as France’s foreign minister told the United Nations last week, any real solution must begin with a full implementation of Resolution 1701. And the lack of Hezbollah buy-in on the latest diplomatic overtures may have doomed them from the start. Even after the Biden administration, which had been searching for a solution for months, threw its weight last week behind a 21-day cease-fire proposal, Israel’s foreign minister rejected it less than 12 hours later. 

Having contended with an escalating tempo of rocket and missile attacks from Hezbollah for almost a year, Israel appears unlikely to agree to any diplomatic solution that would see a return to the status quo that existed before the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, 2023. 

“Israel cannot be put in a position where we cannot enforce those agreements in Lebanon ourselves,” said Eyal Hulata, Israel’s former national security advisor. “It must be clear that the IDF [Israel Defense Forces] has the ability to interdict violations of the agreement, particularly in southern Lebanon.”

Or, after nearly two decades of failed promises and expanding Iranian support for its prodigal proxy group, Israel (and its allies and partners) may conclude that the heart of the matter lies not a few miles north or south of the Litani River, but in Tehran. 

“What will be required to prevent Iran from resupplying and funding Hezbollah, and the Houthis, and Hamas?” Levitt asked. “So the lesson this time may be: A nicely worded document is not going to do it.”

[subiysu-chan]

Jean grasped his hands tightly in a gesture of prayer. He wasn't praying, though; he just waned to calm the trembling of his hands. Or at least hide it from other prisoners.

His back was one big mess of blood, and big, angry welts were splattered all over his body. The heat from all of them was radiating and spreading, so it was hard to tell where exactly was he struck. It was getting increasingly difficult to not cry.

It wasn't because of the pain, not really. Jean could take a lot more and not utter a sound. Or so he liked to think - it was one of the harshest pains he had to endure in his life. But oh, the humiliation... the way he had to be almost completely undressed in front of that man, and that he couldn't even defy him. He kept quiet through all the degrading comments, never once spoke out to defend himself or his honor, for his maman said there was an important politician observing his punishment. The wealthy always loved to watch torture happen. They could deny it all they wanted, but Jean knew - he saw the sadistic lust in their eyes more than enough to know just how much they enjoy the power rush. The man who watched him today was a personal case of revenge, though. Apparently, he had lost his nephew to the Sanson sword a few months prior, but frankly, Jean didn't care to remember.

Those were the things that had him nearly in tears. The walls he was building around himself for years almost crumbled under the pressure. It was always just his mother or teacher who hit him, and only his siblings occasionally saw it happen. But now, he had been laid bare before many eyes, and at least two pairs of them were sadistic monsters who have taken great joy in watching him suffer. Perhaps the silence was not just his way of maintaining the shreds of dignity he could still defend; it was the last bit of resistance he could use, his stubbornness.

The highest executioner in Paris crouched in the corner of his cell, his body trembling all over, and he didn't let out a single tear or noise, instead opting for digging his nails into his battered flesh. Perhaps it was his silence that broke his sanity.

:)

You asked for Jean-Baptiste hurt comfort but his ass is NOT getting comforted. I knew he wouldn't shake and cower from pain, so I added some humiliation :) and losing faith in humanity. Uh, just a disclaimer that this is in no way sexual, he had just been tortured and it's based on your headcanon and now he is in a pitiful state, mentally worn out. Nothing hot about it.

Please don't tag this lol I don't want this shit to breach containment. Like, actually please. I feel stupid sending it to you even, sooo yeah it's a first step before I actually post anything ever. I feel like I have to put 27 disclaimers...

I can't and so probably won't do fluff or comfort for this man, in my eyes he has to suffer and find new ways to take more suffering. So you can stop asking ig.

Thanks ! You write very well. I won't tag it...

Jean-Baptiste...I think the reason he's there because he botched it. Also, be guess he's around 17 at this point.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Soldier without a war. Part 2

The dark corridors of the derelict ship were like the maws of some great beast set to swallow the enterprising pair of scavies. Neither of them moved as the drone stepped aside and motioned them forward.

Galem still held the plasma cutter in his hands, ready to activate it again in a moment’s notice while Melp eyed the airlock back to their ship. Each were unsure on if they should accept the drone’s invitation or simply get back in their salvage ship and break off from the human ship. Melp knew which one Galem would want since his first and only thoughts revolved around money and profit. Melp on the other was a bit more careful and wanted to be alive to spend his profits. While the pair thought in silence the drone decided to make the choice for them.

Without warning the airlock back to their ship began closing. Both scavies turned in their bulky spacesuits to the airlock. With their magnetic feet the pair were anything but fast and the airlock sealed shut before either made more than three steps.

“Open that door!” Galem shouted as he turned back to the drone; the plasma cutter activating, casting a wash of pale blue light into the darkened corridor. The drone with the cracked visor remained motionless as it continued to watch the pair.

“Apologies, but you will need the captain’s authorization to leave the vessel.”

The drone’s voice was steady despite the somewhat broken appearance it held. This was not the response Galem wanted and he revved the plasma cutter to full speed. “Then I’ll cut my way through!”

He turned back to the airlock and was about to begin slicing up the door when the drone forestalled him.

“If you attempt to breach the airlock you will be treated as hostile,” the drone announced as the pixelated face on the visor changed to a bright red “X”, “and will be dealt with as such.”

“GALEM, STOP!”

Melp’s shout stopped his partner just in time as he was mere inches from the airlock with the plasma cutter; the metal already starting to heat red from the close contact. He looked at Melp confused but Melp was already turning back to the drone.

“What do you mean by “Dealt with as such”?” Melp asked the drone. The security drone turned to Melp and the visor displayed a pixelated face again.

“Gun batteries three, seventeen, and twenty one are trained on your vessel.” As if to reinforce the point the drone held out their right hand and a holographic image projected from its palm. Melp gasped in horror as he saw that the drone was not lying. The image displayed was from an exterior camera feed attached to one of the weapon ports, showing several large and deadly looking cannons slowly emerging from the ship and pointing at their tiny vessel.

Melp looked at Galem to see that he was observing the hologram as well. Melp motioned him to put the cutter down and Galem began powering it down.

“We would be delighted to join the captain.” Melp said to the drone. He glared at Galem and he followed with “Oh yes, yes; we would be honored to.”

The drone observed the pair before closing their hand, thus deactivating the hologram. “Excellent.” The drone rattled on as it motioned down the corridor once more. “Your presence on the bridge will require you to relinquish your weapons.”

Galem looked like he was to say something along the lines of “FRAK THAT!”, but one look from Melp reminded him that currently there a couple weapon batteries pointed at their only means of escape. Begrudgingly, Galem relented and set down the plasma cutter and the pair of scavies followed their robot host to meet this mysterious captain. --------------------------------

As the trio made their way through the darkened corridors Melp’s sense of dread only grew.

They were led down a series of corridors in differing states of disrepair. Wall sections would be missing showing exposed wiring and pipes, the decking would have holes so deep you could see the floor beneath, and every so often they would come across a functional light only for it to flicker rapidly as if warning them away.

“And I thought it looked rough from the outside” Galem whispered as they were led around yet another corner. Melp nodded in agreement but said nothing. He was too busy eyeing several drones in the new corridor hard at work making repairs. As Melp walked by he peered over to see that even though they appeared to be making repairs, nothing was actually getting fixed. None of their tools appeared to have any power in them, yet the drones went through the motions as if the tools were functional.

Everywhere they looked the drones continued their meaningless tasks. It was as if they were running on the last instructions they had ever received and were trapped in an endless loop of repetition.

The trip to the bridge took longer than either of the scavies thought, but with the power out to the lifts they were forced to take the interior stairs. By the end of it Melp and Galem were gasping for air; air that was long overdue for filtration as it burned their lungs.

The security drone motioned to an impressive set of doors inlaid with darkened metal depicting some great battle of humanity. As they approached the doors slowly parted open to let them in. They had parted just wide enough for a person to squeeze through when the right door suddenly stopped and a shower of sparks shot out. The door jerked violently and then finally stopped followed shortly after by the remaining door.

Galem and Melp looked at each other then back at the drone. When it said nothing but continued to motion towards the bridge the pair sighed and tried to fit through the gap. It took another five minutes of awkward pulling, shoving, and shifting before the pair made it inside. Much to their irritation the drone easily turned to the side and casually shuffled into the room before the bridge doors closed shut again.

Unlike the rest of the ship the bridge was relatively intact. The lights were all functioning, the floor was intact and free from holes, the reinforced transit glass was still intact giving them a stunning view of the ship graveyard outside, and there was certainly far less dangerously hanging exposed cabling. Melp took in the bridge and saw that the only noticeable damage was to several monitors. Data feeds still scrolled across them but with their cracked screens it was jumbled beyond recognition.

“Greetings, I welcome you aboard the Eternal Wind.”

A new figure slowly emerged from behind the rows of terminals. They were human, but looked hardly older than what the humans considered to be a teenager. They wore a captain’s uniform, but it looked like it was easily two sizes bigger much. What was even stranger was that behind this human teenager were two security drones carrying plasma rifles.

“You, are the captain?” Galem asked. He looked around as if he was expecting the real captain to come out and surprise them.

“I am Captain Benjamin Morn,” the teenager replied, “and I will not tolerate disrespect on my ship.”

“We meant no offense Captain.” Melp interjected to defuse the situation. “We are just surprised to see someone of your….age, having achieved such a prestigious posting.”

Seeing his pride stoked the captain nodded smugly and approached the scavies. “It is indeed impressive,” Captain Morn gloated, “I was the only ranking officer to survive the battle so it was natural for the crew to reward me with the captain’s chair.”

“You were here when the battle was fought?” Melp did the math in his head quietly. “That would have made you-“

“Eight years old.” Captain Morn finished for him. “I was serving as an Ordinary Seaman at the time while my father, Captain Nathaniel Morn, was commanding the ship.”

���The crew named you captain?” Galem asked. Neither he nor Melp had seen another living soul since they boarded the ship, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t somewhere else in the vessel. Captain Morn nodded again as he stopped just in front of the two.

“Of course, there are none better than the crew aboard this ship and I am humbled that they chose me to lead them.”

“Where are they?” Melp asked. “We haven’t seen any since we joined you.”

The human captain looked confused at Melp’s question. “What do you mean you haven’t seen them? You were escorted here by my second in command Johnson were you not?”

Galem and Melp both turned to see the security drone who had escorted them waiting patiently. It had said nothing since they had arrived on the bridge. The captain then waved to the two armed drones to either side of him.

“These here are master-at-arms Denise and Flint.” He pointed to the various other drones manning their stations on the bridge and sounded them off one by one. “Over there is Sensor Operator Morris, Helmsman Benedict, Gunnery Officer Pendleton, and their various aides and subordinates.”

The drones gave no acknowledgement as they were called out. Galem and Melp continued eyeing each other as the captain sounded out names as it dawned on them that this human “captain” was clearly space crazy.

“You said you were the only officer to survive the last battle?”

The captain nodded at Melp’s question. “How exactly did you survive?”

At first Captain Morn said nothing. He turned and paced over to the transit glass and watched the wrecks float by.

“We were on a secret mission and had just exited a transit jump.” The captain began. “Somehow our enemy knew where we’d be and were waiting for us.”

“Before any of us could act we were in the midst of a fierce battle. We expected no quarter and gave none in return, but we were outnumbered and out gunned on all sides.”

The captain turned around and held a small medal pinned to his chest. It was a golden star with the head of a bird of some kind in the center.

“This ship was experimental and they tried to board it and take it from us, so my father activated the primary weapon and it wiped everyone out; friend and foe alike.”

“But how did you-“ Melp began to ask but was cut off by the Captain.

“I WAS GETTING TO IT!” he shouted. The two armed drones hefted their rifles and trained it on the pair of scavies. Both Galem and Melp said nothing as the sound of the hearts beating ever faster drowned out the world around them.

After a few moments the captain collected himself once more and waved the drones to lower their rifles. “My father had given me his personal shielding amplifier and ordered me into the captain’s escape pod. He ordered me in there and like any good sailor I followed my captain’s orders.”

“Hours passed by, then an entire day, and no one came to get me or contact me with an all clear. So finally I left the pod to find that the experimental weapon had worked a little too well and destroyed all organic life within the surrounding area of space.”

“It was only thanks to the personal shielding device I wore that the energies did not wipe me out as well. The rest of the crew soon found me and since I was the only surviving officer they promoted me to the rank of captain.”

Melp listened carefully to the story. The kid had watched everyone he knew die around him in the blink of an eye and become stranded on a broken ship. No wonder he had went insane since then.

“Captain,” Melp began cautiously, “may I ask why you invited us to the bridge?”

“Shouldn’t that be obvious?” Captain Morn replied cheerfully. “I wished to meet our latest prisoners of war.”

“Prisoners or war?” Galem and Melp were confounded by this announcement. “Captain Morn, our peoples are no longer at war.”

“The fighting ended almost a year ago.” Galem supported. “We have existed in peace since the Dawn Accords were signed.” Captain Morn laughed at them.

“Do you think me such a fool?” He walked back to his previous position by the armed security drones. “You boarded my ship and murdered one of my crew without hesitation.”

“That was all a misunderstanding.” Galem responded quickly. “If we can return to our ship we can show you the data logs showcasing the end of the war.”

“I think you will find returning to your ship a rather useless notion.” The captain remarked coldly. “While you were being escorted here I ordered my crew to board your vessel and begin dismantling it for parts.”

“You what!?” Galem stepped forward in anger but the guards once more brought their rifles to bear.

“After the last engagement my ship was damaged beyond our current means to repair. We had power, but barely enough to support life systems leaving much of the repair work unfinished.” Captain Morn glared devilishly at the scavies as he continued. “But now with the materials you have provided us, your power core in particular, we can finish repairs and finally complete our mission.”

He motioned the guards and the scavies were quickly locked in irons before they even knew what was happening. “It is a shame you will not be able to see its completion from your new room in the detention level.”

The drone that has escorted them, Johnson if Melp remembered, grabbed Galem and Melp and began dragging them off the bridge.

“You are making a mistake!” Melp shouted. “We are not at war anymore! We’re at peace! WE’RE AT PEACE!!!”

[theculturedmarxist]

As of this writing, Biden has finally begun his retaliatory attacks, hitting targets in Syria and Iraq. But sources claim that almost every target was known in advance and evacuated, as we suspected would be the case.

But the most interesting development on this front is the following. Recall in the last update I indicated rumors that, amid a welter of secret talks, Israel was considering some kind of full ceasefire and, presumably, an end to the war.

Now there are new reports that the US has fully doubled down on the creation of a Palestinian state—in other words, the long-sought-after two-state solution:

The United States is actively pursuing the establishment of an independent Palestinian state with security guarantees for Israel and exploring options with partners in the region, the State Department spokesperson said on Wednesday.

Whitehouse Spokesman Matthew Miller confirmed:

He says the carrot is “security guarantees for Israel”. You have to understand how politi-speak works. In diplomatic/political terms, “security guarantees” is translated as: bribes. It effectively means, we’ll give you x amount of billions of dollars for weapons if you do what we say.

A new WaPo piece confirms these developments by adding that Blinken will soon head to the MidEast to try to finalize this deal by convincing Saudi Arabia to agree to normalize its relations with Israel on the express condition that Israel not only fully ends the Gaza conflict, but commits to creating a Palestinian state which includes Gaza and the West Bank.

Secretary of State Antony Blinken plans to travel to the Middle East soon. He’ll probably stop first in Saudi Arabia, where he hopes for a renewed pledge from Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to normalize relations with Israel if — and only if — Israel ends the Gaza conflict and commits to the eventual creation of a Palestinian state that includes Gaza and the West Bank.

It’s difficult not to be somewhat impressed by these developments. For all the corruption and evil of the US regime, we can almost give them credit for coming to reason—under great duress and social pressure, of course—and for once doing the just and honorable thing. What it further means is that the US realizes it has no choice remaining but to hardball an ‘end game’ against Israel, otherwise US risks being dragged into an Empire-ending war with Iran.

It does look more and more likely that such a deal can occur, and the war on Gaza will end. But: one must remember that from the perspective of diehard Likudniks and Israeli rightwingers, such a ‘premature’ cessation would effectively doom Israel for good. We’ve covered the angle at length before, but in essence, due to Israel’s demographic discrepancies with its Arab neighbors amongst other things, to allow a Palestinian state to grow on its borders, protected by a legitimate UN seat (rather than “observer” status), would mean the eventual total dissolution of Israel and the forfeiture of all prophecies of Moshiach’s return.

Thus, the radicals amongst them could never allow this—so it will have to come to a major head, and may get bloody. Israel’s internal situation and stability in many ways mirrors that of Ukraine and its ultra-radical faction.

The final biggest issue, which would be an immense thorn in Israel’s side, and a grave humiliation, is highlighted at the end of the WaPo article:

Then there is the problem of stopping settler violence and relocating as many as 200,000 Israelis from a future Palestinian state. Biden took a strong step Thursday by sanctioning four Israeli West Bank settlers who committed violence against Palestinians. That’s just a start, but it enhances U.S. credibility with Palestinians as peace broker.

Yes, you see, given that Israel has hundreds of thousands of illegal settlers occupying ostensibly Palestinian territory, the creation of a legitimate state would necessitate the total expulsion of all settlers, which would play like a sort of Israeli Nakhba on TV. Recall, the whole point of the illegal settlements was always about one thing only: keeping a Palestinian state from forming. So this would mean the end to a grand plan spanning many decades, and a historic failure of an age-old Zionist vision.

As a sidenote, new reports point to promising normalizations between KSA and Syria as well:

Saudi Arabia prepares to open embassy in Syria The process of normalizing relations between Saudi Arabia and the Assad regime is gaining momentum. According to a report by Al Watan, Saudi Chargé d'Affaires Abdullah al-Harith and some other diplomats will travel to Damascus on Saturday to resume Saudi consular services. According to the Saudi newspaper, Al-Harith will present his credentials to the Assad regime's foreign minister and begin work with his team at a hotel in the Syrian capital. Once restoration work is completed on the Saudi Arabian Embassy building in Damascus, the embassy will move into this building. The United Arab Emirates also sent an ambassador to Syria for the first time in 13 years. UAE Ambassador Hassan al-Shehhi took office on Tuesday, presenting his credentials to the Assad regime's foreign minister.

I tentatively propose that ‘things are looking up’.

[lamppostss]

"Ash Snow" (TCW)

They were so different.

She was from the north. From far away, from the desolate expanses of Northrealm. Covered in snow, mountains and even more snow, the lands on top of the mainland were unwelcoming on the nicest of days. They were so inhospitable, in fact, that even during his conquest of the Realm the god-slaying warlord, known as the Tyrant, could not breach the mountain pass, and not for the lack of trying. Filled with steep cliffs and dangerous oversized wildlife – it was not an easy place to call home. However, some did. Snow Giants, so named for their size and preferable habitat, lived in the mountains as far as the beginning of most history. They were tall, imposing and honor-bound to a fault. Life in the Northrealm was a cruel mistress – tackling her alone was equal to suicide. The Giants knew that, living in close-knitted communities with “Pulling your own weight” etched into their own philosophy. Everyone had to have a place, a certain job they performed and a certain value they brought to the family. Those who did not wish to fit in? Exile was their only option. To be marked as dead and forgotten, to walk calmly into the snowstorm and face death as an old friend. She was such an exile.

Smaller than her brethren, standing at “tiny” 3 meters tall, she greeted each day like it was the last, with a wide smile and an itch in her muscles. He observed her often. Her short pearly-white hair, her snowy pale skin, her strong and sharp facial features, that looked like they were carved out of the mountains she came from. Her voice was booming and with a harsh accent, and her stance was always wide and proud. She swung a greatsword the size of a grown human like it was nothing and seemingly never tired of anything she deemed “fun”. As he looked upon her, his eyes could not tear themselves away from her arms. Her muscles, tightly hugged by her tough skin, moved in the most enthralling way. They shrunk and grew as she drew breath, they shifted and danced as she moved, glistening enticingly with a thin layer of sweat. He would give everything to be cradled in her arms, embraced into safety of her melting warmth. The thought of her breath lingering on his ashen grey cheeks as she lovingly whispered reassurances into his pointed ears. It seemed ideal, yet unreachable. Perfection, remote and unobtainable.

“Yer in love.” Suddenly spoke up a familiar, raspy voice from his side. A gaunt human in typical outlaw dress leaned against the fence alongside the dreaming man.

“No. I am not.” He awkwardly protested, his gaze darting to the side, away from both the giantess and the rogue.

“Oh, but yer are. You look at Blondie with the saddest puppy eyes when her back is turned.” Continued the human with a sly smirk on his face.

“There are no puppy eyes. Clearly the fumes of your work have damaged your eyesight, sharpshooter.”

“I know ‘em when I see ‘em” the man didn’t seem to relent. “It’s okay, ya know? Everyone can be happy. Just don’t smile too much – yer face might crack after all those months of non-stop brooding.”

The human backed off as quickly as he appeared. The young mage let out a wary sigh. Was he in love? When did that begin? He had a clear admiration for her spirit and attitude, but to be so transfixed on someone’s flesh, something seemingly so mundane to be completely and totally charmed by. The sight of her bare, muscular back, chiseled like the most winding cliffs, covered in a thin layer of river water, combined with her piercing, innocent gaze as she turned her head to face him. That must have been it. He bit his lip in longing and frustration. He was a nobody. A commoner from the ashen wastelands, a man so weak he had to commune with the ancient gods to get even a taste of magical power, while capable spellcasters seemingly dropped out of thin air. Someone like him did not deserve to be with someone like her. He was too weak. Too scared to show his true self, choosing to hide behind a veil – both physical and mental, spending his days meditating in solitude. They did start spending more time as of late, but was it enough? They’ve been through bloodshed and danger, yet he still felt so much lesser than anyone else. He was filled with envy, gloom, and lust, packed with desire to burst into a whirlwind of emotions, but also the fear of getting rejected, just like he was many times before. He let out a sigh. He couldn’t do anything about it, it seemed.

As the time passed and the evening approached, the ashen mage approached the room of the giant. Holding a small stack of books and parchment, he knocked on the door, preparing himself for their daily lessons. The woman, speaking plainly, was illiterate. Surprised and motivated to remedy that, the ashwalker took it upon himself to teach her to read and write, conducting lessons for quite some time now. It was their little respite from their dangerous travels, as  well as a chance for them to indulge in the company of each other. It was stiff at first, possessing the same atmosphere as a classroom, yet with time it became a lot more familiar and relaxed, dotted with jokes, stories, and even occasional smoke and drink.

The door opened.

“Oh, hi! I wondered if we were doing our thing today…” she spoke up, bubbly as ever. His heart jumped the tiniest bit.

“Of course, Hildegarde.” He said with a slight smile under his wraps. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that she was the only one to whom he referred to by her name, rather than occupation or title. He took a couple of steps inside her room, messy as it always was. She sat down on the bed, while he put down the writing supplies on the small table nearby. The lessons were always simple – at first, he taught her how to read letters, then short words, and now – he made her read, syllable by syllable. The texts were not complex, merely children’s stories, yet the captivated look on her face as she finally put together written text to spoken word made him feel that pleasant warmth in his chest and cheeks. He observed as her eyes widened as she made progress, a smile creeping onto his face. Their little reading sessions were laced with genuine emotions – that of pride and joy. It was hard for him not to grin like an idiot at Hildegarde, as she made progress, slowly conquering more and more of the text. It was their little piece of heaven. The worries about the future of the land and their lives slowly moved to the background as they were quietly transfixed by each other’s presence, enthralled by the atmosphere in the room neither of them could really explain. The serenity continued well into the night, with reading being replaced by stories of their respective homelands – the ashen cliffs of the archipelago for the warlock and the snowy mountaintops for the warrior. They joked and laughed, banter filling the air. It was almost intoxicating. It seemingly could go on and on and on…

The ashwalker awoke in the middle of the night, feeling his body held down by the most peculiar situation. A strange noise rumbled quietly above his head as his amber eyes peered into the darkness of the room. He looked down onto his body only to notice his waist being gently wrapped by the giantess’ arm, rustling the fabric of his purple robes through her sleep. The peculiar noise was nothing more than her gentle snoring and the peculiar sensation was nothing more than the feeling of having his body intertwined with somebody else’s. It was strange. But good. He closed his eyes, going back to sleep. He could get used to this.

[handoverthekawaii]

Tyranny of the Heart | Enver Gortash & You | Chapter 4

Lord Enver Gortash’s meeting with the Baldur’s Gate Harbormaster goes about as well as expected. You observe firsthand how Gortash navigates the tension with practiced ease, providing a thorough explanation of how the warehouse’s location allows raw materials to be delivered in the most cost-effective manner possible.

He even offers the first batch of Steel Watchers, when completed, to shore up port security under the Harbormaster’s personal direction. The city official agrees with the eagerness of a child reaching out for a shiny, new toy — so, although the matter may not be resolved forever, you expect Gortash will have no further trouble with the Harbormaster for some time.

After the meeting ends, the two of you are served lunch in a private chamber within Wyrm’s Rock. As you eat, you turn the day’s events over in your mind, thinking of more questions for Gortash with each passing moment — Is the Harbormaster more concerned about security breaches within dock facilities, or onboard the incoming and outgoing vessels? Could the docks be extended further into Gray Harbor to add back some storage space?

Many people would have tired of all your inquiries by now, but Gortash seems to all but revel in them. He goes over the finer points of his answers with you in exquisite detail, at times even taking your quill and writing out lists or drawing frenetic diagrams in your travel diary. Both of you are taking pleasure in this opportunity to talk over real-world problems with a well-matched, equally enthusiastic conversation partner.

“You continue to impress, my dear,” Gortash proclaims a little later. You and he are back in the carriage now, this time headed toward the Steel Watch foundry. “You have already demonstrated a greater interest in this city’s workings than many patriars ever will.”

“It must please the Grainlord that, one day, Triel shall be guided by your hand.”

Lord Enver Gortash is perceptive, a skill honed over years of dealing with fickle and volatile personalities. He notices the way his words make your body tense and your jaw set — apparently he has touched a nerve. After a pause, you respond,

“You flatter me, my Lord. But I shall never rule Triel… and the only way I can please my father is by staying as far away from home as possible.”

Gortash raises an eyebrow at your response. He had assumed that your studies, your many questions, stemmed from your status as the Grainlord’s heir apparent. Like generations of bright-eyed, idealistic young lords and ladies that came before, you wanted to be the best village leader that you could be — or so he had thought.

Still, the man is even more intrigued by your remarks about your father. Ever since the evening he met you, Gortash had suspected there might be more to your situation than meets the eye. He knew from his far-flung emissaries that children of Triel’s ruling house are styled Lords and Ladies —yet, though you hail from the same house, you are called Shield Maiden. The title honors you, yes, but it also serves to set you apart from the rest of your family.

There must be something different about you, he realizes now. Something that causes your family to keep you at arm’s length. And, though you seem to genuinely enjoy learning, your travels are less of a leisurely pastime… and more of a forced exile. A circumstance that Gortash understands all too well.

“Then your father is a fool,” the Chosen of Bane declares. His words bring a small smile to your face, emboldening Gortash to continue. “Yet, on behalf of the Sword Coast, I must thank him for his dim-wittedness…”

“Because Triel’s loss will surely prove to be all our gain.” [continued on AO3]

[broadcastbabe]

We have come to the conclusion that working as a team, we had a much better chance at personal gratifications… than pitted against each other for your affections. You wanted a contest between us, to outdo the other in a sexual girl fight. Hard limits would be forgotten and boundaries crossed in our pursuit of top honors for your undivided attention in your bed. It worked for awhile… taking turns, witnessing the techniques of our opponent, then trying to make the next round sexier, more creatively outre, more deviant to cater to your tastes. Ultimately, you want variety and the tag-team seemed to be one short-sighted solution.

Tonight, the gals are doing it our way. When you and I return from our stroll in a nearby park, where I have been ravaged in a public gazebo under the stars, she is waiting. We recount our undiscovered and unseen adventures in great detail… my surprise lingerie attire for a barrier-free encounter once you had opened the heavy ermine coat… my shameless moaning, meant to attract voyeurs to our escapade, while you feasted between my thighs in preparation for the coup d’gras. I am always juicy and dripping, but you crave the taste of me on your lips while I am being penetrated relentlessly in the pursuit of mutual orgasms.

She is intrigued and topless, toying with her nipples, while we relive the recent glories and paw at each other affectionately. You are already eyeing her impatient display with a desire now evident in your trousers. You suggest your thirst needs requenching, a palette cleanser to move on to her ‘next’ status in line. She disappears briefly and returns with two large glasses of wine, suggesting she and I will share one, while you indulge yourself with her charms. We take turns sipping, winking at each other conspiratorially, anxious to put our plan in motion. She takes the luxurious coat from my shoulders and drapes it across a divan. Reaching around from behind, she removes  my front closure bra to level the playing field, she locks eyes with you and takes my bosom in her hands to caress, while you watch with a new alertness. Rolling my eyes with lusty approval, she toys with my tender nipples until they are as stiff and ruby colored as her own. Our breathing has synchronized in an escalated harmony, and you are compelled to massage the growing mass in your lap as her hands travel to breech my lace thong. My familiar moans fill the room as her slender fingers knead me in slow rotations under the lace. I pull them down past my rump, and they shimmy to the floor to expose this breach of regular conduct… and me. My moans become throatier, slipping an octave, as we both squirm in our spooning position. You seem to be holding your breath, when I pivot to face her and suckle on her breasts with a hunger that sets off her own gratified music. She seats herself upon the ermine while I straddle her, rump up, to allow you a clear view of her busy fingers, attending to my increasing needs. They rhythmically disappear inside me, while I nurse at her plumped heaving breasts, obviously enjoying my feast tremendously. Stunned and realizing your petty little competition has severely limited the scope of your sexcapades, you invite yourself into the melee and hover closer to observe. Your hand makes contact with my derrière as it wags and bobs and offers a polishing of its firm roundness, ending with a half-hearted spank. I shudder and announce my nearness to cumming and you both double-down on your manipulations; by adding another finger to stretch me wider and your more punitive slaps to my crimson rump. I surrender to my body’s reflexes and howl with delight for the second time this evening. Joining in the chorus, like a triggered wolf pack, we give voice to our newly discovered collaborative configuration. You sandwich me between you two to share in the quivering of my multiples that come fast and furious in succession. She is bearing the weight at the bottom beneath us, but is still able to murmur a deserved request as she licks the dew from her fingertips. “Think I’m owed the next few rounds…”

[your-sovereign-ruler]

I posted 669 times in 2022

That's 202 more posts than 2021!

34 posts created (5%)

635 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pocketramblr

@gentrychild

@xplore-the-unknwn

@achairwithapandaonit

@bamsara

I tagged 100 of my posts in 2022

#i love them your honor - 13 posts

#writing - 6 posts

#mha - 5 posts

#my hero academia - 5 posts

#witchcraft - 4 posts

#asexual - 4 posts

#witchblr - 4 posts

#acearo - 3 posts

#fanfiction - 3 posts

#rottmnt - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 90 characters

#something something the grief of a parent who lost their kid's childhoods without noticing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

ROTTMNT Theory

So I was doing some research on turtles (I'm big into herps), and the video I was watching threw out a random comment about Alligator Snapper's lifespans. This piqued my curiosity, so I did a quick search of how long the other three Rise turtle species live.

The shortest lifespan goes to the Spiny Softshell (Donnie). They only live about 20 years.

Next was the Red-Eared Slider (Leo) at 30 years.

Following that is the Oriental Box Turtle (Mikey), which doesn't have a confirmed maximum lifespan, but typically lives between 40-50 years in captivity.

Finally, the Alligator Snapping Turtle (Raph), lives between 150 and 200 years.

Even if their original species' lifespans aren't observed perfectly in-universe, because they do have human DNA which would probably serve to extend the shorter-lived one's lifespan, that's still a massive difference.

Raph is going to outlive his brothers. Most likely by a huge margin.

Even if their lives are extended to a normal human lifespan of about 80 years, they won't be around for even half as long as he will.

I just think it's so sad that the guy who lives for his family, who would die for them, will have to watch them grow old and leave him. He's going to end up alone.

14 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

#4

Oh yeah? Well I'm 16 and I learned THIS from a rat!

*Plays your bones like a keyboard and shuts down your nervous system*

27 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#3

Art for my Soul Eater x FNAF Security Breach AU!

I originally suggested this in @bamsara 's stream yesterday, and I'm so glad that so many people ran with the idea!

The vague outline for this is that Sun and Moon are both weapons that are cursed by a witch to only be able to transform together. She also makes them look more like their in-game selves because I say so.

The appearance of their weapon form changes depending on who's in charge. When Sun's controlling the transformation, they're a double-bladed halberd. It's about 6.5 feet long, with stylized sun-shaped cutouts on each blade. Under the base of the axeheads, there's a red ribbon wrapped around the staff, with gold bells.

When Moon's in charge, they're a haladie dagger. They're only about 9 inches long in this form. The grip is blue leather with a crescent moon decal, and the guards at the base of each blade are bells.

Sun is best used for more distanced fighting because personality-wise I think he'd prefer that their meister stay as far away from their enemy as possible. Conversely, Moon's a knife because he's a bit more feral. I've been toying with the idea that the curse they have can influence the meister using them, so they would actually go into a bloodlust using Moon's form if they're not careful.

They would have been attacked by a witch when they were in their tweens, and the spell was originally to make them super aggressive and loyal to the witch (and look inhuman so people were less inclined to help them or hear them out if they asked for help.) Moon would have taken the brunt of this to protect Sun, which is why his weapon form has a much bigger effect on the meister's psyche. This is pulling from my understanding of the game, how Moon was affected by the Afton virus while Sun wasn't (or at least to a far lesser extent). While the effect is less extreme or obvious, Sun's weapon form can cause their meister to become extremely protective, to the point of self-destructive behaviors.

Lord Death, best dad of all the dads, was very understanding of their problem, and their vendetta against witches in general. He allowed them to enroll in DWMA, but keeps a close eye on them and their meister to ensure that the curse doesn't get the best of them.

Their meister is going to be Y/n, because x reader fics are cool actually. I won't be making the fic NSFW, or even have fade to black sort of scenes. I think I'll stick with platonic/romantic sort of stuff, with room to interpret it as the reader would like.

So, yeah, that's what I have so far. Feel free to use any ideas here, but please don't directly copy my art or the whole of the plot in something.

43 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

#2

Book of Boba Fett Spoilers

In the first episode of The Book of Boba Fett, we saw a lot of twi'leks. Which was pretty cool. They're one of my favorite species! But, there was something that really caught my eye about one of them.

In the cantina, there were two twi'leks who came up to greet Boba Fett and Fennic.

These two. Pretty cool! We love seeing twi'leks out of enslavement! And I think this is the first time we've seen a yellow twi'lek in live action, too.

But on to the science!

One of the less noticeable morphological differences between biologically male and female twi'leks are their ears.

Male twi'lek's have humanoid, pointed ears. They tend to stay flatter to the head.

See the full post

52 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Theory

I absolutely love this show, and I really love how the turtles have such a sweet relationship with each other and Splinter. However, I've been bothered by how Splinter insists on calling them by their color, rather than by their names. I mean, I think this is the only version where they actually call him "dad"!

I believe that I've figured it out.

In the episode "Goyles, Goyles, Goyles," we see our lovely boy Lu has sworn off fighting and is just acting like a sweetheart. He's immediately enamored by Draxom's little turtles, and, rather unimaginatively, names them all "green".

Though he seems to really like them, they're obviously normal turtles. It doesn't really matter what he names them.

Now, once Draxam starts the procedure, Lu's upset that the turtles are being mutated into weapons (what an absolute softie, my goodness), and he interrupts the procedure. Now, the turtles are obviously no longer just turtles, but the extent of it is probably up in the air. Lu probably had no clue what he had to expect, but he still grabbed the tiny anthropomorphic turtles anyway, like a boss.

See the full post

218 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[darkmaga-returns]

By Ray McGovern Special to Consortium News

President-elect Donald Trump’s selection of Tulsi Gabbard to be director of national intelligence (DNI) will cause shockwaves in and among the 18 fiefdoms that now comprise the U.S. intelligence community.

Gabbard will be fighting an uphill battle if she tries to herd those 18 cats into a cohesive whole and restore integrity to intelligence analysis. The hill’s incline will be still steeper, if she takes seriously her duty to warn the president of the frequently noxious blowback of C.I.A. covert actions. I cannot overcome the urge to quote from “The Princess Bride”: Good luck stormin’ the castle, Tulsi … It will take a miracle!

In short, the odds are against her. Whether she succeeds depends, first and foremost, on how strongly the president backs her.  Unlike most former DNIs, she has already demonstrated uncommon courage, as well as smarts and political skill.

On the other hand, she has had virtually no experience managing a large institution, much less a “community” well versed in internecine warfare to protect individual rice bowls, and populated with careerist bureaucrats all too accustomed to telling the ultimate boss, the president, what he wants to hear.

Important Duties

The DNI is in charge of preparing The President’s Daily Brief (PDB), National Intelligence Estimates and the annual Threat Assessment required by Congress. What is less well known is her role in covert action — a favorite of the C.I.A.’s clandestine service.

 Executive Order 12333 (July 2008) stipulates:

“The Director of National Intelligence (DNI) shall oversee and provide advice to the President and the NSC with respect to all ongoing and proposed covert action programs.”

Thus, what the EO says. My own experience suggests that this covert-action-related duty has been more honored in the breach than in the observance, so to speak. Director of Central Intelligence William Colby was, in my personal experience, the only director to give intelligence analysts a look at some covert action proposals and ask for comment. I served directly under Colby as an acting national intelligence officer in the mid-70s.

[racefortheironthrone]

Was the Comics Code as bad as the Hays Code?

That's a really good question!

I suppose it depends on what you mean by "as bad" - are we talking about the overall impact of the Code on American pop culture or are we talking about the actual content of the Code and what it banned and/or mandated in terms of artistic expression?

I've written a little bit about the Hays Code here, but my main focus was on subtextual judaism in Hollywood generally rather than what the Code was and what its impact on American cinema was.

So what did the Hays Code actually include?

One of the few positive things you can say about it is that the men who devised it were quite clear and forthright about what would and wouldn't be allowed, in comparison to the vagueness and inconsistency of the modern MPAA. So here's the list of what couldn't be shown:

Pointed profanity—by either title or lip—this includes the words God, Lord, Jesus, Christ (unless they be used reverently in connection with proper religious ceremonies), Hell, S.O.B., damn, Gawd, and every other profane and vulgar expression however it may be spelled; (You'll notice that the Code is very much a snapshot of the transition from silent movies to "talkies," with the discussion of how profanity is spelled as well as produced via "lip.")

Any licentious or suggestive nudity—in fact or in silhouette; and any lecherous or licentious notice thereof by other characters in the picture;

The illegal traffic in drugs;

Any inference of sex perversion; (i.e anything having to do with LGBT+ people and culture. For more on the impact of the Hays Code on the LGBT+ community, see the excellent documentary the Celluloid Closet.)

White slavery; (the 1920s version of sex trafficking, but with added racism!)

Miscegenation;

Sex hygiene and venereal diseases;

Scenes of actual childbirth—in fact or in silhouette;

Children's sex organs;

Ridicule of the clergy;

Willful offense to any nation, race or creed; and (this one was really honored in the breach more than the observance when it came to nations, races, and creeds of non-dominant groups in society.)

The following things could be shown, but "special care be exercised in the manner in which the following subjects are treated, to the end that vulgarity and suggestiveness may be eliminated and that good taste may be emphasized:"

The use of the Flag;

International Relations (avoid picturizing in an unfavorable light another country's religion, history, institutions, prominent people and citizenry); (again, depended a lot on what country you're talking about.)

Arson;

The use of firearms;

Theft, robbery, safe-cracking, and dynamiting of trains, mines, buildings, et cetera (having in mind the effect which a too-detailed description of these may have upon the moron); (I guess the idea was that the MPPDA believed very strongly in the idea that media could affect people's behavior through imitation, but the use of the word "moron" gives me eugenics vibes.)

Brutality and possible gruesomeness;

Technique of committing murder by whatever method;

Methods of smuggling;

Third-Degree methods; (i.e, torture)

Actual hangings or electrocutions as legal punishment for crime; Sympathy for criminals; (this was a big one; Hollywood had done very well from gangster films, so a lot of creators had to do some careful threading of the needle to keep the genre alive. One dodge that they came up with was that they would have a duplicate "final reel" in which the gangster would have their inevitable comeuppance, and then remove the final reel when the censors had left the theater. Very popular with white rural teens.) Attitude toward public characters and institutions; (again, Hollywood shifting from being anti- to pro-establishment.)

Sedition;

Apparent cruelty to children and animals;

Branding of people or animals;

The sale of women, or of a woman selling her virtue;

Rape or attempted rape;

First-night scenes; (i.e, wedding nights)

Man and woman in bed together; (hence the eventual TV practice of showing married couples in separate beds in the 50s)

Deliberate seduction of girls;

The institution of marriage;

Surgical operations;

The use of drugs;

Titles or scenes having to do with law enforcement or law-enforcing officers;

Excessive or lustful kissing, particularly when one character or the other is a "heavy".

So in general, we can say that the Hays Code was extremely sex-negative, very concerned about crime and anti-establishment thinking, sexist, racist, and homophobic, and in general afraid of offending anybody.

So what about the Comics Code Authority?

So this is what the Comics Code looked like in 1954:

Crimes shall never be presented in such a way as to create sympathy for the criminal, to promote distrust of the forces of law and justice, or to inspire others with a desire to imitate criminals. If crime is depicted it shall be as a sordid and unpleasant activity.

Policemen, judges, government officials, and respected institutions shall never be presented in such a way as to create disrespect for established authority.

Criminals shall not be presented so as to be rendered glamorous or to occupy a position which creates a desire for emulation. In every instance good shall triumph over evil and the criminal punished for his misdeeds.

Scenes of excessive violence shall be prohibited. Scenes of brutal torture, excessive and unnecessary knife and gunplay, physical agony, the gory and gruesome crime shall be eliminated.

No comic magazine shall use the words "horror" or "terror" in its title.

All scenes of horror, excessive bloodshed, gory or gruesome crimes, depravity, lust, sadism, masochism shall not be permitted.

All lurid, unsavory, gruesome illustrations shall be eliminated. Inclusion of stories dealing with evil shall be used or shall be published only where the intent is to illustrate a moral issue and in no case shall evil be presented alluringly, nor so as to injure the sensibilities of the reader.

Scenes dealing with, or instruments associated with walking dead, torture, vampires and vampirism, ghouls, cannibalism, and werewolfism are prohibited.

Profanity, obscenity, smut, vulgarity, or words or symbols which have acquired undesirable meanings are forbidden.

Nudity in any form is prohibited, as is indecent or undue exposure. Suggestive and salacious illustration or suggestive posture is unacceptable.

Females shall be drawn realistically without exaggeration of any physical qualities.

Illicit sex relations are neither to be hinted at nor portrayed. Rape scenes, as well as sexual abnormalities, are unacceptable.

Seduction and rape shall never be shown or suggested.

Sex perversion or any inference to same is strictly forbidden.

Nudity with meretricious purpose and salacious postures shall not be permitted in the advertising of any product; clothed figures shall never be presented in such a way as to be offensive or contrary to good taste or morals.[16]

You'll notice the similarities when it comes to the Codes' attitude to sex, sexuality, crime, and symbols of authority - so to answer the first part of your question, I would say the CCA was pretty similar to the Hays Code (in part because Charles F. Murphy, who drew it up, was deeply unoriginal and basically cribbed off the Hays Code throughout).

However, there are also some significant areas of difference that have a lot to do with the unique circumstances of the 1950s moral panic over comics. See, in the 1950s, superhero comics were considered deeply uncool and old hat - they had been huge in the 40s during the war, but by the 50s the biggest genre in comics were horror, crime, and romance comics (with cowboy comics bringing up the rear). To quote myself from another post:

"This gave rise to a moral panic in the 1950s, although more accurately it was part of the larger moral panic over juvenile delinquency. The U.S Senate established a Juvenile Delinquency Subcommittee of the Judiciary Committee in 1953 to investigate the causes of juvenile delinquency and comics became a major target. While Wertham’s book is best known today for its assertions that Batman and Robin were teaching young boys to be gay and Wonder Woman was teaching young girls to be lesbians, the main focus of the Subcommittee [edit mine: and Wertham's academic work] was on horror and crime comics for their depiction of sex, violence, and “subversive” attitudes to law and order."

The CCA made it impossible to publish two of the most popular genres in the industry for a generation (the CCA relaxed its stance on horror stuff a bit in the 70s, which is why Marvel trend-chased werewolves and vampires the moment they could get away with it), which not only scrambled the medium (and potentially created space for the Silver Age of superhero comics to flourish) but drove the former titan EC Comics practically out of business. (Indeed, William Gaines of EC Comics believed that the CCA had been specifically worded to drive him out of business.)

So in some ways, the CCA was worse.

[isoghana1]

How to get ISO 27001 Certification in Pretoria

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[quietwings-fics]

someone has to leave first

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Gabriel & Raphael) Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, Post-Episode: s05e19 Hammer of the Gods (Supernatural), POV Second Person, Death Rituals, Grief/Mourning, implications of archangel hivemind? a little?, Angels are Weird (Supernatural), an immortal being trying their best to conceptualize death and mourning, POV Raphael (Supernatural) Wordcount: 841 Summary:

Raphael contemplates death rituals.

You spent a very long time confused about the reverence of corpses. You have lingered, observing but never touching, where death’s humidity soaks the air to choking, and so, you have seen many last rites. You came to understand that there was a difference between disposal and funeral, but the reason escaped you. It was another piece of humanity that angels were not designed to comprehend.

You tried anyway. There wasn’t much else to do, besides the watching and the waiting.

You saw humans as vessel-and-soul. Combined and contained. Sometimes, with cavities inside them too big for any human soul to fill up, a lifetime plagued with a desire that could not be named, a legacy of fissures that grew with every child down carefully shaped bloodlines. Most of them were not True, and most of them would never hold an angel’s grace. Only a soul, collected upon death by whatever reaper was closest. A body, rendered impassable to grace and soul alike, collected by whatever human was granted the honor and the stigma of handling the dead.

The rituals of death preached about a soul that is no longer there. They were, by your observation, wholly concerned with the body. With examining it. Dressing it. Prolonging it. Storing it. Boxes, urns, coffins, contained. Vessels for vessels. You were not invited to these ceremonies, but enough of them were held in your Father’s houses that you couldn’t be considered an intruder. You listened to tearful farewells and nostalgic speeches, and you missed the meaning. You were too busy thinking about how useless these prayers were when a human soul ensconced in Heaven would hear nothing from below.

This to say: You are the one who finds Gabriel’s vessel.

Not the first to see it, broken and empty. Lucifer got to hold Gabriel as he died, and you have never been jealous of your fallen brother until this moment. Until you kneel beside a corpse and run your hand over the burnt ground. Gabriel’s vessel is cold, and he is gone, and you didn’t know that the emptiness inside you could get wider. A hole shaped like God should make any other breach imperceptible. You touch where Gabriel was stabbed, where the skin has blackened and cracked around the heat of an archangel’s blade. In a kinder story, the divine rise again. A wound is proof that death is not all powerful.

Gabriel should not be dead if you are alive. You should not be alive if Gabriel is dead. The parts are simultaneously the whole. The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, all three, all one. An archangel is Raphael is MichaelLuciferGabrielRaphael is Raphael is an archangel. What is MichaelLuciferRaphael? What will be MichaelRaphael? It is not an archangel anymore, is not four as one as four. Even apart, you existed entangled.

You were always going to be condemned to this existence. Lucifer’s Fall was meant to prepare you for the severing, or so you’d thought. Gabriel broke centuries of silence with a death cry to rattle Heaven, and it hurt more than it would have if he’d never left. You have felt him die. You will feel Lucifer die. You are going to exist afterwards.

And this is why you gather Gabriel’s body up into your arms. This is why you beg for some remnant of him to echo in you when you hold it close. Your vessel’s eyes blur without your permission, and the tears fall into his hair and upon his face.

“Come back,” you whisper. Head raised, you plead, “Bring him back, Father. This isn’t his part. Give him back.” But prayers never reach the dead.

You hold his vessel for a very long time. There is nothing of Gabriel left in it. You still can’t bring yourself to let it go.

When the time comes, you will not inter him in the ground. You lay his body down, and you place a hand on his forehead. Every cell of him is returned to dust, to ash, and you gather up all of it. Not a speck escapes you before you allow it. You carry it with you, and bit by bit, you release him to the wind, over oceans and deserts and mountains, places you remember Gabriel loving. You are watched by other angels as you do this. They see ash and do not know the laughter it once held. They do not understand why you scatter it as you fly.

You think Michael understands until one day, he offers to brush the ash that’s escaped your grasp and stained your feathers off like it’s nothing. Meaningless atoms. Mess. You refuse to answer him, and he leaves you alone. You wonder how he feels the cracks that weave through you now. If he knows killing Lucifer is liable to shatter you both. That could be a kind of paradise, to break so completely that you don’t notice the shards stolen away.

Your siblings begin to avoid you. You make them uncomfortable.

What an honor, to mourn.

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[420hamlet]

Día 111: "Una historia donde haya una sola luz en tiempos de oscuridad" "But, to my mind, though I am native here And to the manner born, it is a custom More honored in the breach than the observance." - Hamlet.