#good but incredibly intense and strange period of life oh my god

[linguenuvolose]

??????

#I am for sure having an autumn #almost ? got offered ? yet another job out of the blue by email #or it wasn't as direct but it was like hiii... just for your info there's this job.... #but I'm also very confused because it's from one of the people that I did my interview with so she... knows I got that job? #and presumably knows I start that very soon #and even if this other thing is just a week's worth it's still like ? huh?? #there truly are a million jobs and things going around right now what is this??? #good but incredibly intense and strange period of life oh my god #snicksnack #also went to a seminar hosted by my supervisor today and as I was leaving he said Ida! fatti vedere qualche volta lmao #I was like this is me facendomi vedere after not having seen him for 2+ months lmao it was like 70% the reason I was there

[poptod]

Leeway (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Sometimes, you just need to feed the person you accidentally embalmed alive a lot of vodka. A LOT.

Notes: so this is a tad strange and i thought it would be fun to write so hello this exists now and im not apologizing for it this time. i do love how easy it is to tell who learned english in cambridge and who learned english from a crazy american though. fluff and humor, gender neutral, only warning is getting sick from drinking too much Word Count: 2.5k

+

Despite the popularity of the Egyptian exhibit in the museum, there was really only one hallway and one room for it. A hallway filled with smaller artifacts, and in the center of it all, Ahkmenrah's tomb. What with being the only ancient Egyptian in the whole of the museum, he was rather lonely – that made up one of the reasons for the new exhibit, but the main reason was a money grab.

Now, the new exhibit wasn't nearly as royal as Ahk's room. No massive guards, no rooms catered specifically to it, no hieroglyphs surrounding it. In fact it was the tomb of a servant – that's what historians categorized you as after seeing your wooden sarcophagus and the poor wrappings of your mummification. There was nothing but you in your tomb; no dolls, no artifacts, not even any pottery offerings. Ahkmenrah didn't know any of this, though – no, he was just excited to have someone who came from the same era. His thrill stemmed mainly from his fear of forgetting how to speak Egyptian. With you on your way, he could rid of that fear.

He was told of your exhibit about a day before you arrived, and throughout the whole of the waking night he thought of you. Who could you be? Maybe your times were a thousand years apart; Egypt did have a rather long rule, after all. There was also the chance you were from exactly his time, and part of him hoped that was to be.

The next evening he awoke giddy, a grin on his face from the moment he opened his eyes. A few minutes and Larry came to help him out, stripping off the remaining linen before standing tall, gold falling from his body as silk.

"Is the new exhibit here?" He asked immediately, eager to meet you.

"Yeah, this way," Larry said, guiding Ahk out of his room with a chuckle.

A bundle of nerves began to ache in his chest, begging him to hurry his step. He tried his best to keep calm, soon standing in front of an open archway, leading into a room filled with the broken down, dusty artifacts of his previous daily life. Shabti dolls came to life in glass cages, and beside all the shields and various weapons lay a rotted, wooden coffin. At the sight he frowned – there were no inscriptions on the coffin, not even a hint that they might've once been there. Without those inscriptions it was terribly hard to navigate the afterlife, but that wasn't his main problem at the moment.

The biggest issue was that you were rattling against the wood, moaning weakly from your first wake of the dead. Your coffin sat in a large, glass box, and as both Ahk and Larry realized that, Larry dug into his pocket for keys to open the box.

The moment the glass door opened, Ahk crammed himself inside, careful not to step on the bits of pottery as he knelt at your side. Gently he raised the lid, helping you sit up. Together you worked out of your wrappings, which fell to the bottom of the coffin, before the last of it came off, revealing your face.

"Wait a -"

"You!" You shouted, brows furrowed in a rage both Larry and Ahk rarely saw. Jabbing him in the chest with your finger, you glared him out of the box, following him as you stumbled onto the linoleum floor. "You're the guy who killed me!"

"Wait, what?" Larry said, his tone suddenly serious.

"I did not kill -"

"You fucking buried me alive, you son of a bitch! Do you know how painful it is to have all your organs removed for a damned embalming?!" You yelled as your face grew red, filled with the pressure of your anger.

"Okay, wait, wait –" Larry stood inbetween you two, but your eyes never left Ahk's rather terrified face. "First thing's first. How do you know English?"

"You think you guys get to be the first people insane enough to bring me to life? I lived in a sorcerer's home for ten years and he treated me better than you ever did," you said, aiming your venom at Ahk. Again. "I felt safer with him and he took off my arm and resewed it back on!"

"In my defense, I didn't know you were alive, alright?" Ahk tried defending himself, but you wouldn't hear it.

"You fucked up big time, buddy," you seethed, shoving your face right up against Ahk's. "I wasn't the goddamn murderer. The other one was."

"Oh. Oh, no," he said as the color drained from his face. "Shit, you were innocent?"

"Okay can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?!" Larry finally interjected, gaining both of your attentions.

"There was this, um, incident, while I was a prince," Ahk began, reluctant to tell. "A few murders had happened in the city, so the soldiers tracked down who they believed the murderer to be, but they were fighting with someone. Like, really bad. I was with them and there was quite a lot of blood."

"I would've won, too, if you let me," you grumbled bitterly.

"One of them claimed to be a famous poet, and the other one was unemployed. Obviously the murderer, but we couldn't tell the difference between the two," he continued, ignoring your remark. "There was this whole trial to figure out who was who. What – what was your penname again?"

"Siamun," you said.

"Right. Unfortunately, I guess we got the wrong one," he said rather blankly, regret plain on his face.

"And then he threw a spear at my chest, proclaimed me dead despite the fact that I was still breathing, and then they tore out all my goddamn organs," you finished for him, telling 'Larry' the rest of the story Ahk hesitated to mention.

"It wasn't a spear," Ahk said as though it mattered.

"Knife. Sharp pointy thing. I'm still pissed at you," you said, crossing your arms with great force.

Larry looked between the two of you for a moment before speaking.

"I think I know how to make you feel better," he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you out of the room.

"I highly doubt that," you said quietly, sending one last seething glare over your shoulder at Ahk before you turned the corner, leaving him alone.

He almost cried – he rarely did, but this time was close. All that excitement for nothing. There was no way you'd be able to hold a conversation with him, which was fair, considering he didn't think he could hold a conversation with someone he wronged so deeply. The worst part was that he was quite the fan of your work, and it had been a long, long time since he'd been able to read or hear your words.

About an hour later he dragged himself to his feet with a weary sigh, slowly shuffling into the main room, where he could already hear music and the shouts of dancers and soccer players (for some reason). At the balcony he overlooked the whole of the crowd, eyes scanning over the jumping crowd till he found you sitting with Larry at the center globe. You had a bottle of some sort in hand, and from what he could tell, you were incredibly intoxicated. A new, sick hope sprouted in his head – maybe you'd be able to tolerate him while drunk. Strange thought, certainly, but not entirely improbable.

So, with that in mind, he headed down the steps, his cape floating down with him till he reached the crowd. Worming through the people, he made his way to stand on the other side of the help center desk.

"What did you do?" Ahk asked Larry, gesturing to you sitting on the office chair, spinning as fast as you could.

"I thought they could use some loosening up," Larry answered with a shrug. Ahk frowned.

"That's... what did you give them?"

"Hmm? Oh, just some vodka the previous night guards stored in Rexy's mouth," he said, nodding pleasantly.

"Isn't vodka ten times more powerful than our beer?"

"I hadn't really thought of that," Larry said with his hands on his hips, looking to you for a moment before returning to Ahk.

Once you stopped propelling yourself, your chair stopped spinning, and your smile quickly dissipated into a pale face as sickness overcame you. With lopsided eyes you tried standing, balancing the bulk of your weight on the desk. You gagged on your own tongue.

"That's no good," Ahk muttered under his breath, circling the desk till he stood beside you, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. "I'll take them to the bathroom."

"I think I'm going to throw up," you slurred, leaning into Ahk.

"Thought so. Let's hurry now," he said as he took you through the crowd, feeling thankful that the bathrooms weren't a floor above you. No, they were just to the side, and soon he was holding your hair as you hurled into the porcelain toilet.

You shivered despite the room being warm, and Ahk recognized it as tremors brought about by pain. He winced when you gagged, nothing but acid coming out as you moaned, white knuckles trying to find purchase on the tile floor.

"You.. what's your name?" You asked weakly, your voice rough from acid staining the back of your throat.

"... Naguib," he said after a moment of thought. He wasn't sure if you would remember his name, but he preferred to stay safe, and took his servant's name.

"You're being.. thank you," you mumbled, immediately gagging again afterwards. Nothing came out.

"Of course," he said softly, moving his hands to rub at your tense shoulders. You hummed, unable to move from your spot without feeling intensely sick.

"You're from Egypt, too, aren't you?" You said, tilting your head onto your arm to meet his eye.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Same time period."

"God, I miss it sometimes. Don't you?" You whispered, barely able to find the energy to keep speaking.

"It can get very lonely. That's why I'm glad you're here," he said with a small smile, making you close your eyes and offer your own soft, barely-there smile. "Do you mind speaking Egyptian with me?"

"Sure," you answered in the language he'd been longing to hear from a mouth other than his own.

"So... what was life like for you back then?" He asked despite knowing of most of your exploits (and accidentally being part of the final one. Death.).

"I was a scribe, didn't work for the King though. Didn't really want to. I liked his son, though. Nice guy except for when he stabbed me," you grumbled, your eyes half lidded. He flinched at your last words.

"What did you write of?"

"The world," you said with a weak smirk. "Poetry. Lots of it."

"Really?" He said, keeping his voice soft to soothe you. "Could you share some?"

"Maybe if I remember what I wrote," you replied with a snort. "Been a whole fuckin' while since then."

Wow, you swear a lot, Ahk found himself thinking blankly, watching you tremble and try to keep yourself even.

"What about the prince?" Ahk asked after a long silence, his words barely there.

"Gods.. um... well, very kind. Got a bit of a stick up his ass, but damn, he was handsome. Pretty scary too, but don't tell him. Any of this," you slurred, once more readying yourself to hurl into the bowl. Ahk quickly moved his hands from your back to your hair, keeping it out of your eyes as you gagged, acid and vodka dripping off your tongue.

Even with you having a rather unpleasant time in the bathroom stall, Ahk felt rather good. You liked him – at least you did at one point, and for him, that meant there was a chance you could forgive him. Yes, embalming you alive was probably not the greatest thing he could've done, but you seemed forgiving enough. With anger formidable and forgiveness imminent, he almost smiled. Almost. And then you hurled again.

In the last hours of the night you started to get better. You could stand with help from Ahk (though you much preferred lying down), and your wits were a little more about you, words still slurred but not quite as unhinged. A few hours previously you stopped throwing up, and Ahk moved you from the bathrooms to McPhee's office. He had a nice couch in there, and Ahk doubted he would mind, considering how McPhee practically revered the living exhibits.

"Feeling better?" He asked, knelt beside you on the cushioned velvet couch.

"A little," you hummed, your voice cracking as you looked to him with tired, baggy eyes.

"We'll have to get you back to your coffin soon. I'll have to go to mine too," he said, stroking your hair. You blinked slowly.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you when you're a bit more coherent," he said with a smile. The edges of your lips turned up, but you were far too weak to form a full smile.

A few minutes later Ahk heard a knock on the closed door, and he excused himself from you with a gentle kiss on your forehead. Opening up the door an inch, he slipped through the gap, coming face to face with Larry.

"They doin' okay?" He asked, hands on his hips.

"Will be, eventually. Don't give them vodka. Ever," Ahk said, earning a hurried agreement.

"Yeah, no, definitely. What's up between you guys though?" He asked with vague hand signals gesturing between the two of them. "Like, you friends? Enemies? I can't tell."

"Currently my name is Naguib and I'm a servant."

"Oh, so not good."

"I didn't say that," Ahk said with a frown. "I asked them about 'the prince' and they actually had a pretty high opinion of me, all things considered, so that's good."

"Honestly I find it hard to believe you actually stabbed them. You don't come across as.. murderous," Larry said, a questioning look on his face.

"You've clearly never seen me watch TV," Ahk said flatly. "I'm a Pharaoh. I'm not sure what you were expecting, but my brother tried to kill me five times and I lost my best friend to banishment. I think I'm allowed a little leeway."

"Yeah, I guess so," Larry said with a sigh, forgetting they were genuinely discussing murder. Murder. "Ready to get them back in the coffin?"

"Right."

The two of them helped you back into your casket, a task that was made infinitely easier by the fact that you passed out while they were conversing. Before placing the wooden lid back on, Ahk leaned in, kissing your forehead one more time. Only then did he reluctantly crawl out of the glass cage, watching Larry lock you up.

"Why do you like them so much?"

"Eh," Ahk shrugged, "they're prolific when they aren't drunk."

"Fair enough."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

[writefightandflightclub]

what do you think Nathan would do if his girl wasnt in the mood for sex... like, nonsexual intimacy with Nathan Bateman,,, what would that he like I wonder

Thanks for the ask, Anon, and sorry it took a while to respond! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it! :D If you don’t, I’m sure you will at least enjoy the GIF :P

Affection (Nathan Bateman headcanons)

GIF: @yoongifilm

So, I think Nathan has all sorts of non-sexual ways to be intimate. Intimacy can be so many things! Sure, he’s got quite a high sex drive, but if his partner isn’t feeling it he’ll never push. He knows when he can tease a little to win you over and when it’s clearly a hard nope.

Nathan can be reluctant to show affection and emotions, especially in “typical” ways, but if he cares for someone and they engage him in the right way (and put in the work to decipher him) he really opens up (I mean, compared to before, still not a ton :P).

So, what are some of the ways he will get intimate, and spend his time with you?

First of all, Nathan isn’t a small talk kinda guy. He prefers deep, passionate discussion, and he loves the intimacy of a deep conversation with you, over dinner, out on the deck looking at the moon and stars, or curled up somewhere cosy in the house under a blanket. He loves how your mind works differently to his, how you alert him to some of his blindspots, and how you surprise and challenge him. He also loves that you can keep up with him, and he loves that he can express himself fully without judgement. The two of you have had so many lengthy discussion on philosophy, ethics, AI, art, music, humanity, the meaning of life, that movie you watched the other night that you have conflicting theories about... the list goes on. Nathan loves knowledge, and there are so many topics he’s interested in and passionate about (learning about you now being one of them, and when he’s interested in something, he goes all in!).

When the two of you are in your safe bubble of intense conversation, you love the way his dark eyes animate and his hands wave to express himself as he talks to you. You love how when you speak he truly listens, and the way you can see him processing your input and adjusting his theories at a mile a minute. He’s incredibly cultured and well-read (and obviously a genius), and you’re in awe of him, and there’s also something special about him taking the time to share his knowledge with you. You love this kind of intimacy, especially when he gets excited about an idea and you see that rare and happy spark in his usually calculating eyes. It really shows how much he trusts you, even with classified ideas and some of his inner and more personal thoughts. Plus, you’re the only one who gets to share and see this side of Nathan, when he can be so closed-off to everyone else.

Sure, sometimes the discussion will get heated, and often you end up teasing each other and having some banter, but knowing that you also make each other laugh is also a really important part of your relationship. Nathan has a dark, singular sense of humour, which is a little hard to pin down, but now that you know him well, he can always bring a smile to your face. Even better if one of his cheap, crude comments draws that dirty, throaty chuckle from you that he likes so much.

Sometimes it’s physical affection. Whilst physical affection seems more important for you than it is for Nathan, that’s not to say it doesn’t feature. Your favourite thing is the way he has you sit on his lap as he taps away on his laptop, just so he can hold your body close to his and feel the heat and weight of you settle on him while he works. His lips will find your hairline to pepper unconscious kisses onto you at intervals, and every now and again his fingers will lightly and absent-mindedly wander over your skin. Strangely, you enjoy his physical touches a lot when his head is half in his work, as you can simply enjoy it without wondering if he’ll want to escalate things, or whether one or both of you will end up making a comment that will prickle the other. Like this, when you’re both quiet and still and just enjoying this closeness, you can truly appreciate his soft affection, and you can feel how much he likes having you around. Plus, he’s beautiful when he’s concentrating on something, bathed in blue light, his eyes intense one moment and then ever so slightly softening; for example, when you brush the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck, wriggle on his lap, or nuzzle closer to him. You love the little hums he emits, and you’d never point it out to him as you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You feel utterly content, and, even better, you can tell how much it relaxes him too. He always seems to get his best work done when you’re soothing him.

I mean, to be honest, the fact Nathan allows you to be by his side at all, shows how comfortable he is being intimate with you, in ways he would never be with anyone else. He’s let you into his private space fortress, and into all of his secrets. Nathan can be quite introverted, and often needs to retreat from everything , going through intense periods of inspiration where he isolates. People can exhaust him... he’s just not good at peopling. Basically, there aren’t many people he could stand to be around constantly. You two, however, have developed a comfortable way of being, whether you’re working out together, hiking together, cooking dinner together, or working on opposite sides of the room, you have this blissful, comfortable silence with one another. You feel free enough to be yourself and you think he does too.

Nathan does care for you, and the way he notices a lot of little details about you is really touching. Sure, a lot of the times he might be an asshole, self-involved, and completely oblivious when you try to verbalise your feelings, but he’s a lot better at picking-up on a lot of your physical cues (he’s spent a long-time studying body language and he’s very in-tune with your body, which he loves, by the way). He might tend to a small wound that is worse than you let on mid-way through a hike, pulling you aside and carefully, wordlessly patching you up with a stern expression. He might notice you twinging from that niggle in your back and slip up behind you to rub your shoulders as you stir the food in the saucepan. He’s also very conscious of keeping you safe and healthy, and while you may not find love notes all over the house, sometimes the snack he leaves for you on the corner of your desk shows he cares just as much as something sappy would.

He’s not a super snuggly person, and he doesn’t really like lying down and “doing nothing” (even when you try to explain the benefits), but on the ocassions you can get him to stay in bed a little longer, or coax him breifly into a warm bath, he will wrap those strong arms of his around you and hold you close from behind, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder, his beard nuzzling and tickling at you. There is no better feeling than this. You think , over time, that Nathan’s even come to enjoy it more too, as, sometimes, when you fear that you’ve held him in place too long, it turns out he doesn’t want to let go, and will find some excuse to stay just that little bit longer. (The first time you convince him to be little spoon in bed as well, oh my GOD. He almost jumps up immediately and practically flees, however, you’ve noticed him backing himself up to you at night, on the rare ocassions he needs a little affection of his own. You are nice enough not to tease him.)

Also, Nathan’s not super tactile unless sex is involved, but he’ll let you do little things for him, like massage and oil his sore muscles, or run sweet-smelling oils through his beard, or even shave his head for him (the first time was hilarious). You know no-one else would get to do this for him, and so it always feels special to touch him and take care of him like this.

Basically, Nathan likes being around you.

And, on the occassions where he’s not pissing you off, you feel exactly the same.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #nathan bateman headcanon #Ex Machina #Oscar Isaac #Luna answers

[anna-pixie]

out of this world - part one

i’ve had this idea in my head for a while so i wanted to get the first part out before carrying on with my requests <3 aka -> this is just a quick intro to the series that i’m putting out so i can get working on other things! ✨

summary: you’re on your way to university one second, and the next you’re stood on the star destroyer, textbooks still in hand. can the pilot and the strange white robot help you get out of there?

pairings: poe dameron x reader (eventual)

warnings: none!

**

PART ONE: THIS ISN’T LONDON...

**

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. That’s what you’ve been repeating to yourself over and over again as your eyes dart around the ship that you’re in. No, not a normal ship. A spaceship.

One moment you were walking down a busy London street, trying not to bump into fellow commuters as you balance your textbooks in one arm and your coffee in the other. You’d winced slightly as your oversized jumper caught on something sharp and you were stopped in your tracks, closing your eyes with a sigh.

Then you opened your eyes, because you realise that the sounds of the busting London street had been replaced with something entirely different. You couldn’t really explain the sound, it was something you had never heard before. Your breath stilled as you look up, taking in the enormous white room you’re standing in. Well, it’s not really a room, since one of the walls is not actually a wall and is instead a giant gaping hole that leads to the outside.

But not the outside like you know it, with trees, cars, people… it’s space. Literal space. Black starry sky. Your head spins and you think that you must be dreaming. Maybe you were knocked unconscious on the road and you’re in a coma? That would be a good explanation, right?

You’re snapped out of your day dream when you notice a worse-for-the-wear looking man being guided in your direction by a strange white robot. You gasp as they get closer and you realise the robot is holding some sort of hi-tech gun. You shuffle backwards slowly, trying not to draw any attention to yourself as the two figures get closer. It’s only when they stop in front of you, the man with a bloodied face looking incredibly confused as his eyes land on you, and you realise you must be blocking their way.

Admittedly, you look extremely out of place in this strange, futuristic place. It was autumn back in England, and you finally had a change to debut your new oversized rustic sweater. You’d felt cute pairing it with a black skirt and some black docs, but now you look like you’re in fancy dress compared to these people. You’re still holding your textbooks and coffee for crying out loud.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You mumble, and step out of the way. You look behind you and squeal as you see the huge black pod next to you, with two giant wings on either side.

“Are you okay?” The bloodied man whispers to you, “What planet are you from?”

“P...planet? Oh my God.” You try to keep your breathing in check as you take in his question. He doesn’t seem to be joking, either. Are you really on a different planet?

“Listen, we’re getting outta here. We’ve gotta be quick, are you coming or not?” He gazes at you, his eyes intense as he waits for your answer. You search his eyes for some indication that you can trust him. Well, does it matter if you can trust him? Anywhere is better than this strange hell-ship. You nod quickly, watching him clamber into the dark ship and then hold his hand out for you.

He tells you to squeeze in beside him, since the cockpit of this ship is actually insanely small, and you awkwardly balance your books and coffee cup on your lap. You’re shaking by the time the white robot thing climbs into the other side of the ship, and you let out an embarrassing gag as the ship suddenly lurches forward. You don’t think you’ve ever gone this fast in your life.

You’re so focused on not throwing up that you’re barely listening to the conversation happening until you realise … there is a conversation happening. That robot can speak? And you realise with a shock that he isn’t a robot, but a regular man wearing a strange costume.

The man beside you quickly guides the ship, rocking from side to side and you gasp when something hits the side of it harshly. You’re being shot at. The man behind you works on shooting back in the direction you came from, the two of them talking about blasters, and cannons, and stuff your mind cannot even keep up with.

It’s only when you finally get out of the line of fire that you get to introductions, the three of you sighing in relief as you enter a more peaceful flight.

“Did you see that? Did you see that?!” The man behind you shouts in elation.

“I saw it,” The man beside you is smiling, finally taking the opportunity to introduce everybody, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“FN2187.”

“F...what?” The man echoes your thoughts, surely that can’t be his name?

“That’s the only name they ever gave me.” Your heart hurts for the man, you can hear the twinge of sadness in his voice. He doesn’t have a name, an identity, nothing.

“Well I ain’t usin’ it,” He thinks for a second, pondering on what to call his new friend before deciding with a smile, “FN… Finn. I’m gonna call you Finn, is that alright?”

“Finn. Yeah. Finn… I like that!” He replies, his voice light and fulfilled. He has a name.

“I’m Poe. Poe Dameron,” Poe reveals, turning to you whilst periodically looking back at the controls, “What’s your name?”

“Um… Y/N.” You tell him, your voice quiet as you’re still trying to comprehend what in the world is going on.

“What were you doing on the Star Destroyer, Y/N? You don’t look like you’re supposed to be there.”

“Star Destroyer?”

“The ship we were just on...”

“Oh, God. Um. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Okay, just answer me one thing, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod rapidly.

“Do you work for the First Order?”

“The First who what?”

Poe chuckles, making a swift turn in the ship that has you clutching onto your coffee for dear life. Your face must be queasy from how sick you feel right now.

“You can explain everything when we get to base. Nice to meet you both, Finn and Y/N. Hold on, we’re going into lightspeed.”

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you from behind, Y/N.” Finn chuckles, patting the top of the seat with his hand as a greeting.

“Nice to meet you too Fi-” You’re cut off as you’re blinded by a bright flash of light, the craft lurching forward and you think you might’ve just thrown up a little in your mouth.

**

POE TAGLIST:

@itsfangirlmendes

@x-remember-me-notx

@chewymoustachio

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #poe imagine #poe x oc #poe x reader #poe dameron x you #poe x you

[long-bodyswap]

Exchange parts

I don’t have the credits for this story

I watched him flexing his chest on the fly machine and made up my mind. This was the day I would do it to him. It was a Saturday morning at the health club and he was the only other man there. I had seen him before many times. But usually after work, when our downtown club was crowded with the other desk jockeys. Saturday morning was the quiet time. Often I had the place all to myself, the only one venturing downtown for a weekend workout. But he was here today and it was my opportunity. 

I should mention that I am technically "straight". That is, I have never had any real sexual encounter with another guy. But I can spot an attractive man. And I have a particular fascination with penis size. I think this stems from the fact that I happen to be very well endowed myself. Ever since I entered puberty and realized my own dick was growing to huge proportions, I have been obsessed with the subject. Fully soft I hang about 7 inches and frequently sport a semi in the locker room that hangs even a couple inches longer. I also happen to be short, about 5'5", which especially accentuates the size. I'm nicely muscled and have been told I'm cute. My secret pleasure at the gym is being looked at and looking at others. I always check them out and take note of their size.

 He was tallish-not real tall, but like 5'11", maybe 6 foot. Sandy hair, brown eyes in a handsome face. A nice body, no bodybuilder but well-muscled and hard, a broad , smooth chest and a tight, flat stomach. Late 20s-ish, like me. And a little nub of a dick. You know the type, a little head and maybe an inch or so of shaft just jutting out proudly from his groin. Unlike a lot of small hung men, he didn't seem especially self conscious about it. Didn't keep a towel wrapped tightly around him all the time and grab it immediately after stepping out of the shower. But I have caught him a couple of times stealing a perhaps wistful glance at my low hanging dick, the dick which was probably considerably larger soft than he was with his strongest hard on. And those times he did seem to grab for his towel a little more quickly.

Today we finished up our workouts about the same time and made our way to the locker room. Still just the two of us. He entered the shower first. I followed shortly after, stepping in with my dick swinging as usual. I chose the shower head on the far side, directly across from him. He was beginning to lather his broad chest, his little dick poking defiantly down below. Here goes, I thought, and turned my back to him as I began to lather myself.

Soon I knew it was working. As I soaped my dick I could feel it shrink in my hands, shriveling up. Tightening into a stubby little nub. I glanced over my shoulder at him. His back was to me now as he lathered his hair. Then I heard him gasp a little, then moan softly, and murmur, "Oh God." His buttocks tightened a bit. I knew what was happening. For the first time in his life he was feeling the pure pleasure of a jet of water pulsating and cascading down a long, thick slab of hanging cockflesh. He looked down and exclaimed, "Jesus!" as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. I turned around.

"What's the matter, I asked?"

"I . . . I don't know." He turned, arms outstretched. There, hanging below his tight abs, where before there had been a jutting nub, was the pendulous, fleshy dick. My dick. And I sported his little, stubby prick.

He said, "Hey, aren't you the guy with the huge donkey schlong? What happened to that?"

I said, "It's yours. For today. We switched."

I guess I should explain. You see, we men who are very well endowed possess a special power. We have the ability to exchange our dicks with other men for periods of up to 24 hours, giving them to see how the other 1 percent live. You have probably never heard of this before. It's a closely guarded secret. You can imagine how we would be constantly pestered if other men knew we could do this. (There are, however, underground rumors of guys who basically make a living renting their dicks out!)

I had only done this once before. With my college roommate. He was always amazed by the size of my dick so I let him borrow it one night to try on his girlfriend. His dick was about 7 inches hard and hung 3 or 4 soft, so the difference was not quite as weird for me as trying on this guy's dick was. My roommate's dick just reminded me of being 13 again. But I couldn't remember ever having one this small. It felt like I had nothing between my legs at all.

"This is amazing," my new friend was saying, "damn, I can feel it swinging between my legs. I can actually feel this dick hanging off me."

"I guess it must feel quite a bit different for you. I'm Charles, by the way." "What? Oh, I'm Jeff," he said.

"Come here, Jeff, I want to show you something." I led him over to the whirlpool and we both got in. "Right here," I said, "Stand in this spot and let the jet blow on it." He followed my instructions and let out a moan of pleasure.

"Oh God. That feels amazing. I can feel it pushing and pulling at this big hanging dick. It's almost like it's sucking it. God, I never felt anything like this before."

"I can see why," I said. I was standing near a jet myself and could barely feel anything on the little nub dick. Just a tickle. "You never had anything to feel it with before."

"Shit, this is amazing. I can feel it being stroked and caressed by the water. The damn thing is getting bigger." I could see through the bubbling water that he was getting a hard on. I got up out of the tub and stood, just watching him enjoy these sensations that were intensely new to him. As I watched, I suddenly realized that my own little dick was now rock hard. It amazed me how quickly it went from soft to hard. My big dick gets completely hard, but it takes a lot of blood flow to get it there and it goes through several stages of flexible, semi-erection along the way. But this little prick just shot up to full hardness. It stood sticking straight out probably about 4 and half inches, maybe close to 5. I stroked it with a couple of fingers. It felt so strange and tiny in my hands. 

Jeff was fully hard by now. He stood up out of the tub. Hanging heavy from his groin was that stiff, downward curving banana I knew so well. It's full length just under 11 inches, 6 inches around the shaft, 7 around at the base. He walked and felt it jounce and tug at his groin. "Shit, this is just the most incredible thing," he said. "I finally know what it feels like to have a real dick!" He walked over to the mirror and looked at himself in disbelief. "God damn. This is just amazing." He grabbed it in both big hands. "Jesus, I can put both hands on it. And there's still some left over." He stroked it and fumbled with it, muttering over and over about how amazing it was.

"I have to remind you it's just temporary," I said. "It comes back to me at midnight tonight. But I thought you would appreciate the chance to know what it feels like." "Man, I sure do. What can I ever do to thank you for this?"

“Well, there is one thing. This is a different experience for me too and I am curious. What makes a little dick like this feel good?"

 "I'll show you one thing," he said, "I mean, I don't usually do this kind of thing for other guys, but this is a very special situation." He knelt before my, my big dick still bobbing mightily between his legs. He took the hard little prick into his mouth, totally engulfing it. A new wave of pleasure swept over me. This was the one real delight I could never experience with my own dick. No one had ever been able to swallow the whole thing. And especially not with room left in their mouth to flick and tickle it with the tongue. I wondered for a second, Is this really a gay experience? I mean, is it gay sex to be having another man suck a dick that's not really your own? But I quickly gave up these philosophical musings to surrender to the total experience of having my whole dick surrounded by a warm wet mouth. It wasn't long before I came with a frightening intensity. When I started to cum, I jerked the little prick out of his mouth and grasped it with three fingers, pumping the hot jizz from this tiny volcano onto his broad chest.

He collapsed backward onto his hands. "There," he smiled, "you see, having a little one isn't all bad."

Then I showed him how to play with a big one. I taught him my methods of using both hands to stroke the wide, long shaft. How you could alternate between slow, long strokes with one hand on top of the other and short quick ones with the hands on either side. I watched him play with the new toy, experiencing it's awesome size, until he came in a massive flood.

We showered and got dressed. For the first time in his life, Jeff experienced what it was like to try to stuff a 7 inch soft penis into tight white briefs. I explained that this was the reason I always wear boxers and suggested that he "go commando" if he wanted to get the full effect. He pulled on his khakis without underwear and walked around a little. "Yeah, that feels much better. It's amazing, I can still feel the damn thing hanging and swinging down there. I told him we could do whatever he wanted to have fun with his new appendage, but that the one condition was that I accompany him on his adventures. After all, that was my dick he was carrying around.

Our first stop was another gym. Jeff wanted to experience what it was like to strut around a locker room with a penis that was the envy of every other man. I had a membership in the suburban Y which tended to be crowded on weekends, so we went there, had a light workout, and showered up. Jeff got to strut and be gawked at and I had the unique experience of being the smallest guy in the shower. Afterwards we swung through the mall so Jeff could put on similar "performances" at the urinals in public restrooms.

Eventually, Jeff decided he wanted to put "ol' donkey dick" (as he called it) to a more practical test by using it on a woman. I reminded him that we had to work quickly as he would turn into a pumpkin at midnight. He knew a smoky little pick-up bar where we should be able to get some quick action. He explained to me that he and his buds had a scheme they used in this place frequently with great success. "Always find the hot chick with the ugly friend. She never wants to leave the ugly friend alone. So one of you pays attention to the hot chick, one to the ugly friend. You both hook up." He confessed to me that he normally wound up taking the ugly friend. Although he was aware that women found him attractive, he was always bothered by the fear that the "hot chick" would be disappointed with his small endowment but figured that the ugly friend would usually be grateful for whatever action she got. Tonight, bursting with the special confidence of the well hung, he intended to score the hot chick.

Jeff was right. We picked up the two girls easily and had them back to his apartment by 11:00. Mandy was the "hot chick" and Jill, the friend, really wasn't ugly. In fact, she was sort of cute in a mousy kind of way. The girls were already pretty drunk by the time we picked them up. We shared a little more wine on Jeff's big couch and, with an eye on the clock, got down to business. Soon we were all getting undressed. Again I had a pang of apprehension. This was the first time I would ever strip down to reveal a tiny cock. Jill didn't seem to mind. She was very horny, very drunk, and probably didn't expect much more anyway-being short, I noticed that girls are usually very surprised to find a huge cock when I undressed. She took my hard little prick in her mouth. Again I felt the amazing pleasure of having my entire cock engulfed. I relaxed and let my body feel the delight.

Over Jill's head, I could see Mandy caressing Jeff's smooth wide chest. She helped him drop his pants and gasped at the sight of 9 semi-hard inches of cock flesh hanging there, a sound I had heard from many a woman. "Oh my God," she exclaimed. Jeff flashed a proud grin. "It gets bigger baby," he said." Turning to Jill, Mandy said laughing, "I guess you really did get the little one." She was caressing the hardening cock. Realizing that midnight was approaching fast, Jeff wasted no time. He brought the big cock to full throbbing 11 inch erectness, shaking it hard from the base to get the blood flowing as I had shown him. I was getting so turned on just by the sight of him enjoying this. I slid Jill down to the rug, making sure I could still watch Jeff, and entered her. Again it was very strange. Slipping in so easily, without the tight resistance I was used to. Feeling her hot cunt swallow the little prick whole. I plunged and grinded, trying hard to feel something of her insides. Meanwhile, Jeff was struggling to enter Mandy with his unfamiliar tool. "Jeez, I don't think I can take that," Mandy gasped. Again, I had heard that before. "It's okay, baby. I'll be gentle," Jeff said. He thrust into her with a pop. "Oh God," she moaned. "Oh, Jesus," Jeff grunted as he slid deep into her. I could tell he was again feeling something he had never experienced before. Going deeper than he had ever been. Totally filling a woman with man meat.

We had all been going at it for a few minutes. Jeff's face was a mask of unreal pleasure. I felt a tingling down below. Felt myself growing, expanding deeper into Jill's hot cunt. Felt her cunt tightening around me. "Shit," Jill gasped, "the damn thing's growing." I could see Jeff's face. The look of pleasure had been replaced with a look of confused frustration. I could tell what was happening. He was shrinking, shriveling inside Mandy's cunt. "No, no. Shit," he said, thrusting harder and faster. Desperately trying to keep the pleasure going. I came hard, pulling out my cock, now fully expanded back to its normal size, and spewing hot jizz on Jill's breasts as I grasped the big banana at its base. Jeff gave one last frustrated grunt and as his dick popped out of Mandy's expanded cunt. He lay back, the hard little prick standing defiantly at attention. Jill looked at my huge, softening cock hanging over her face then over at Jeff's. "I guess you have the little man now," she told Mandy. "Jesus, what the hell?" Mandy stared in disbelief at Jeff's proud little organ. "This is too freaky. Come on, Jill. We're getting out of here." She grabbed Jill's hand, gathered up their clothes with the other one, and dragged Jill out the door.

I looked at poor sweet Jeff, lying there with frustration on his face and his tiny hard prick pointing toward the ceiling. "Come on, little man. I'll finish you off," I said and stroked him with three fingers until he came.

[quillyfied]

wip wednesday: ever after gomens au 1

eh, here we go, i’ve got quite a bit of this written so i felt like sharing some of it. not sure when it’s gonna be done, but i’m having fun with it, anyway. (Good Omens AU based on the 1998 film Ever After, which is enormous fun and required watching tbh.)

The light blue tunic with rosettes of embroidered pearls felt much too fine for eveningwear, let alone an everyday outfit, but Aziraphale thought it looked rather well on him nonetheless. He spotted a wagon going by with a cage attached to it, and there, crammed in with a dozen other starving-looking unfortunates, was the pale face and bright blue eyes of Newton Pulsifer, the single most unfortunate man Aziraphale had ever known and whom he was determined to bring home. Aziraphale took several deep, quick breaths. Then he quickened his step to catch up, and reached out to pull hard at the bridle of the horse.

The horses whinnied as they were stopped and the cart screeched to a halt. The dirty, ill-mannered man driving the cart let out a yell as he was almost dislodged.

“What do you think you’re doing, then?” the man roared, yanking at the reins, but Aziraphale caught the reins of one of the horses with his other hand, stopping the cart further.

“I’m here for that man,” Aziraphale pointed to Newt. “I wish to pay the debt owed against him.”

“He’s already bought and paid for,” the man spat, tugging at the reins, but Aziraphale tightened his grip.

“I’m prepared to take this to—to a higher authority,” Aziraphale threatened. “Release him now.”

“The Queen herself signed off on it,” the man growled.

“I’m prepared to pay you twenty—twenty-seven gold pieces,” Aziraphale said, and held the pouch up, still slightly damp.

“You can have me for twenty-seven gold, if you’re so desperate,” the man grunted. “Now get out of my way!”

“You dare raise your voice at a gentleman?” a new and unfortunately familiar voice cut into the conflict, and Aziraphale released the reins, at least; the bridle, he held fast to as he turned to see the Prince, looking dry and rumpled, riding forward. His honey-brown eyes glanced over Aziraphale, then looked back again with a bit more scrutiny. Aziraphale ducked his head in what he hoped would be taken as proper etiquette and not hiding his face.

“He’s obstructing the Queen’s business, your Highness, sir,” the man driving the cart squeaked.

“Why?” the Prince asked. The man started to say something, and the Prince cut him off. “Not you, you stay put until I say so. You, sir. Why are you…you know…doing…this?” He gestured vaguely at Aziraphale and the cart and the whole situation as a whole. “They’re criminals, hardly worthy of your charity.”

“To start, one of them is my manservant and I would like him back very much,” Aziraphale said, hoping his tone would stem argument or question for the moment. “And if the others are criminals, they can’t help it, your Highness.”

“Oh?” the Prince raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“Well, sire,” Aziraphale said, his voice breaking briefly, and he took a composing breath and let go of the bridle, hoping the cartman would know better than to drive off before the matter was settled. “If you—if our leaders fail to provide a decent moral and practical education for their subjects, and those subjects fall into the habits required to survive a system that does not support them, is it not the failure of the system and not the subjects?” Aziraphale had to fold his hands into fists to stop him from fidgeting with them and was so bold as to take a step forward. “Could it not be said, then, that you first make criminals and then punish them?”

The Prince’s warm, intense eyes hadn’t left his for a moment since Aziraphale dared to look up at him, and Aziraphale almost held his breath, waiting to see what the Prince’s verdict would be. A strange Prince, to be sure, one who stole peasant horses and didn’t announce himself and gave gold to servants. Who could tell what was to come?

“Well, then,” the Prince said, looking at the cartman. “You heard the man. Release his manservant and be on your way.”

“But—” the man protested, and the Prince raised both eyebrows. The cartman immediately shut up and clambered out of the wagon to unlock the cage and let Newt out.  Newt stumbled like he’d been hobbled for some period of time, and fell into Aziraphale’s arms with a confused grunt.

“Aziraphale?” he murmured, and Aziraphale shushed him.

“Not here,” he whispered. “Meet me by the bridge.” He took a step back. “Very well, Master Pulsifer, glad to have you back. Go prepare the horses, please.” He watched Newt walking the stiffness out of his legs, then looked back at the Prince, who was watching him with a look Aziraphale couldn’t interpret—surprise, maybe? Puzzlement? Wonder? Surely not, that would be incredibly foolish to think, Aziraphale had just scolded him, after all. Aziraphale bowed to him, then walked off, heading towards the bridge.

“Not often you hear a man arguing for human rights in the middle of the palace market,” the Prince said from right behind him, and Aziraphale would deny all semblance of shrieking and jumping, but if anyone were to ask an onlooker, it was akin to shrieking and jumping, if not squeaking and flinching.

“Well, perhaps more should,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, smoothing down his tunic and pretending he wasn’t flustered. The Prince still had stains from smeared apple on his chest, and the barest quirk of a smile hanging around his mouth. Aziraphale stiffened his spine and continued walking. “Perhaps if the people’s Prince thought more of them, they would think more of him, as well.”

“I suppose you must think me quite ignorant,” the Prince said, and Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was a trap or not.

“Well…you did give one man back his life, and I am grateful, but did you look at any of the others?” Aziraphale asked. “Did you think of what lives they must have led, to be sold like chattel by powers beyond their control? The whole business makes me fairly sick with grief and indignation, if you must know.” Aziraphale could feel his cheeks heating. “All people deserve respect, your Highness, most importantly of all those on whose backs you’ve built your kingdom.”

“So not just ignorant, but arrogant, too,” the Prince said, and Aziraphale flinched again. “Relax, would you? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“One…one doesn’t normally say such things to princes,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“Well, it hardly seems fair to have a philosophical discussion when only one of the parties knows the other,” the Prince said, and Aziraphale stopped and looked at him. The Prince was definitely smiling now, possibly in spite of him rather than at him. “I’ve been forced to memorize all the courtiers over the years, and I haven’t seen you before. Or…not at court, anyway.” The Prince’s smile faded to a slight frown, and Aziraphale gulped and kept walking.

“I’m new,” he said shortly. “Visiting my cousin.”

“Who is?” It really was irksome that the Prince’s longer legs let him keep up quite easily.

“M-my cousin,” Aziraphale stammered.

“Are you honestly refusing to tell me who you are?” the Prince asked, voice incredulous and the irritating little smile back, and Aziraphale swallowed hard.

“We’re all known in the eyes of God,” Aziraphale said, biting his lip.

“She’s not in the habit of answering my calls,” the Prince said, and Aziraphale frowned at his suddenly embittered tone.

“I suppose God might be too busy to answer calls,” Aziraphale said, fully aware he was chasing a vaguely blasphemous rabbit hole to avoid the question but hoping it was diverting. “Perhaps She has angels doing Her clerical work.”

“And good deeds in Her name?” the Prince chuckled. “If you won’t give me any other name, then I suppose I shall just have to call you Angel until such time as you find me worthy of it.”

Aziraphale did stop then, staring at the Prince with a slightly-open mouth. The Prince reached forward and chucked his chin, closing it.

“You’ll catch flies,” the Prince teased. “I suppose I’ll be seeing more of you, then, Angel. Since you’re visiting your mysterious cousin and all.”

“I—I suppose,” Aziraphale stammered, and cleared his throat. “If your Highness would excuse me, I—I have things to attend to.”

“Ah, the work is never done, is it, Angel?” the Prince grinned. “Take care not to start a revolution before supper.”

“I make no promises,” Aziraphale said with dignity, and with a bow he walked as quickly as he could away while still being polite, his face flushing hot and breath stalling in his lungs. Did…was he just making jokes? With the Prince of France?

#good omens #quilly writing #ever after gomens au #idek what it's gonna be called yet #here just take it

[great-skies1]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Summary: It’s been a few days since Carmilla has been found alive (or, undead but not totally dead,) and her and Laura share an intimate moment before drifting off to sleep. 

Warnings: Very brief mention of sex

Length: 1.5k

A.N: This is my very first Carmilla fic! I hope you enjoy it as much as I liked writing it. Feel free to leave me a comment if it was your kind of thing, or if you have any constructive criticism. Happy reading! 

I took a deep breath as I flipped the page, letting all of Charles Dickens’ profound words sink in. I have forgotten the comfort and peacefulness normalcy brings, especially when you know your friends and loved ones are finally safe from the mysterious dangers of Silas university. It’s all been maddening, that’s for certain, and absolutely beyond anything I could have ever imagined. In retrospect, even the paranoid attitude of my helicopter Dad could have never predicted what I just went up against. I contemplated turning the page once more and beginning another chapter, but decided against it when I noticed Carmilla causally sitting by the windowsill, gazing up at the sky. 

“Are the stars helping to put things in perspective?” I asked. She was leaning her whole body on the window, causally slumping on the ledge. The soft yellow lighting illuminated her features, making me even more inclined to walk over and take her face into my hands. 

“Just reminding me that we’re never as big or powerful in comparison,” she answered, her eyes trailing over to me. “But on second thought, I think I’d rather stare at you instead, sweetheart.” 

I turned away, pretending her words didn’t make my heartbeat flutter. “How are you feeling though, honestly?” 

Carmilla sighed, standing up from the window’s edge. “Rather secure, now that mother and her Godly light won’t be feeding off of innocent virgins for the time being.” 

“Hey, it’s definitely one heck of an accomplishment,” I said, letting myself meet her gaze once again. “I’m glad we’re all safe and sound though, above everything else.” 

“Me too creampuff. Do you miss Betty at all, though?” 

Betty had decided to transfer to Princeton for the rest of the semester, as she would be far away from the traumatic memories of Silas, her kidnapping and temporary recklessness. I don’t blame her in the slightest, as I would probably do the same in her position. Hell, I’ve even considered it in my position. 

“Not very much, I know she’s a lot happier when she’s far away from this madness,” I exclaimed. “Plus, I think I like my new roommate much, much better.”

Carmilla smirked. “Oh yeah?” 

She walked over to my bed and lightly kissed my forehead, plopping herself down next to me. “I think I might like mine, too.” 

I shifted even closer, resting my head on her shoulder. We sat in comfortable silence for a while, Carmilla periodically intertwining our fingers and rubbing my thigh. I let relaxation fully take over, and felt myself melt even further into her arms. I was nearly fast asleep when she lightly nudged me with her elbow. 

“What do you say we start heading to bed, huh sweetheart?” 

I slowly sat up, blinking wildly to keep my eyes open. “That sounds like a good idea.” 

Carmilla extracted herself from my grip and started to get up off my bed. “Goodnight then-”

“Wait Carm, wait.” 

She turned around. “Can you please stay here, I-I just-t, don’t know if I can stay asleep if I’m alone.” 

Her face softened, and she began pulling the covers from beneath my pillow. “Of course I can.”

I climbed underneath the duvet, with Carmilla following suit. She immediately pulled me into her arms, guiding my head to her chest. I let out an involuntary sigh of relief when her fingertips started running through my hair, making me immediately return to my blissed-out state. As a replacement for the words unspoken, she lightly kissed the top of my head and let her lips rest there for a few extra moments, which sent little bolts of electricity trickling down my spine. I could not help but wonder what it must be like to hold someone who’s living; how my throbbing pulse feels against her smooth, silent chest. To me, her body will always provide the most warmth and comfort - heartbeat or not. 

I felt Carmilla move her arms pull me into an even tighter embrace. I wanted to comment on our sudden closeness, but she spoke before I could even open my mouth. 

“Do you ever wonder if it was enough?” 

I knew exactly what she was referring to - the battle that ended the virgin-eating ritual and her mother’s life. I took a moment to process her question, as the memory of the event is still monumentally intense. 

“I think so. You did it Carm, she’s completely gone.” 

“Yes, but the light isn’t,” she said. “The thing’s a God, Laura, its powers are unmeasurable.” 

“Okay, but we haven’t noticed anything strange yet. It would probably have risen from it’s hole and destroyed us all by now if it wanted to. You really did it Carm, you really saved us.” I exclaimed, looking straight into her eyes. The ground began to shake in another aftershock, causing both of us to tighten our hold. 

“Look princess, you know I don’t like that whole heroic vampire narrative,” she said softly.

“I know, I know, but you found the sword and fought your mother, despite the immediate and obvious dangers. You really are the hero here.” 

Carmilla sighed and kissed my head again. “Well-”

“How did it feel to see Eve again?” The shaking stopped abruptly, and the room became dead silent. We hadn’t talked about Eve at all since Carmilla’s return, and I knew it was a sensitive subject. I wanted to take back my words as soon as I had said them. 

“It was, well, rather bittersweet. Seeing your first love again for the first time in a millennia is incredible, but knowing that you will never truly get to be with her again hurts more than anything. We’re in different worlds now though, and I need to continue living in the one I have found. I’m forever grateful for the memories I had made with her, but now that the centuries of cult mentality driven torture are over, it’s time for me to follow a different path.” 

I reached up to cup her cheek. “I’m so sorry Carm. That must have been awful.” 

“Hey, at least I still get to cuddle up with this cute little detective,” she said, wrapping her arms around my waist. 

“I’m so glad you’re still here, you have no idea,” I whispered against her collarbone. 

“You know, if we’re going to play the whole ‘Who Was More Heroic’ game, we should be talking about you, too. You’re the one who started all of this; you did the research, you assembled the team, and you were the one who finished off my mother at the end, if we’re going for technical accuracies. Those girls would be dead if it weren’t for you.” 

I felt my cheeks getting warm and my heartbeat quicken. Carmilla has that effect on me - always making me ridiculously bashful, especially when she’s being complimentary. I’ve never felt this way with anyone before, and given my focus on school and my father’s complete disregard for privacy, I guess I’ve never really had the chance. 

Carmilla lifted my chin from her collar, forcing my gaze to meet with hers. I closed my eyes, anticipating what she was about to do next. It felt like she took hours to finally brush her lips against mine, but when she did, I was completing intoxicated. We kissed softly, but there was still a desperate need for each other, as hands ran through hair and began trailing down our torsos. But as soon as things began to get heated, we pulled apart, knowing exactly what would happen if we got too carried away. Carmilla tucked a stray hair behind my ear and ran her thumb down my cheek, examining my face like it was the first time she had ever seen it. 

“You saved me, Laura. What you’ve done for me these past few months is far beyond anything I could have ever have done for you. You have given me a reason to continue living, or continue living while dead, which is something I could never ever repay you for.” 

I kissed her again, this time with even more eagerness, trying to convey the message I have always wanted to tell her. “I-”

“Yeah?” She said

“I… really, really like you Carmilla Karnstein. I really do.” 

She kissed me this time, with just as much meaning as the one we shared beforehand. “I like you too, Hollis. I really, really do.” 

We returned to our original position, with Carmilla flat on her back and my upper body snuggled up by her chest. I knew that the words I truly wanted to say didn’t come, but I recognized that tonight just wasn’t the right time. I would say them to her eventually, but right now, our intimate moments are enough to satisfy my longing for romance. We shared one last kiss before I dosed off, dreaming of lavish masquerade balls and two guests dancing the night away in each other’s arms. 

/// Anna

#carmilla #hollstein #lesbian #oneshot #fanfiction #vampire #negovanman #natasha negovanlis #elise bauman #carmilla karnstein #laura hollis

[buriedinbleach]

‘Second Chances’ - Ch.1

Ok everyone, here’s chapter one of ‘Second Chances’ or ‘Kensei’s long ass fic’ as it has become affectionately known. As a reminder, this was originally intended to be part of the Big Bang before I backed out, but I still wanted to give you guys the fic. This was also a prompt submitted by my darling train anon - ILY for blessing me this idea. I had no idea how badly I needed to write this until I got your ask! I’ll trickle out chapters as I can while trying to keep up with the rest of my ask box. My goal is to have all 10 chapters published by June/July, and then hit you with the epilogue on July 30 - for reasons.

I hope you eventually have as much fun reading it as I am having writing it.

Quick reminder of the premise of the fic:

Its a story of finding love in the World of the Living, losing that love, and having to find them again in the Soul Society. How does he find them? How does he convince them that they belong together? Will they ever truly remember him? Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.

*Cut for length, not smut.That’ll come later...

Chapter 1 - A Choice

‘Its ok, Kensei. I’m ok. This isn’t where we end, I promise. Its our new beginning.’

That was exactly what you wanted to tell him, what you planned to tell him, rehearsing it in your head a million times while you waited. Instead, you found yourself unable to form the words when the moment finally came. You could only hope that your reassuring smile conveyed what your throat couldn’t as it tightened in a wave of overwhelming emotion.

Kensei’s pained gaze burned into your bright, glassy eyes in disbelief, unwilling to accept - and unable to process - just how his entire world had changed in mere minutes. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his, inhaling his scent deeply - one last time before you felt an irresistible pull. It was time to go.

Dying didn’t hurt. But this, leaving him and the look on his face, was agony.

***

Kisuke and Tessai always did have a knack for picking up strays - particularly when said stray had exceptionally strong spiritual pressure. You were no different. Another wandering outlier to add to their menagerie. The fact that you were human didn’t matter to either of them, they had Jinta and Ururu after all.

“What’s one more human to add to our merry band of misfits?! Especially when she’s so easy on the eyes, right?” Kisuke had told Tessai - well out of earshot of you - knowing that such a comment would earn him a swift smack to the back of the head. If he was lucky.

Tessai simply rolled his eyes. He never had any intention of sending you away in the first place, it wasn’t like you had anywhere else to go. After he had witnessed you gently persuade Jinta to finally work, your position in the Urahara Shoten - and Tessai’s eyes - was as good as gold. With you around, he was free to focus his energy on keeping the shop in pristine condition, instead of wasting time ‘motivating’ Jinta with thinly veiled threats - very thinly veiled.

Accepting a job with them which came with the added benefit of living in a nearby flat rent free courtesy of Kisuke. You were curious, but never bothered to question why ‘landlord of empty apartments’ fell under his list of mysteriously and oddly successful business ventures. Instead, you chose to focus on the fact that you now had a place to belong, with friends you suspected were a lot like you - a little different.

Urahara’s shop was where you first saw him. Kisuke may have started your life down the distinctly different path you were marching towards now but, as you would soon find out, he wouldn’t be the one to change it. That could only have ever been accomplished by one person - Kensei Muguruma. Even if neither of you knew it at the time.

***

It was a slow day, even by Urahara’s standards. You sat perched on a tall chair behind the counter, passing the time with a new book Tessai had given you, glancing up periodically to watch Jinta and Ururu outside. Jinta’s sudden hysterical laugh trickled in through the shop’s open front doors, and two new voices reached your ears, though they were nearly drowned out by Jinta as he grew steadily louder.

‘Finally some customers!’ You thought excitedly, sitting up a little straighter and looking eagerly out the window when you saw the back of an unmistakable blonde head. Shinji. You sigh, slumping back down in the chair, defeated, turning your eyes back to your book. ‘Nevermind.’ He rarely ever bought anything. Not that you knew of anyway.

Shinji was a frequent visitor to the shop, but always came to talk to Kisuke or Tessai, on occasion you would do if he just wanted to shoot the shit and they weren’t around. He loved to banter, and enjoyed trading jokes and little snide comments with you because you could give just as well as you could take. Shinji relished in those exchanges, finally finding a kindred spirit he could joke around with.

Jinta’s maniacal laugh mixed with the soft tinkling of a bell could be heard as Shinji pulled the shop door closed behind him, grumbling and rubbing his stomach. “Stupid kid… should watch where he swings that damn bat. Hey doll, aren’t ya s’pose ta be watchin’ him?!” Marking your place in the book, you raise your eyes to look at him, preparing a smart remark when you freeze.

Shinji wasn’t alone this time.

“They’re… um, they’re old enough to handle themselves.” You finally sputter out, forcefully tearing your eyes from his scowling companion to look back at Shinji. “Besides, if it means letting Jinta smack you around with his bat, why wouldn’t I let them play unsupervised?” A smile drifts over your lips, your eyes can’t help but glance back at Shinji’s friend.

The scowl had somewhat lifted from his face, softening his handsome features as he stares back at you, studying, unable to look away. Shinji, temporarily forgetting the sore muscles of his stomach from Jinta’s bat, grins wickedly looking back and forth between the two of you before casually speaking again, letting his voice cut through the heavy silence.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you.” Shinji positively beams with delight upon feeling the change in Kensei’s spiritual pressure, the tension rippling from him in waves. “This is my housemate Kensei Muguruma. ___ works in the shop with Kisuke and Tessai.”

Kensei’s deep brown eyes are glued to you again, this time at least he had an excuse thanks to Shinji’s introduction. Absorbing every detail, they come to rest on your lips as you open your mouth to speak. He watches every syllable taking form, falling fluidly from your beautiful lips. “Nice to meet you, Kensei.” Your eyes meet his briefly before you quickly look back at Shinji, feeling the heat rise in your face from the intensity of his stare, praying they don’t notice.

Hearing you say his name would have been enough, but the look you shared? That hit Kensei hard. Just like a powerful punch straight to the gut that nearly sends him reeling. He blinks, forcing his eyes to refocus, to reorient himself in the room - in your presence - only to find himself standing still, with Shinji smirking stupidly next to him.

“Uh... you too.” Kensei grumbled, raising his arm and rubbing the back of his neck, as if it would relieve some of his agitation. You watched, transfixed as his biceps bulged and danced, twitching unconsciously, until he dropped his hand to his side again. Every inch of him looked like it was sculpted to perfection, especially his face. ‘Gods, he is gorgeous.’

You were on fire. Heat flooded over you again, scorching you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head in a violent flash. They must have noticed by now, but you were temporarily distracted from your worry by the strange jerking motion of Shinji’s head. Kensei cocked an eyebrow, unamused with Shinji’s not-so-subtle nods in your direction. Kensei’s hand balled into a tight fist, the leather of his gloves creaking out a warning.

“Uh, right. So, Kisuke here?” Shinji asked, walking up to the counter, leaning casually on one elbow. You stared back down at the book in front of you, willing your eyes to focus on the letters typed across the page, but it was no use when you could feel the intensity of his glare concentrated solely on you. ‘No, I’ve got to be imagining that.’

Snapping the book shut, you look up at Shinji - and only Shinji. “Nope. He’s supposed be back the day after tomorrow.” You hazard a look at Kensei out of the corner of your eye. Just a quick peek, what could it…

Mistake.

Your head snapped back to Shinji quickly, your pulse pounding. Kensei had been staring at you; his eyes sharp and focused, moving over your face and the rest of your body that wasn’t hidden behind the counter. A look of interest, confusion, and something else you could only interpret as judgment painted all over his features. His incredibly gorgeous features…

“Figures. What about-” Shinji’s voice cut into  your daydream, sharply calling you back to reality.

“Tessai too. Why would you even bother to ask?” You watched Shinji closely as he considered your words for a moment, then grinned widely.

“Welp, guess we better head out then. See ya around doll. I’ll drop by when Kisuke gets back.” Shinji lazily informed. He straightened his back, moved like he was stretching then headed for the door, slowly.

As Kensei walked past you to follow Shinji, the two of you shared one last look; your eyes locked onto his, your faces nearly blank except Kensei’s ever present underlying scowl. A flicker of worry crossed your mind, ‘Does he hate me? He couldn’t, we just met. Maybe he always looks like he wants to murder you.’

Once they’d both reached the door, Shinji and Kensei turned back to you to say goodbye when you interrupted. “Watch yourself when you go back outside. Jinta’s swinging for the fences now.”

Shinji turned to look back outside, his eyes narrowing sharply to keep the magenta-haired boy directly in his line of sight. “Right… thanks for the reminder.”

Kensei glanced back at you one last time before pushing the door open, watching you smile and raise your hand slightly in a little wave. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in a slight grin before he nodded briskly and left. You smiled a little wider, ‘Definitely doesn’t hate me... I think.’

They had barely rounded the corner of the building and stepped onto the empty sidewalk when Kensei glanced back, debating whether they had covered enough distance to speak freely. Well, freely enough - for Kensei, that is.

“She’s human?” Kensei asked, doing his best to act casually, but the fact that he’d taken an interest at all had already given him away.

Shinji grinned again, glancing to his right to inspect Kensei, satisfied with his tight-knit, contemplative brow. Shinji watched closely as Kensei’s eyes narrowed in on the empty void of distance ahead of them, clearly lost in thought. He could practically see the wheels turning in Kensei’s mind; cautiously considering, obviously trying to talk himself out of an interest Shinji never thought he’d allow himself take. A human. In the world of the living.

It was too good to let slide. “Yep. And she’s hot, right?”

Kensei pointedly ignored the knowing smile Shinji wasn’t bothering to conceal. His deep voice didn’t betray any emotion, but Shinji could feel the conflict rising in him nonetheless. “Her spiritual pressure… its…”

“Strong, right?” Shinji’s confidence and amusement with his friends rattled state would have been predictable, if Kensei has been paying any attention to anything Shinji said or did at that point. He had ceased caring the minute they stepped foot in the shop and saw you, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “Like-”

“Really strong.” Kensei agreed before slipping back into his own restless, conflicting thoughts once again.

***

Shinji was back two days later, and he wasn’t alone.

Tessai stood in the doorway of the shop, yelling instructions at Jinta and Ururu - mostly Jinta. You were busying yourself by arranging products you had already straightened twice yesterday and once this morning when a shadow crossing in front of the shop caught your eye. You froze, back half bent, eyes wide as saucers as you tracked the shadow’s progress towards the door, before finally catching a glimpse of a blonde head with a short bob shuffling past.

Shinji. His focus zeroed in on Jinta intently until he raised a hand in greeting to Tessai. He was accompanied by a taller silvery-grey head resting on broad shoulders - firmly packed with thick muscle - following a half step behind.

Oh gods. Shit. Shit.

You straightened quickly, heart pounding wildly with a nervous excitement, making your cheeks feel like they were on fire. Smoothing your hair, you do your best to act casual just as the doors opened. “Hey ___-chan. You remember Kensei.” Shinji nodded his head casually at Kensei standing next to him. Kensei’s eyes were unmistakably trained on you and he was trying - unsuccessfully - to look away. “Kisuke here?”

“To what do we owe the honor, Shinji? It’s not every day my best customers drop by.” Kisuke grinned, lazily leaning against the doorframe. His voice betrayed no hints of the sarcasm implied by his words, but you and Kisuke both knew it was there.

Three pairs of eyes flicked briefly in your direction as your muffled giggled cut through the otherwise quiet room. You coughed, ‘pretending’ to cover it - fooling no one - and smiled again, turning your head to hide your amusement.

“Ah, I see. Maybe you came to check out something other than my merchandise? I’m  afraid  ___-chan’s not for sale.” Kisuke’s teasing grin was nothing short of devilish as he snapped his fan shut.

All trace of your smile was gone as you gave Kisuke an exasperated groan, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. It wasn’t the first time Kisuke had used that line, it certainly wouldn’t be the last either. You both accepted your roles in the playful dance he casually choreographed. Kisuke was the ‘flirtatious, cheeky shopkeeper’, while you executed your role as the ‘inexplicably uninterested and hard to get assistant’ perfectly. Much to his chagrin. He wasn’t a bad boss. In fact, you had to admit you enjoyed the camaraderie you’d struck up with him, even if it meant enduring a few teasing comments almost daily.

Walking out from your place behind the counter, you ignore the three pairs of eyes following your every step as you glide effortlessly between them, stopping a few feet away from Shinji and Kensei. With your back to the three men, you crouch down to pet a beautifully sleek black cat that had sauntered inside the shop, taking extra care not to bend over and give Kisuke any further reason to tease you.

Kensei and Shinji studied you carefully, watching you murmur whispers to the cat who seemed enamored with you. A cat they both recognized immediately. Kisuke, however, leaned to the side slowly. He shifted to position himself for a better view as you bent lower, scooping up the cat and standing. The floorboards of the shop creaked with his new vantage, the sound ringing out in the silence, giving him away.

“Kisuke!” You shot him an icy glare as you turned back around, though the slight quirk of your lips in a smile softened the reproach in your voice. Brushing past Shinji and Kensei, you walk towards the back of the shop, the black cat draped in your arms.

“Where ya goin’ doll?” Shinji asked, his voice was as playful as ever. Business wasn’t the only reason he had come back to the shop already, and it certainly wasn’t why Kensei had decided to come with him.

“Training. Well, sparring with Yoruichi and probably losing. Mostly just making myself scarce while you talk… ‘business’ or whatever it is Shinji goes on about when he doesn’t buy anything.” You disappear around a corner out of view in the back, your footsteps echoing on the wood floor.

Shinji grumbled. “I heard that.”

“I wanted you to!” You called back, your voice growing distant as you continue walking. Shinji and Kensei know exactly where you’ve gone - with Yoruichi. They just can’t quite believe it.

“Training?!” Kensei and Shinji ask, their necks practically snapping back to look at Kisuke equal parts surprised and suspicious.

“Yoruichi?” Kensei said in disbelief. ‘She knew that was Yoruichi? What the hell else has Kisuke told her!?’

Shinji watched Kisuke suspiciously, sharing in Kensei’s confusion and apprehension. “How much does she know?”

“Well,” Kisuke rubbed the back of his neck, smiling slyly. “More than Jinta and Ururu,” he dropped his hand and his smile widened as he considered both men briefly. “buuut… slightly less than Ichigo and his friends. For now, anyway.”

Shinji’s eyes narrowed, trying his best to quickly work out all of Kisuke’s potential motives for sharing so much with you. “Why her? We’ve been here over 100 years and I don’t think you’ve ever taken an interest in a human. At least, not to this level.”

Kisuke grinned mischievously, “Well, not that you know of.” He turned his back casually and walked down the hall behind him, knowing they would follow. “Now, what did you two need?”

***

Even while Shinji talked over his plans with Kisuke and Kensei interjected periodically, it was obvious there was something else on their minds. That something was you. Currently underground sparring with Yoruichi. Kisuke, never one to pass up the opportunity to see women in body hugging clothing - or nothing at all if he had his way - was the first to suggest heading down to check out your progress once they had finished. Shinji was only too eager, eager and suspicious to find out what you knew. Kensei, on the other hand, looked a little more… well, unreadable - at best - due to his constant discerning scowl.

They descended down into Kisuke’s training ground, the echoes of distant yells and groans of effort making their way to their ears before the pair of you came into view. Yoruichi looked calm and collected; dodging and blocking your strikes, moving swiftly to avoid one after the other - though nowhere near as fast as they knew she could. You, on the other hand, looked liked every last ounce of concentration and strength you possessed was focused on winning.

There was a playful hint to Yoruichi’s casual tone as she spoke with a taunting smile on her face. “C’mon! I know you’re holding back.” With a broad grin, she smacked your hand away and swept your feet out from under you in one swift motion, sending you crashing to your back with a hard thud.

Narrowing your eyes in a sharp glare, breathing heavily from the exertion, you smiled and hurried to get back to your feet. Your mind worked feverishly, trying to anticipate her next move as she tried to draw you into an attack. There was no doubt that your skills and reaction time had improved after months of training with both Yoruichi and Kisuke, but you were still no match for either of them when they really made their minds up to teach you a lesson.

That seemed to be Yoruichi’s precise agenda the minute you decided to strike at her again.

Oblivious to the studious eyes judging every twitch of your muscles, you lunged forward, spinning quickly to connect the back of your forearm with Yoruichi’s chest. Striking your target with just one hit had made you overconfident though. You bounced on the balls of your feet before striking again, lifting your leg and swinging up towards Yoruichi’s face. But she wasn’t about to let you off that easy.

With stellar reflexes, she caught your ankle before it ever made contact. Realization flashed briefly behind your eyes - recognition of your mistakes - before Yoruichi smiled and gave your leg a harsh jerk, sending you crashing to your back once again. The hard dirt floor was starting to become an all too familiar part of your training.

“Ugh.” Groaning in exhaustion, you let your arms flop dramatically to your sides. “Alright... I think... I’m done for... the day.” You pant, your chest heaves with heavy breaths from the exertion.

“Any interest in a hot sauna? Its perfect for healing those aching muscles and bruises, you know.” Kisuke said, grinning down at you, his playful eyes hidden under the shade of his hat. Startled, you tilted your head back in the direction of the voice and saw him flanked on either side by Shinji, and of course - Kensei.

You sprang up quickly, trying to dust yourself off. Given the way Kensei glared, the way the muscles in his arms bulged as he folded them across his chest, you knew you must have been quite the sight. Of course he had to be there. Bearing witness to Yoruichi toying with you under the guise of ‘training’. The heat of exertion and overwhelming embarrassment felt painted across your face, tattooed on your body like a bright neon sign. You searched for anything to distract you from the heat of Kensei’s gaze.

“Do you ever stop looking for excuses to get everyone naked, you perv?” Oh no. That was entirely the wrong thing to say. Not only were you picturing Kensei joining you in Kisuke’s sauna in all his stunningly beautiful - stark naked - glory, but you were positive Kisuke and Shinji were doing the same to you given the wolfish, sneaky grins on their faces. “Don’t answer that!”

“Nice try, Kisuke.” Yoruichi shook her head dismissively. You could have kissed her for speaking up and saving you any further embarrassment. “You’re getting much better ___. I’m impressed.” You smiled, encouraged by her compliment.  

“There’s no power behind your attacks.” All at once you froze when Kensei’s deep voice cut through the room. It both sends ice through your veins and heat boiling in your core, the contrasting sensations thrilling your body. Every trace of composure you had started to regain after your fight was gone in an instant when he spoke.

You nodded in acknowledgment, dazed. Why did he have to be so gorgeous while critiquing your skills? If it had been anyone else you would have been able to come up with some quick retort. Instead, you stood there like a deer in headlights. Your body was at war. Your mind worked quickly, but it didn’t matter, you probably would have just fumbled over the words and looked like a bigger idiot. Damn him. Why did he have to be so calm and collected right now?

Everyone turned to look at Kensei. Something about the surprised looks on their faces told you that offering unsolicited, helpful tips wasn’t anything Kensei did regularly. Kisuke cocked an interested eyebrow at Kensei, clearly intrigued. “Does that mean you’re offering to help ___-chan?”

Kensei didn’t answer. The wheels turning in his head were already in motion again. The muscles in his jaw were impossibly tight as he mentally chided himself. ‘Idiot! You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Fuck. You tell everyone else to keep their heads down, don’t get involved. And what the hell do you do-’

“I’ll spar with ya, doll.” Shinji winks, grinning back at you. You can’t help but smile.

“Well, you’re all free to use my training ground whenever you want.” Kisuke paused dramatically before looking over at you and Yoruichi once more. “Or the sauna.” You both ignored him, which neither surprised or offended Kisuke in the least.

Kensei had a choice to make. And it wasn’t one he was taking lightly, especially after looking at you one more time. Behind the feigned disinterest you were trying to portray was a clear look of hope.

He clenched his fists unconsciously, considering all the possible repercussions of the decision before him. The leather of his gloves cracks under the strain before he turns his back to leave. “Shinji, we gotta get back.”

You hadn’t noticed you had been holding your breath, waiting for his response, until the air leaves you and you’re left feeling utterly deflated. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting him to say, though you knew what you wanted hear from him. Stealing yourself, you kept the disappointment from showing on your face. Why was he so damn hard to read?

Shinji shrugs his shoulders, about to turn and follow Kensei. Before Shinji could take a step, Kensei turned back around, his heavy gaze settling directly on you - unmoving. “I guess I could help out. Only if I have some free time though.” Without another word, Kensei turns to leave, but not before seeing the hint of a smile play across your lips. He rolled his shoulders back, standing a little straighter - more confident - and looked straight ahead as he walked. Kensei was silently glad that Shinji didn’t catch him smiling before he turned away.

Yoruichi is the only one who catches the fleeting look between Shinji and Kisuke as they share an unspoken thought, following Kensei back upstairs.

#second chances fic #kensei's long ass fic #Kensei Muguruma #buriedinbleach #reader insert #bleach imagines #ao3 #train anon #Urahara Kisuke #yoruichi shihoin #shinji hirako #tessai tsukabishi

[ohhhmyloki]

Dirty Thoughts: Chapter 7

Loki x OC

Genre: romance, smut, fluff (Maybe more? Not sure where this one is going yet)

Takes place post-Ragnarok. The Asgardians are living on Earth. Loki lives at the Avengers compound (Stark Tower), under constant surveillance. The Avengers have agreed to let him on the team pending a trial period. They’ve hired a telepath to keep tabs on him and make sure his intentions are good.

CHAPTER 1   CHAPTER 2   CHAPTER 3   CHAPTER 4   CHAPTER 5   CHAPTER 6   MASTER LIST

7.

Loki held her until she fell asleep--under the covers this time because there was no reason to restrain himself anymore. He’d won his little mortal’s heart and body, though nothing could have prepared him for just how satisfying that would be. How sweet.

Even now, he buzzed with triumph. It was tempered with other feelings, though. Feelings he didn’t want to look at too closely. Regret. Guilt. Dread.

At least she wasn’t stupid enough to trust him blindly. But he couldn’t help wanting that anyway--imagining the pleasure of her unrestrained affection.

Bella sighed softly against his chest and he looked down to make sure she was, indeed, asleep. Her little limbs were heavy, limp. Her face slack and peaceful.

Gods, she was warm and soft. And delicate. He was intensely aware of just how delicate she was. He could hurt her easily--without even trying. There was a bright little bruise on her neck where he’d bitten her. And there would be more marks tomorrow, from his mouth and hands--on her breasts, her hips.

Her mortality was both an anxiety for him, and--unexpectedly--a pleasure. It made him very aware of his own strength; triggered an intense desire to protect. It was a strange and uncomfortable sensation. Oddly arousing, too.

It was ironic that he was the one most likely to cause her harm, if indirectly. Hence the regret--the creeping, persistent guilt.

How long until his past deeds caught up with him? How long until this little romantic game came to its bitter end?

How long until Bella looked at him with contempt and judgment in her wide brown eyes?

He looked down at her again, wondering just what he would do when the truth was revealed. If, in fact, he would be able to protect her at all.

Well, best not to think of that. Better to enjoy himself while he could.

He wasn’t noble enough to reject what she offered. Not nearly. He wasn't likely to get another chance like this one, after all. In fact, he’d wager there wasn't another woman on Midgard who would offer him such intimacies, much less demand commitment. Closeness.

And he might never make it off this ridiculous planet alive, so there was really no question as to whether or not he should take her, truth be damned.

He told himself the betrayal didn’t matter, but there was a persistent ache in his chest when he thought of it.

So, in typical Loki fashion, he tucked the thoughts and feelings away--into the vault where he kept such inconvenient things--and vowed not to think of it at all.

                       …......................................

He dreamed of Thanos and the Tesseract. Of the Black Order and the dark cell where they’d kept him.

He dreamed of Midgard burning, overtaken by Thanos’ armies. Of Thor, fighting for his life. Losing.

And of Bella, lost in the fires.

My fault. It’s my fault!

“Loki, wake up!”

He sat up, gasping, drenched in a familiar cold sweat and heart pounding, eyes burning with unshed tears.

Bella was kneeling beside him, hands on his chest. Her face was streaked with tears and creased from sleep.

The room seemed unfamiliar at first, flooded with sunlight.

“It’s alright,” he rasped, disoriented, “I’m fine.”

“No,” she was shaking her head, clutching at him, “No.”

His wits returned to him slowly. Why was she so distraught? “Bella,” he reached for her, took hold of her arms. She was sobbing soundlessly in terror. “What is it?”

She shook her head again, leaning into him, pressing her forehead against his chest. She was shaking.

He put his arms around her. “It’s alright,” he murmured, “Calm down. Did you have a nightmare?”

Strange. Had they both been having nightmares at the same time?

She didn’t answer--just pressed close and held on. Loki rubbed her back absently, finding unexpected comfort in the embrace--in giving comfort.  His heart slowed, emotional residue of the dream dissipating. It had been a long time since anyone had sought comfort in his arms. A very long time.

It brought back memories of another life-- when his world had been very simple. When he’d known who he was--or thought he did. When he’d been unequivocally a Prince of Asgard: Loki Odinson, God of Mischief. He’d almost forgotten that person; had thought him long dead.

But that part of himself stirred to life again now; a man capable of warmth and affection. A man who could hold his woman and rock her gently.

A man who could love and be loved.

It felt good, touching her like this. Fingers in her silky hair. Murmuring little endearments and rubbing the tension from the muscles in her back.

He was still doing it long after she’d calmed.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

She shook her head against his chest. “Do you?”

He laughed. “Definitely not. I can think of a hundred more enjoyable things to converse on.”

“Such as?”

“How about breakfast?”

“Mm. I’m not a very good cook. I can make omelets, though. Or pancakes.”

“I will gladly eat whatever you place before me.”

She sat up and rubbed her face. Her hair was a mess. “I need a shower first.”

Now that sounded delightful. Bella looked at him, no doubt reading his thoughts. He was making no attempt to hide them.

“You’ll smell like coconut and wildflowers,” she said, lips quirking.

“A small price to pay.” He grinned wickedly.

Loki watched her rise and walk towards the bathroom. She stopped just outside the doorway and stripped off her shirt, turning to look back at him, breasts glowing white in the sunlight streaming through the window. Her nipples were still swollen and very pink, and there were little marks all over her chest and neck where he’d put his mouth the night before.

“Come on then.”

                                        ….........................................

The bathroom itself was small, but the tub was a deep, claw-footed monstrosity with a faded ivory finish. It was more than large enough for them both to stand in, though they could only fit one at a time under the spray of the shower head.

Loki insisted upon washing her, and he took his time with it, lathering his hands first and washing her from head to toe, lingering over her breasts. He soaped them liberally, stroking the little mounds in a slow, erotic haze. Watching the spray run over them in glistening rivulets as he rinsed her. Bending to taste the little beads of water that clung to her nipples.

She was breathing hard and caressing his abdomen, pausing to touch his cock with warm, wet fingers. It stood up rigidly between them, as hard as it had ever been, and he let her stroke it for a while as he suckled her breasts. Then he straightened, slid his soapy fingers between her legs. He used the slippery lather to work her little clit in lazy circles until it swelled and throbbed under his fingers--until she whimpered his name in a high, broken voice and her hand went still on his cock.

Then he backed her under the spray again and rinsed the soap from between her legs, looking down at her as he did it--at her flushed cheeks and parted lips. She closed her eyes as the water sluiced over her head and then gasped when he slid his fingers inside her.

“Ah! Loki--"

“Shh, I know. You’re sore. I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, withdrawing from the tight little channel and pausing to suck the taste of her from his fingers.

And then he knelt in the tub and look up at her, soaping her from ankle to knee, slow and thorough. Then from knee to hip, even slower now, gliding over her inner thighs, fingers dipping into the crease where hip and thigh came together.  And then he stopped, taking hold of her hips with both hands. 

“Spread your legs,” he murmured.

She blinked at him in surprise, water running down her face, streaming from her chin and the tip of her nose. He tugged her closer, so the water was splashing around her shoulders, trickling down the front of her body.

She moved her feet apart and he leaned forward, sucked the lips of her sex into his mouth, pushing his tongue between them to draw on her clit. She gasped and her hips flexed forward. He settled into it eagerly, giving her enough suction to bring her right to the edge in a matter of seconds.

Her thighs began to tremble, small hands clutching the shower curtain, hips bucking.

That's it, he thought darkly, holding her hips as her legs threatened to give out. Ride my tongue, Bella. Come in my mouth.

She whimpered raggedly. One of her hands came to his head, fisted in his hair. Her knees began to buckle.

Don’t fall, he commanded. If you fall I’m going to fuck you right here in the tub.

“Loki,” she keened, panting wildly, “Th-that’s not...a deterrent. Ah!”

She started to crumble and he growled against her sex, pushed her up with both hands. The sound made her jerk and arch into his grip.

“I can’t!” she cried, gripping his hair hard enough to make his scalp sting. He sucked harder, rolling her clit with his tongue. “Ah--Loki--coming!!”

She did fall then, but Loki caught her up again easily, holding her to his mouth so he could keep sucking, listening to her hoarse cries and watching her body undulate as the orgasm wracked her.

When she went limp he let her slide down into his arms and kissed her fiercely, thrumming all over with the desire to be inside her.

“You said...if I fell…” she panted when he released her mouth.

He chuckled. “I appreciate your willingness, but I’d rather have you in the bed. You’ll be terribly bruised if I take you here.”

“Oh.” She gave him that lovely, post-orgasmic look; eyes glazed, face flushed.

“I would enjoy it if you washed me first, however.”

She nodded, “Me, too.”

He stood her up and put the soap in her hands. She washed him with incredible, languid focus, small hands searching his body, learning every inch. Wisely, she left his cock for last. Loki was so aroused by the time she touched it that the damned thing practically leapt into her hands.

“Wow,” she said softly, holding him while he twitched between her palms. “You're so hard.” Her soapy fingers slid along the underside of his shaft and the breath hissed from his lungs. She was holding his testicles with one hand, soaping them very gently. “Does that feel good?” she murmured, looking up at him.

“Gods, yes,” he rasped.

She stroked his cock lightly with her other hand and the combined sensations made him groan helplessly.

“Can I make you come?”

The request was made in such a low, velvety voice--and with such quiet eagerness--that he couldn’t refuse.

Loki nodded and she started stroking him firmly, still cupping his testicles and rolling them in her palm. He looked down at her hands, at the white soap bubbles decorating his cock and her fingers. The pleasure spiked almost unbearably.

“Bella,” he groaned, reaching for her in the spray from the shower head. Gripping her little waist and drawing her closer.

“I can’t see,” she complained, as the head of his cock bumped her belly.

Loki just growled and bent to her breasts, sucking her nipple into his mouth and making her gasp.

Her hands started working rapidly between them, squeezing him deliciously as her nipple pulled tight between his lips.

Harder, he thought urgently, pleasure pooling and throbbing at the base of his spine. She complied, but it still wasn’t enough, so he let go of her breast and leaned back, closing his hand over hers and squeezing hard, pumping for her.

“Loki,” she breathed, watching their hands, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No. Gods! Bella!” he rasped, right on the edge of orgasm. “So good!”

In the next instant he was coming, and his hand went still as the pleasure burst over him in a white-hot flash, but Bella kept stroking, hard and fast, and he heard himself crying out, watched with deep masculine satisfaction as his come decorated her breasts and belly in hot spurts.

Her touch gentled as the orgasm ebbed away, until she was just holding him with one hand, tracing her fingers over the head with the other, gliding through the sticky sheen of soap and his seed.

Loki bent in a haze of satisfaction and kissed her shoulder, shuddering under that gentle touch.  

After a moment she put her hands on his hips and drew him under the shower head to rinse him clean, soft hands chasing the residue away, cupping him with incredible tenderness. Her care triggered a strange, swelling sensation of pleasure in his chest. Made him feel… raw and vulnerable. And oddly peaceful at the same time.

Using both hands, he returned the favor, rinsing his seed from her body.

Then she looked up at him, blinking under the spray of water, and smiled. “All clean.”

“Good,” he rumbled, reaching past her to turn off the taps. “Now we can get serious.”

@the-madness-of-my-name @alexakeyloveloki @carydorse @starscreamloki @fairlightswiftly @youveseen--thebutcher @onlysortofdepressed @unseelie1963 @anakinsone @michellearel1 @sociopath2000 @chatoyant-mirrors @lokis-queen05 @beanie-girl580 @dangerousbluetragedy @queen-of-arda @curlyhair-in-japan @welcomingpayne @bllaackkgliiitterrr @ultramagicaltacofandom @immoralquandary @widowling @wickedscorpio22 @vanessaaaasdfghjkl @babyfrick @instantnoodlese @irondadandspidersoncute @libellums @mcu-lokihotstuff @kayleighfreeman @mysticalobservationlady @kvidaore @everythingg-loki @loki-thor-odinson @thefaceofroyalty @ihavenofilter  @harleykittykat  @magnificentme513 @lokis-sunshine @queerloser17 @the1weliveinnow  @cuteandnerdythings @rockinren66  @sigyn-loki-is-my-heart

Tumblr seems to be having some problems lately. Tags are unreliable, and I think I’m missing PMs as well. Sorry to anyone who isn’t getting tagged properly or isn’t getting responses from me! I would never ignore any of you! 

#loki smut #loki fanfic #loki #loki romance #loki fic #loki x oc #loki marvel #loki slow burn

[annacalvi-no-more-words]

ANNA CALVI INTERVIEW: ‘Rock ‘n’ roll isn’t over – male rockers are’ - 12.08.2018

DAILY TELEGRAPH - Text By Neil McCormick - Photos by Rii Schroer

Five years after the 37-year-old British singer-songwriter’s second album of noirish art rock earned her a second successive Mercury Prize nomination, Anna Calvi is back with a third album.“I have long felt frustrated at the limitations of what a woman is allowed to be, on a very basic level,” says Calvi. 

“Perfect, smiling, accommodating. Why do I have to live up to these ideals because of my anatomy?” Fierce and sensual, timely in its grappling with gender stereotypes and female visibility, it is her most striking work to date. She called it Hunter, she tells me, because “I like the idea of a woman going into the world and just taking what she wants”.

The evening before we meet, Calvi is onstage in the West End nightclub Heaven, dressed in a black designer suit, wielding a red Stratocaster guitar, goading and provoking the audience.She sinks to her knees as she plays, then on to her back, abandoning herself to the strange sounds erupting from her instrument.Anna Calvi: ‘It just has to come out like this hurricane’

During a virtuoso rendition of gender-bending anthem Don’t Beat the Girl Out of My Boy, she releases an operatic wail that convulses her whole body. It is the mesmerising, powerful performance of a woman in her rock’n’roll element.

The next day, in the shabby south London offices of independent record company Domino, Calvi seems an entirely different creature: petite, demure and self-contained. Her speaking voice is high and soft. “I was very quiet as a child,” she says “and I really liked that the guitar could be my voice instead of me.” 

When I ask if her raucous performance style has helped banish her essential shyness, she laughs. “I’ve been waiting for years for that to happen,” she says. “But maybe that’s a good thing. Being introverted means that you have all this energy that’s building and building, like it’s a ball of fire and you don’t know how to release it. Then it just has to come out like this hurricane. For me, that is what being creative is.”

Calvi was obsessed with music from a very young age, yet struggled to identify any female role models. “If you are a woman wanting to find yourself in music, you have to project yourself on to the male story,” she says. “It’s the same for films, books, art, the same for any kind of culture. Women have been made invisible.” 

While writing her latest set of songs, Calvi imagined that her listener was her younger self, being confronted “with a more realistic depiction of the multifaceted woman, the animalistic, primal woman, the messy woman, the queer woman, the woman seeking pleasure without any shame.”

Calvi talks quietly but passionately, in long, carefully articulated sentences. She says that the period since her last album – One Breath, in 2013 – involved a lengthy process of self-examination. “So much of our gender is performed, I feel, it’s very limiting for both sexes,” she says. “As a woman, you’re made to feel your appearance is what you are. It’s what you look like [that counts] and not what you do.

 “And for men, to always be strong, to not be vulnerable or show emotions or talk about how you feel, is such an unrealistic expectation of a human being. It’s literally the opposite of what being human is.”

Calvi’s self-titled 2011 debut contained a track titled I’ll Be Your Man. Her new album opens with As a Man, in which she sings “If I was a man in all but my body/ Oh would I now understand you completely?/ If I was walking and talking as a man.”

“I never felt completely comfortable with being a girl,” she admits. “I found puberty really hard, having a woman’s body suddenly impose itself. As I grew up I came to accept it – I don’t feel trans – but at different times I feel more masculine or more feminine. My sense of identity is quite fluid. Maybe the answer is just not to have labels.”

Calvi was born in Twickenham, to an English mother and Italian father, both of whom are therapists. Her first instrument was violin, and she graduated in 2003 from the University of Southampton with a degree in music. Her inner rocker, though, had been unleashed years earlier when, at the age of eight, she saw footage of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, giving a performance that just “looked and sounded like freedom”. She also cites the Belgian-born jazz composer Django Reinhardt – “who taught me about arpeggios” – and West African music, “which taught me about sweet picking”. 

Anna Calvi: 'Maybe the answer is just not to have labels.’

Until recently, there have been few prominent female guitarists in popular music, something Calvi blames on cultural stereotypes. “I don’t think the guitar is a gendered instrument,” she says. “It’s like cooking – it’s about taste. It’s not like you need giant muscles to whip an egg.” Indeed, she goes so far as to propose that the future of rock will be female. “There is all this talk about the death of rock and the end of the guitar. What I think is dead is this kind of very one-toned thing of straight white men in bands singing about f—ing girls. “A lot of the guitarists making waves now are female and that may be partly because there isn’t a history of the female guitar hero, so there is something fresh that twists and subverts the story. I like to see women playing guitar. Courtney Barnett and St Vincent are doing really interesting things.”

 The real watershed moment will only come, she says, “when we don’t use the term ‘female artist’ anymore. Because women are a gender, they’re not a genre.”

In pop terms, Calvi was a late developer – she didn’t release a solo record until her 30s. She had “a phobia” about her voice and didn’t sing at all until her 20s when a fascination with Maria Callas helped her to develop a powerful, almost operatic, range. “Now, my guitar and my voice both speak for me, and on Hunter they are trying to express a sense of freedom and wildness and something visceral, this idea of breaking through any kind of restraint.”

At school, she wondered whether she was gay, but thought perhaps her feelings related to “having no boys around”. Then, at university in Southampton she had “a few boyfriends” followed by her “first experience with a woman”. It was a confusing time. “We were literally the only queer people that I had ever seen, just me and my partner in the whole college, that was it. I wish I could have experienced those feelings without questioning what it means. And worrying that it [was] wrong, and feeling shame, and dealing with all these external forces that aren’t actually to do with the relationship.” 

She has never hidden her sexuality but admits to “feeling nervous” before her first album came out. “I felt it was incredibly queer and I just didn’t want to be defined in that way. But to my surprise, no one seemed to pick up that all my songs were about women.” 

One Breath was written just as an eight-year relationship was coming to an end. “I was hiding behind the lyrics a little, I didn’t want to talk about our break-up, which isn’t really the best thing when you are trying to write songs. But this time I was like: have it all!”

 While working on Hunter, Calvi began a new relationship with a French woman, living in Paris and Strasbourg. (They are now in Clapham, south London.) “It was a new beginning, in all kinds of ways. After a really long relationship, you have to kind of rebuild yourself. The music came through that.”

The album is peppered with images of Eden and Paradise. “I was trying to find a way of being happy after a trauma,” says Calvi. “Eden represents the idea of utopian love.” She laughs, as if she finds this thought inherently ridiculous. “In a way, belief in love is belief in God. It’s very optimistic to imagine that somebody can save you from yourself, but we all believe it and I find that tragically beautiful, because I believe it too. When I see my girlfriend, just seeing her makes me feel more hopeful about things, but the truth is, everything gets worse and we die.”

Calvi’s best songs strike an unusual balance between opposing qualities, plucking something life-affirming out of cynicism, nihilism and fatalism. Those opposites are also evident in Calvi herself; so quiet and intense offstage, so wild and free onstage. 

“Maybe this is a bit fatalistic but I always think ‘if this is the last thing I ever do, the last record I ever make, the last performance I ever play, how do I want to go out? How do I want to leave it?’” she says. “There is a bit in Don’t Beat the Girl Out of My Boy that I have to sing very high and very loud and I can’t do that without completely surrendering myself, where there is absolutely no space left to think or be anything other than that note.

 “And that is what I want music to be. It is really liberating and exhausting. And a bit worrying. After I sang it the first time, I thought, ‘S—, now I have to do that every night. What will be left of my body and mind by the end of this?’”

#anna calvi #hers #quotes #feminism #queer #queerart

[de-boeldieu]

My Aviation Films List

I know some of you might be wondering why I did this to myself, and the answer is simple; I’m bored and I like movies, and I stumbled across so many films that I felt it was my duty to watch some regardless of quality. Oh boy did this prove to be a challenge.

There were a total of 22 movies on the list. Two films I was unable to watch Journey Together ( 1945 ) (anything on the film seemed to be lost, unfortunately), and a 30 minute Hitchcock French propaganda short called Bon Voyage ( 1944 ) (version I watched was slightly screwed up, and some of the English subtitles were translated incorrectly).

However, I was able to watch every other film on the list! Granted, completing this took a LOT longer than I anticipated.

I’m not quite sure how I should go about writing, but I suppose I will rank each film to my own personal opinions of what they were like, with a brief summary, and any small notes I had whilst watching. If you’d like a more in depth summary or any additional details I had while watching the film, ask me, or look the name up if it interests you.

Also I’d just like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH to anyone who takes the time to read some of these. You’re ace.

In order, from my favorite to least favorite:

1. La Grande Illusion ( 1937 )

Oooh my god you guys, this film made me cry so hard. Trust me, the dramatic music on the title card is there for a reason. A French film set in WWI, where French pilots get captured and sent to German POW camps where they make attempts to escape. It also has low key socialist sentiments. Some parts are a little cheesy because it’s a 30s film, but still amazing.

The only thing I was not terribly fond of was the last half hour or so, just really wasn’t my thing. But overall? Absolutely brilliant.

2. Dark Blue World ( 2001 )

A Czech film about two WWII Czech RAF pilots and their friendship, both loving the same woman. This one will also make you cry. Really beautiful film.

I was super worried that the romance in it was just sort of going to be thrust in there, but it certainly was not. Drama was great and all the characters were super memorable and had their own personalities. Highly recommend this one.

3. Riders In The Sky ( 1968 )

Another Czech film about WWII Czech RAF pilots. About the dynamic between a bomber crew and how they cope with the war, and the Battle of Britain. It’s adorable and I highly recommend this one too.

4. Into The White ( 2010 )

A Norwegian movie based on the story of how an RAF bomber crew and a Luftwaffe bomber crew both get shot down in the middle of Norway, and then had to learn to get along and work together to survive. What a wonderful film. Some parts can be predictable, but as a whole good. An interesting character study. Also it gets bonus points from me because it has a ginger, Scottish RAF Air gunner.

5. Wings ( 1927 )

A VERY long silent film. Takes place during WWI, two American fighter pilots, both in love with the same girl, and another girl is in love (requited) with one of them. About their rivalry and friendship, and how they deal with training and the war. The training scenes were delightful. I was worried I was going to get bored, but it was actually super excellent (and sad too). The camera work was brilliant and the musical score was amazing. It also has the first ever on-screen same-sex kiss. A really great film, even if silent films aren’t your thing, there’s SO much drama in this one. If you already love silent films, you will adore this movie, but I’d recommend it to most anyone.

6. The Dawn Patrol ( 1930 ) & ( 1938 )

About an RFC commander during WWI, who is distraught over casualties, an RFC captain, and his friend. The captain lashes out at the commander over the casualties as well after the death of a friend. Eventually the captain replaces the commander and starts to understand the stress of the job the previous major had, as his friend begins to lash out at him.

I thought it was an interesting take on both the pilots and the authorities in the RFC during the war. Both provided interesting perspectives.

I can tell you right now, unless you’re dedicated like I am, the 1938 version of The Dawn Patrol is MUCH better than the 1930 one. I’d recommend watching that version, if this movie interests you.

7. The One That Got Away ( 1957 )

About the only Luftwaffe pilot to ever escape from British POW camps. Usually I’m very wary of films that have WWII German characters, but this was very well written and remained predominantly neutral through the whole thing. Lots of clever escapes. If you like Luftwaffe pilots, escape films, and / or old movies, you will adore this film.

8. The Dam Busters ( 1955 )

A damn fine film. About the invention of the RAF “bouncing bomb” used to destroy German dams in WWII, and the RAF Squadron that flew the Lancasters to drop them. The writer of the movie was R.C. Sheriff, the original author of the play Journey’s End. Really enjoyed every aspect of the movie, my only complaint is that it was dreadfully long. Overall, a good movie, if this sort of thing interests you.

9. One Of Our Aircraft Is Missing ( 1942 )

Hands down the most intense opening scenes I had watched in any of these movies. About an RAF bomber getting shot down over Nazi occupied Holland, and they have to escape to England without being caught.

I remember being really engaged in this movie and I quite enjoyed the witty British banter. A good movie, if you like old ones.

10. La Grande Vadrouille ( 1966 )

A French WWII war comedy film about two Frenchmen who help a British bomber crew who crashed in France escape to Britain. Very strange? But also funny? But also a little dated but also incredibly hilarious? I was just really intrigued by it honestly. Reminded me of a few Monty Python sketches, despite this film being made years prior. You will either really enjoy it or not at all, but if it interests you, I’d recommend giving it a watch.

11. The Eagle And The Hawk ( 1933 )

Takes place in WWI and is about two American pilots, and various other ones, and how the war affects them, some more than others. I remember this movie surprising me quite a lot, which I think is good for a war film dealing with the sudden deaths of your comrades. Good movie, although not as well executed as The Dawn Patrol.

12. Reach For The Sky ( 1956 )

This one is LONG. About Douglas Bader, pretty much. A cute film though. You will like it if Bader or famous World War aces are your cup of tea.

13. Aces High ( 1976 )

So this movie was based off Journey’s End, except with aeroplanes. It also draws from Sagittarius Rising by Cecil Lewis (a book I’ve been meaning to find and read). If you know the plot of that play (and now more recently a movie), you will know the plot of this movie, except the names are changed. It’s a character study of three RFC pilots during WWI and the life expectancy of “Green pilots” AKA newly trained pilots.

Was a cute movie, not as good as the Journey’s End film from this year however. A lot of awkward silences and I really didn’t understand why? There was also a L’Armée de L’Air Officer who was having NONE of the British banter.

But if you liked Journey’s End and wished there were more pilots then you will enjoy it. The movie might be an interesting watch for those of you who are fans of the original play and / or movie as well.

14. The First Of The Few ( 1942 ), also titled The Spitfire

About the invention of the Spitfire fighter plane. Good if you’re really into aviation. Really liked the witty banter, however.

15. Johnny In The Clouds ( 1945 ), also titled The Way To The Stars

A romance drama. Takes place during WWII in Britain. Initially about two RAF pilots, one married and the other one with a girlfriend that he goes through a serious of hardships with. Then the 8th USAAF come, then it’s about two USAAF pilots and one RAF one, and the widowed wife. One of the USAAF pilots looks and acts like a Tarantino character. Really boring until the Americans come. I’d recommend this to people who like period romances and dramas, but the cultural stuff between the Brits and Americans was pretty good. An alright movie that takes a little bit to get into.

16. Memphis Belle ( 1990 )

REALLY CHEESY. About 8th USAAF in Britain, the bomber crew of the B-17, Memphis Belle. Except it’s not actually the crew, it’s just characters based on them. I remember the dialogue being cheesy, but still somehow better than Flyboys. Also felt pretty entertained the entire thing. A nice detail I liked was that all the bomber crew had their own individually painted A-2 jackets. Characteristic of mostly American bomber crews, and I thought that was a unique touch.

If you like cheesy, feel-good, American WWII movies, you will really like this film.

17. The Red Baron ( 2008 )

About Manfred von Richthofen. Not super accurate, but a decent amount of research done. I remember it being boring, but some of the camera shots were beautiful, looked like paintings. Boring though.

18. Angels One Five ( 1952 )

About an RAF Squadron during the Battle of Britain, except it’s more about the superior officers in that Squadron rather than the pilots. Boring, but the camera work was super high quality for a 50s film? There’s a scene where a Hurricane crashes into a base home. But mostly just officers talking and ordering folks around.

19. Twelve O’Clock High ( 1949 )

Incredibly dull and boring. Nothing but USAAF generals talking, then a bomber scene that was also boring. Flat, bland, and uninspired camerawork. Would not recommend.

20. Flyboys ( 2005 )

I’m sure many of you lads have seen my rant on this film. It’s an ugly, awful, waste of film. I can’t describe the plot of the movie, because there really isn’t one, except that a group of American volunteer pilots, called the Lafayette Escadrille, go to war. That’s it.

I found myself either laughing or yelling at the absolute ridiculousness of this film. It’s dreadful, but depending on your sense of humor, it’s VERY entertaining.

Would recommend watching it drunk, for an even more enhanced experience. I’d also suggest it if bad, horribly inaccurate, and ridiculously American action movies are your thing, you’ll have an absolute blast.

Thank you so much if you took any time to read even just one of these. I super appreciate it, this list was loads of fun and a rollercoaster of emotions. Thank you to those of you who enjoyed hearing my ranting about these bloody things.

#AHHHHH ITS DONE LADS #FINALLY #its been MONTHS im so sorry #what a fantastic journey this has been #i am not a critic these are just my opinions! #anyways i hope this was at least a very interesting read #c’est moi

[acollectedconsciousness]

His agency was done for. Done. Just completely and utterly over. Marl Tethgers looked over the ridge down into the valley and thought if he didn’t have something more important to do right now he’d have an “accident” perfectly right here. It was only a short rocky trip down the edge before he’d be bludgeoned by the beach below and then everything would be over. All problems would be solved.

But he couldn’t. He had shit to do.

Now how in the fuck would he negotiate this?

His walkway was narrowing quite a bit and the zig-zagging of how the path was cut into the slope was tripping his vertigo hard. A few times he’d stop and rest holding himself against the slope to his left that he’d just climb down.

Just a few more feet and he’d be at the river’s edge.

Tarnished reputations. Men trying to satisfy their fragile egos. Bosses. He hated bosses. Especially right now. Bosses got to gamble away everything and left you there at the bottom rung—yeah you—having to figure out the mess. That’s what this was. Sending him on a goddamned fact finding mission to look at a fucking spaceship of all things.

Allegedly.

He could still be forking through all of this terrain for absolutely nothing too. He was over it. He hated being there.

He figured once he got down to the river he’d take a big break. He owed that to himself. He could eat the hamburger he’d been saving all morning—an act he felt proud of. Maybe smoke a little. Then before long be back on his merry way. As far as these missions went this one wasn’t all that bad even though he wanted to be home.

He finally hit the water. Ahh. Felt good.

Took a nice big deep swell of the fresh air. Ah so clean.

Arched his neck down at the water.

His reflection undulated and rippled the edges of his outline which made him look incredibly frightening. Man even like an alien. All wobbly and distorted and black and gray and with glowing eyes… Hold on—glowing eyes.

As Marl considered the question he raised his head and felt a leathery gray hand with fingers long like tentacles curl over his right shoulder. It was almost like a horror movie scene but before he could look back and say something stupid his body checked out hard and he fell forward face first into the beach.

It was later and the sun shone in his eyes. His face was flecked in sand particles and leaves. He tried to move but couldn’t. He looked to see his hands tied to a tree. He struggled but couldn’t and instead for some reason he tried to call out for help.

No you idiot. It might make them come back.

I know. I’m just panicking.

In front of him was a ship. It was about 20 feet long and seemed made out of metal. It was triangular in shape. And was docked to the ground as opposed to hovering which he found rather odd but then again his real extent of UFOs was pretty much YouTube videos and TV shows. He’d never actually read a book on the subject. He tried to once when he first started out with the society. On the ninth page he was done. Couldn’t get into it—which would’ve said something to most people. But Marl here wasn’t most people.

Now he was tied to a tree in the middle of the woods seemingly being abducted by an alien life-force.

He was every way scared and every single horrible thought he could think of hit him all at once. He tried to block them out—the probing, the being dissected, being cooked, human zoos. He was losing his shit. Literally. Nothing like being tied to tree after messing your pants. It didn’t feel good and he felt very pathetic in that moment. One of the things you would keep out of the story when you made it back—if you made it back. He was getting ahead of himself. He needed to find a way to get out of his bonds and make a break for it. They didn’t feel like any crazy alien-tech-type shit. They almost felt rubbery like a band of some kind. Like an exercise band. The ones people use to stretch with. Look it up.

Hot damn! If that was all it was then he could make the slip easily and hopefully before predator came back and turned him into a human trophy.

He strategized the best way free himself was a good old wiggle—and he started to, twisting and turning the night away as best he could. It became intense. A full on gyration at one point. He wiggled his little heart out until he couldn’t anymore. He took a few deep breaths.

Thought he’d give it another try. If the last wiggle episode lasted not that long his second attempt lasted a third of that time. He was tired and out of shape and needed a cola.

His eyes danced around like slot machines. He scanned over everywhere. Nothing. No one. He was screwed. Effectively.

But he needed to get his ass in gear here. Time to figure a way and make a break now.

Marl had 15 different options working against him in varying ways of expediency and/or lack of. He was tied to this damn tree and unless he had a way of moving it he was going to have to look for a way of getting loose of this exercise band.

Think Marl think. C’mon old man you can do it.

Jezus Christ yea right bro. You couldn’t get yourself out of a paper sack with a hole in it. You think you can thwart the design of an intergalactic intelligence now. Tall order bro.

I got to do something.

Marl-

The fuck. Was. That?

Marl we’d like you to follow us.

I would if I could but I’m stuck—

Stuck. No you’re pig-tied to a tree getting sap all of over you.

Would you shut up. Did you hear that voice?

Yeah. Who the fuck was that?

I don’t know.

While Marl’s thoughts were swirling he again began the forbidden dance of gyration/wiggling on the tree. This time he was going to do it though the back chaffing he was starting to feel was not helping him at all.

Valentines Day is coming up.

Ok can we just work together please.

Marl lumbered and he sweated and he wiggled. Boy surely he did.

It would’ve been quite the sight to see and he would’ve welcomed the chance to frighten hikers if they were to pass this way, is how desperate he was at this point flailing and struggling like a mackerel caught on a fisherman’s line.

TAPTAPATAPATAPATATAPATTAPTAPATP!

What was that?! he both looked and said at the same time.

Up the tree no higher than the first meaty looking branch was the tiniest woodpecker he’d ever seen in his entire life. It tapped again and again and he felt the pinging in his head. Wishing that thing would shut up and fly away the perfect idea—one that would totally work and be his ticket out of here—struck him instead. And then a big ass acorn did.

He felt woozy and his head fell forward as he clinged to consciousness wondering about the size of that acorn. More importantly he was wondering about the brilliant idea he just had—would it work? And what the hell was it again?

Shit. He lost it. All thanks to that goddamned acorn. He looked at it gaining his bearings again.

Something strange about this acorn he thought.

It was darker first off. It was far more egg-shaped than your typical acorn. He wasn’t quite sure if acorns could grow to be about the size of a bowling ball like this one. It seemed to be made of leathery material and scaly which again he was no expert but surely couldn’t be right. No if he were to make an educated guess he would’ve said this was actually some type of egg. Maybe though. I mean what type of animal could lay an egg like that—

And then it hatched.

His look of "oh shit!" was one of the more expressive and depressing in the history of people giving oh shit looks. It wasn’t like my god he proposed; more like a shit I cut too much off.

He had more than enough reason to be. Things had definitely taken a turn.

The leathery egg shell split in random shapes and as they fell away from the structure they broke free from they tethered back to it in goo that looked like maple syrup with cat hair in it.

Echoing the fears of many in similar situations Marl’s first thought was panic that this thing was a velociraptor.

He’d been deftly afraid of dinosaurs from a young age. He thought it was because he almost choked on a brontosaurus toy when he was younger but his mother of course objected to that because it was actually a toy car.

Either way this could go multiple ways of bad if what was hatching from this egg was anything other than a sweet magical unicorn—all though their horns are sharp.

Hey it’s almost Valentines Day

Would your shut up about that? Why would I care whether or not it’s Valentine’s Day? I got bigger problems. Understand?

I’m trying to help you.

With what? Valentine’s Day. How?

His last Valentine’s Day was spent wondering the deep bowers of the local supermarket for chocolates. He was there with his lady of course so it would be an even more expedient gift exchange. Surfin Safari played over the PA in a rare muzak version. It still had that flat feeling to it. Like looking at the 4th version of a picture of the galaxy out of a toner-challenged photocopier.

He was there for what seemed like eons. They’d run into the mayor of Cordelia the small town he lived in which was not far from where he was tied to that tree.

He remembered how funny it was when the mayor paid for their drink and didn’t leave a donation when asked as he ran his card. Shouldn’t politicians be aware of how that could look? Doesn’t that kind’ve hint at privilege? Maybe in his mind he was insecure about his role in society and felt it wouldn’t be seen as being authentic. More than likely he didn’t care. Why was that sticking with him now?

What is so important about him? Where was this train of thought heading if not off a cliff into looney land?

The dude wore a ball cap. Nothing odd about that. Had a trout sewn onto the front. He did look like a fisherman in how he stood. Kind’ve hunched but still and straight enough. Like it was easy for him to stand like that for long periods of time. Oh yea he was carrying a book. What was the name of it again? They were talking about it. It was what’s her name’s favorite story.

The pea-sized gears in Marl’s head started churning very slowly.

They looked like he did when getting out of the bed every morning. Groaning, pained and holding their lower back while letting out huge exasperated breaths. Sometimes tripping over themselves and hitting the ground causing a compound fracture in his right forearm.

The name of the book? It was geriatric. Old novel. Written by that one guy—the great American author named after a town in England.

He began blurting out the names of English towns. Or towns he thought were in England including New England.

He then devolved into characteristics from movies set in England like the fact that it always seemed foggy over there. He thought of Piccadilly Circus. But no the guy’s name was not Piccadilly anything. Fog made him think of something which brought him back to the ever-hatching egg in front of him. What if this thing was a werewolf?

` Did werewolves have baby werewolves via egg, he wondered. Was that even a thing or was he mistaken (not shocking). They were people first so it must be passed through the bloodline and it’s like a human born with a trait. Oh like in Teen Wolf. Or An American Werewolf in—LONDON!! Hot damn—JACK LONDON!! That was the name of the author. The book was Call of the Wild. Of course.

He was elated and felt himself lifted by a heavenly cloud and bathed in beautiful celestial light. Tears fell down his cheeks and he let out one of the top 5 best smiles of satisfaction known to Man. He looked radiant and felt even so.

Call of the Wild. Ah satisfying… Now what the fuck does that mean?

Panic dropped on him like a cord-cut elevator. He had no idea why that was supposed to be helpful to him. The vibrant color washed away from him. The radiant light he bathed in shut off with a wheeze and a cough. He was no longer floating. In fact with his luck you could say he was actually now sinking. And sure enough that’s what was slowly going on.

Quicksand wasn’t something a 40 year old male rarely prepares himself for. Even one with such an exotic title of Lead President of UFO sightings. His title was admittedly not really thought out. He put the “Lead” in the title. For a human who’s intelligence was made up of pop culture facts and history and a passion for bringing pogs back to prominence along with the sophisticated palette that could tell you when the whopper was seasoned proportionately with the dressing boy he’d sure been asleep on this one. How the hell did one get one out of quicksand? After of course becoming untied from a tree? If of course the werewolf velociraptor egg hatching in front of him could somehow be avoided?

Marl realized in that moment he did not know much. He did know one thing: he needed a cola. Badly.

So when last we left Marl he was in quite the prick-tickler: tangoing with death in varying ways with two left feet and the mental capacity of a battery.

Marl had felt challenged at times in his life sure just like everyone did. But this was about five townships beyond his wheelhouse and he was starting to feel as though he was licked good for sure here. Old Marl was getting uncomfortably close to having a powwow with his maker unless he could somehow shake anything from that ever-barren fruit tree of a brain trust he’d relied on over the course of his almost four decades on this planet.

Something about that book. Call of the Wild. And how would he break free of the exercise band or whatever it was. Calling on his keen strategy he deduced that getting himself untied was the first order of business. The quicksand would work itself out later. The creature birthing in front of him he’d table for the moment but respond to in due time.

Call of the Wild.

How could that help? He needed peace and quiet. He needed to meditate on that. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He felt himself pulling back from his own body like light fading into darkness. He felt his mind stabilizing. The chattering was identifiable and distinct and punctuated by growing patches of silence. He was getting there slowly but surely. He was being escalated in spirit up a large mountain capped in snow but it wasn’t cold it was soft and furry and felt like gold if gold felt like warm butter which is what it feels like. It wasn’t oily. It was only magnificent. This was it. He was here. The top zone. Nirvana. Enlightenment. Here it came. He felt like he was light.

Holy fucking shit, he sang.

He thought he saw cotton candy clouds part. As they did an angel—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—looked down upon him and reached towards him with the ethereal hands of a goddess. They glowed and somehow still looked like they were back lit. The lighting was something out of a hallmark movie. And there it went—he touched her hand and his skin sizzled with glee and he felt himself embraced in a cloudy snuggle which felt like he was being hugged by 20 puppies all at once. The angel lady in all her beauty lowered her head to his and puckered her lips. Here he was—he wasn’t just achieving enlightenment he was going to straight up French kiss it. He readied and she came closer and he smiled and—

TATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAATATTAATATATATATATATATATATATTATATATATAT!!!!

Nirvana folded up and left faster than a sketchy-looking travelling circus and Marl’s eyes shot open as he felt himself instantly transported back to where he was. He had problems he could see that were not held up on him zoning back to make out with angel babe. That baby was a-comin’.

His rapid response was to kick the egg away which could’ve helped if his legs weren’t now submerged in quicksand. Back to the drawing board. Untie himself.

How would he do that—tatatatatatatatatatat! That damn bird. Ttatatatatatatatatatat! Could he shut the fuck up so Marl could think? Tatatatatatatataatatatatatatatatat!

Hot damn! Marl had himself an idea. Like a light bulb in his head. Or a sparkler. What about getting that damn woodpecker to cut off the band around his hands? Shit it would be perfect.

For some reason he thought of The Eurhythmics hit ‘Walking on Broken Glass’ in that moment. Crap what he would do for some broken glass right now?

Anyway that woodpecker would be perfect if he could peck the wood perfectly where he was tied. He wouldn’t even be able to repeat that back to himself but he still had an innate sense of the idea. Now how does one call a woodpecker exactly?

Too complicated for the brain trust who was almost flummoxed by tinker toys growing up.

How about whistling? There you go.

He started to whistle at the bird. The bird didn’t care and after a while started jackhammering the wood. After a moment further Marl’s whistling and the pecker’s wood hammering were combining into a very catchy beat. Exasperated Marl gave up. He was done for. Poor old Marl.

In a lot of ways Marl should not have been in this predicament or in this place for that matter. The only reason a Lead President would get sent on a field assignment in the UFO hunting trade would be lack of funds and they were bleeding out like a stuffed pig. Marl had to do a lot of the work himself in order for publication to happen which wasn’t a guarantee. The magazine they would publish with all of their findings had seen its circulation dwindle from daily to monthly and finally choked its way down to quarterly.

They had a website now defunct after the web tech bolted. The company was really just him and three other people—one his co-captain who was the reason for the magazine losing business (he became too political as they put it) and two younger guys who really had no idea what they were supposed to do and mainly did shopping and food runs or procured office supplies when needed. They proofread each issue before it was published too. That would only take a couple of slow hours.

Their intrepid UFO hunter was not Marl. That belonged to Sky Johnson. Sky Johnson had been following UFOs for years since he was a kid and he and his dad Buck saw one. They listened to radio signals from the sky. Tracked down leads. For the years Sky was associated with them the magazine was hot shit.

Then Sky disappeared.

After that the stories stopped and so did the interest. Sky was never found and his stuff became that of urban legend. The magazine was accused of pulling it as a stunt. An investigation ensued.

By the end of the whole ordeal the magazine was DOA. This was Marl’s last big chance to see the last 15 years of his life not wasted and going down the drain. Unfortunately he had failed. And he had failed big time.

Sky would’ve known how to get out of this. Sky would’ve never gotten into it in the first place. The egg cracked loud and it sent Marl back to his present reality. It vibrated and another piece cracked wide open. Marl watched in horror. A winding leg shot out from the egg and touched the ground. To Marl the leg looked like a black tent pole and collapsed like one as it crooked and set its foot (?) onto the dirt.

Marl now horrified started fighting again hoping to get out of his restraints. Now more tent pole legs were emerging from the egg all originating from a point within the egg where the body would be located. Then that emerged.

Marl sat for a solid minute looking at the thing trying to figure out how to even believe this was real.

Thing. That’s sure as hell what it was. A spidery-looking thing that was black as pitch with hard leathery shells on its back. It had a face and it had fangs above teeth and he thought about how not nice it would be looking out from the back side of those teeth after becoming a meal. Oh it was extremely aggressive. It roared terrifyingly loud and small sounding like a small dog when it tries to growl. It’s hi-pitch hi-toned. Marl was getting deeper in the shit.

He was tied to a tree sinking in quicksand with a crazed alien spider baby eyeballing him for lunch. He needed something right now. Nothing short of an act of god was going to help him. Good ol deux ex machina would hit the spot.

The spider baby recoiled getting ready to pounce at Marl’s neck. It readied, steadied and shot—

It was in Marl’s mind that he saw the image of this wildlife magazine photo he’d seen once of this innocent mother deer surrounded by a pack of hyenas looking at its children who its sacrificing itself for who’ve just escaped. She looked in the moment when the photo was snapped with a hyena inches away from biting her neck so graceful and at peace with what was to come. Marl thought of himself now in that regard and tried to mimic it as best he could. He was that poor deer he told himself. Here it came.

But it didn’t. The was a blast. Marl didn’t want to open his eyes and see it. Metal became unsheathed somewhere and clanged hard against something. The tree shivered then the exercise band fell free along with Marl’s hands and he sunk into the quicksand instantly like flushed shit.

Globs and globs of sand got into his face and eyes. He bobbed around becoming submerged and feeling himself floating down. He felt something grab his outstretched arm and tug it. He felt himself being pulled and the quicksand became like water and sand being dumped on your head. He didn’t worry—whatever was grabbing him felt smooth. Actually it felt human to be honest. He managed a smile—then his hand slipped and he felt lost again. The slush started moving differently running up and not down. He was sinking.

Enough with this he thought. I’m just going. He stopped fighting and let himself sink like a stone.

But it wasn’t going to let him go and like most things tend to do this wasn’t going the way Marl thought it was going to. He felt himself being pulled again. This time even harder and faster. It was like the quicksand was draining away from him now.

Before long he could feel himself back in the light breathing clean air, completely saturated in quicksand and mud. Hands and arms dragged him and settled him onto the solid ground where he was lying out feeling the sun. He had been saved. Saved by who though?

Thought I was goner said Marl.

Thought you were too.

Marl’s eyes opened in disbelief. He looked up at the form standing over him.

Sky?

Like angel babe but in real life Sky seemed to emerge from the rays of the sun crouching down in front of Marl. He looked angelic. His eyes were beaming.

I’m back old friend.

Wha-what happened to you?

At that moment Sky told him they’d have to wait until later. In the meantime Sky would get Marl out of here. There would be many many people who would want to know what Sky knew. Good and bad people. He and Marl would have their work cut out for them scout’s honor Sky had said.

For more info about what Sky said see it in our next issue of Sightlines, the leading publication about UFOs and other strange sightings!!

#story #write

[chokememrstark]

Requiem Of Memories // Part 10

Ship: Samifer (Sam Winchester / Lucifer)

Words: 2434 (Chapter 10 / 15)

Fic Summary: After their kiss, Sam feels very strange and goes to sleep. Still, he returns to Lucifer during the night and they have a rather interesting and nice chat. He can't help but wanting to be near Lucifer it seems.

angst, hurt & comfort, alternative universe, au!lucifer, mourning, depression, blood and gore, nightmares, loneliness

Note: I highly recommend to read Nightmares Become Reality before this, otherwise the premise of the story and the setting might not make much sense.

Tagging: @shebahda @sassysupernaturalsweetheart  @spnyoucantkeepmedown   @brieflymaximumprincess  @kajuned @archingangel @this-darkness-light @secretlydaydreaminglifeaway @humongouscandycoffee

If you want off the tag list or want to be added, just drop me an ask or IM!

Read on AO3!

It felt like an eternity that they kissed, but for Sam it couldn’t have been long enough, especially when Lucifer relaxed and actually kissed him back. For this short period of time, Sam felt like crying from the sheer intensity of emotions. There was something so painfully familiar about their touch that Sam’s heart ached when Lucifer eventually pulled away. It was like he lost something precious that he might never get back.

For two whole minutes the two simply looked at each other, Lucifer visibly shocked from what had just happened between them. The longer Sam looked at him, the more he succumbed to the creeping up horror and fear inside of him. His face felt incredibly hot while the rest of his body was freezing cold and his chest tightened so much that he could barely breathe.

“I’m so sorry, oh god....” even Sam’s voice was just a shadow of itself, crackling and pleading desperately. “I didn’t… I mean I did, but I didn’t mean to… I…”

“Sam, breathe,” Lucifer said forcibly calm. “It’s all good, really.”

“No… no no no!” Sam gasped breathlessly. “I… I shouldn’t have done that! I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I didn’t think at all… that was so uncalled for!”

“You didn’t stab me, Sam.” This time, Lucifer sounded much calmer and even smiled at the hunter softly. “It was a kiss, not attempted murder.”

“But it wasn’t right !” Sam insisted, running a hand through his hair desperately. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. How could this have happened? And why now, in this completely impossible situation? Sam felt so awful he thought he would throw up at any given moment.

“It’s all good, I promise,” Lucifer assured the brunet and laid a hand on his cheek. Sam looked up almost panicking, his eyes wild and wide and completely out of himself. Lucifer’s expression softened when he looked at him. “Maybe it’s the blood loss, but that was actually very nice. I already feel a bit better now. Apparently your saying to ‘kiss it better’ actually works.”

Sam could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his hands tingling and as much as he tried to concentrate, the humming sound in his head was overwhelming. A part of him wanted to kiss Lucifer again, but another part wanted to run away as fast as he could and hide in a hole somewhere for the rest of his life. This was surely the most embarrassing thing he had ever done in his life.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Lucifer continued, his thumb gently stroking over the stubbled skin on Sam’s cheek. “You had a very eventful and rough day, maybe it’s best if you go to bed now.”

In lack of a verbal response, Sam just nodded. He could barely fight the urge to lean into Lucifer’s touch and it got more and more difficult with each passing second. When Lucifer stood up, Sam followed him immediately, the angel’s hand still on his cheek and his eyes still looking into Sam’s own, making it unable for the hunter to break eye contact. He could have stayed like this for the rest of his life and he wouldn’t have complained, even if the mere thought was hideous.

“You were really amazing today,” Lucifer said and, much to Sam’s surprise, leaned forward for another kiss. It was short and gentle, almost like a piece of satin brushing over Sam’s lips, but it had a very similar effect as the first. Sam’s knees became weak and he only managed to support himself by holding onto the other’s arm. He hadn’t felt like this in so many years, he couldn’t understand what was going on. When Lucifer broke the kiss, a faint smile decorated his lips. “Go and get some rest, we can talk tomorrow if you want to.”

Sam couldn’t answer. Again he was reduced to a weak nod when Lucifer retreated his hand. For a moment he wished that the angel wouldn’t go, that he would stay with him and that they’d talk now, but he knew this was a bad idea. He was exhausted and conflicted, his shaking hands alone were proof for that. So, instead of asking Lucifer to stay, as his first urge had been, he walked over to the bed and laid down.

Despite not thinking he would find any rest for a long time, Sam was out within a few minutes already. In the end, it had been a rough day, even if he wanted to deny it. Between the worry about Lucifer and their kiss, he had also met this world’s version of Meg and probably lost some of his mind on the way too, while he was at it. After all, he had just kissed Lucifer! Lucifer, the literal freaking Devil of this world and the reason it was in ruins. And still, it had felt so amazing, hadn’t it? Sam couldn’t explain why he felt so much bliss during the short touch of their lips, or even more when Lucifer had done it again . He should feel scared and awful, but he didn’t.

Sam fell asleep, but his mind couldn’t forget what had happened before during the whole time. He kept thinking, kept wondering what had happened that he suddenly felt the urge to do something stupid like this. Maybe it was just his sheer exhaustion and unstable state in the end, it could be. But why did it feel so good then? Was he really so lonely that he did something like this just to feel a little better? Or was he so relieved that Lucifer would survive and so touched by his words that he forgot everything else around them? When Sam woke up a few hours later, he still had no answer. His head hurt and he still had a hot knot in his stomach that made him want to scream, but he didn’t know what on earth had gotten into him to do something like this.

After laying there and staring at the ceiling for a few minutes - which was difficult because it was still dark outside - Sam slid off the bed. He stood there for a whole five minutes to decide what to do next and what he came to do was probably even crazier than their kiss. For the first time since he was here, Sam walked over to the door that Lucifer had said led to his own bedroom and knocked on it. There was no reaction at first and Sam was about to give up already when a faint ‘Come in!’ reached his ears. Slowly he pushed the door open and peeked into the room.

“Lucifer?” Sam knew he acted very intrusive right now, but he couldn’t help it. “Is everything okay? Do you need something?”

It took a moment before the darkness was lightened up by a lamp next to the bed, but when it did, Sam saw Lucifer sitting on it and looking at him.

“I am fine, thank you,” Lucifer said with a warm smile. “What about you? Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah, a little,” Sam awkwardly scratched his neck and looked up. “Hey, can we talk for a moment? I mean, if you have time of course.”

“I always have time for you, Sam;” Lucifer said and patted on the big spot next to him on the bed. “Come inside. I hope you’re not surprised, this room isn’t very luxurious sadly.”

Sam nodded and followed Lucifer’s invitation. He didn’t bother to look around much, even though he noticed that the room was indeed rather shabby and empty.

“About last night,” Sam began when he sat down, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry, really. I shouldn’t have kissed you, that was very inappropriate and rude.”

“I told you already that it’s okay and I meant it,” Lucifer insisted, still smiling. “You forgot yourself for a moment, nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have done this.” Sam shook his head. “I don’t know what got into me, it just… happened.”

“And?” Lucifer asked, drawing Sam’s gaze up to him. “You could have done worse, Sam. What you did was worry about my health and you did everything in your power to help me, which I am very thankful for.”

“And I kissed you without your consent.”

“So did I after that,” Lucifer smirked. “We’re even. And now stop blaming yourself for every step you make, it’s not going to help you in any way.”

Sam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was glad that Lucifer wasn’t mad at him, but how could he stop being mad at himself for doing something stupid like this? It wasn’t as if this had been the first time, really, and all because of some flowery and charming words?

“In case you are worrying,” Lucifer continued after a moment of silence. “You are a good kisser, so I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

“You… what?” Sam’s voice died in his throat and he felt his cheeks becoming hot again.

“I think you heard me,” Lucifer chuckled. “It’s all good, I am not mad at you and I am glad you were here to help me when I came back. This fight was awful and I don’t know if I would have made it if it weren’t for you tending to my wounds.”

“But… you’re an archangel,” Sam mumbled, a little confused. “Couldn’t you have just… healed yourself?”

“Of course,” Lucifer smiled. “But even an archangel can have a hard time recovering when they were attacked by three dozen angels at the same time. Our power is like a battery and if we use too much of it, we have to recharge.”

That made sense, but it was hard to believe for Sam that he had actually helped Lucifer. Maybe he assisted him a little, but he had freaked out basically while doing it.

“I’m glad you are okay now,” Sam eventually said, looking down at his hands. “Meg was really worried too.”

“Ah yes, Meg.” Lucifer leaned back into his pillow. “She’s a very loyal one, but a little reckless at times. I hope she wasn’t too mean to you.”

“No,” Sam quickly shook his head. “She was actually rather nice! I mean, after a while. Just like our Meg, kinda…”

“Your Meg?” Lucifer asked and Sam turned around with a smile.

“Are you that surprised?” he asked. “I mean, she was different and all, but their personalities are rather similar.”

“So, your Meg is a little annoying demon too?”

Sam had to laugh at this, as it was a kind of fitting description of the Meg he had known. The most fitting part being annoying, especially when she had possessed him.

“She was… unique,” he eventually answered. “At first she was really nasty and even possessed me, but she… kind of turned? I don’t know why, but she changed. After the apocalypse she was different.”

“What happened?” Lucifer wanted to know amused. “Maybe I can use it to help with mine too.”

Sam’s gaze turned a little sadder and his smile vanished.

“It ended,” he simply said. “She was on our Lucifer’s side when the apocalypse was going on, that didn’t help her after we jumped. Another demon took over hell and everyone who was loyal to Lucifer had a very bad time after that.”

“She’s very loyal indeed,” Lucifer said. “Mine is too. She can be annoying, but she is still young. Out of all my demons, she is the one who stayed most human.”

“Why that? Do you have any idea?”

“I assume you know how demons become demons? Souls being tortured and corrupted in hell, the whole ordeal?”

“Yeah, I heard of it,” Sam huffed.

“Well, Meg wasn’t like that. She died when she was only eighteen, suicide.” Lucifer shrugged at Sam’s surprised glare. “She didn’t even get tortured much. It only took a week until she changed and became a demon. I think that’s why she is still very human inside, there was not enough punishment to fully get rid of it.”

“Wow, that would answer some questions,” Sam mumbled. “Our Meg was able to show compassion by the end.”

“Yes, she can do that here too. But mostly it’s directed at me, don’t ask why. I have no idea.” Lucifer laughed awkwardly, something that made Sam’s stomach tingle slightly. “She’s a good one though, very reliable and strong.”

“She’s nice, yeah,” Sam smirked. “I like her.”

“I think you’re the first human she likes too, in a long time at least,” Lucifer nodded. “She told me what you told her about my other demons too, how they treat you.”

“Oh,” Sam’s face flushed even worse than before now. “I… I didn’t mean to complain or anything, really. It just came up…”

“No, it’s okay,” Lucifer raised a hand to prevent Sam from interrupting. “I’m glad I know and it will not happen again. You are not a threat, you are not a spy either. You are my guest and they will treat you with respect or suffer the consequences. My home is yours now, Sam.” Lucifer gave the hunter the most affectionate and gentle smile he had seen until now. It made his whole body feel warm somehow. “No harm will come to you here and this is not their decision, it’s mine and mine alone.”

“I’m flattered,” Sam said honestly. He was a little embarrassed, but that Lucifer actually cared for this matter was very moving. The angel was full of surprises it seemed, but most of them turned out to be very nice ones in the end.

“I am very content with you being here, Sam,” Lucifer suddenly said, which pulled Sam out of the strange mesmerized state that he had slipped into. “You are special and you are unique to this dying world and having you by my side is a new experience that I enjoy very much.”

“But, I’m just me…” Sam muttered.

“And ‘just you’ is what this world has never seen before - what I have never seen before,” Lucifer smiled. “You told me you were never born in this world and now look what it has come to. Your world is different, you saved it countless of times. Your world is alive because of you.”

Sam had never thought about it this way before, after all it was very narcissistic to claim that he was the savior of the world and mankind. The world wasn’t alive because of him, or not?

#samifer #sam x lucifer #sam winchester #spn lucifer #requiem of memories #multi chapter fic #myfics #chapter 10 #angst #this one is rather fluffy tho #kinda XD

[hooksandhappyendings-blog]

Her Master and Commander: Chapter 12

No curse AU smut. The infamous Captain Hook buys a pleasure servant to keep him company on a long journey, only to learn that she is a princess, sold into slavery by an evil queen. A dark!Hook fic.

So first of all I am not technically back yet. GoT season isn’t quite over so I’ll be working on Jonsa fics for a bit longer, but this insane idea came to me (because I possibly have a brain tumor or something) and I knew how much you guys deserved this.

As for what this is... I have no fucking idea. By far the most fucked up thing I have ever written in my life. In fact, I have read a lot of fanfiction and I am confident in saying it is definitely up there with most fucked up of all time. This is like some cheese-before-bed-while-on-period-hentai-sex-nightmare shit. I cannot express to you enough how intense this is. There is something wrong with me. I don’t even expect anybody to like this because it’s so out there but whatever. I accept the shame.

WARNING: This fic contains severe dubcon, extreme penetration aided by magic so like this is no your average EP, not exactly a enema but like pretty much only more fucked up and THERE ARE NO TAGS FOR THIS FILTH and I am so so sorry. Expect the worst and feel free to bail at anytime.

Btw, I know this is not how anatomy or physics or fucking eclipses work but I really went high fantasy with this one so deal with it.

This fic is also available on ff. net and Ao3.

Chapter 12: That’s Some Fucked Up Black Magic

Months past on the Jolly Roger. One morning Emma came of the captain’s quarters to see snow falling from the sky in magical little flurries. In the distance she saw a white strip of land passing by. Killian told her it was Arendale. Emma furrowed her brows. Arendale was more North than the Northern kingdom. Where could they possibly by headed

Weeks past, then months again. The days rolled on, tumbling sunrise over sunset into the perilous beyond of an apparently empty sea. It was cold for a long time. Every night the chill would seep into Emma’s bones and Killian would stay up all night tending the fire.

Finally, after at least an entire season, the weather started to turn. The sun grew hot and bright and the clouds parted to reveal a clear sky. Emma now found herself sweating through her corset in a way that made her feel awful. Instead she wrapped her breasts in muslin and wore one of Killian’s black shirts with the sleeves cut off, secured at the waist to a red skirt with a large brown leather belt.

The heat persisted for a few weeks until finally the crow’s nest announced the appearance of land. Emma dashed up the steps to the upper deck and as fast as she could take her. “Where are we?!” she gasped at the captain.

Killian was smiling happily. “Can you see it in the distance?”

She looked. Far off on the horizon Emma could just see something glimmering like a star. “It’s... shining.”

“Yes. Gold tends to do that.”

She looked at him in confusion.

“Emma, have you ever heard the legend of El Dorado?”

She scoffed, “Of course. It’s a myth sailor’s tell in whorehouses.”

“Aye. A myth. That’s what I thought. But, turns out,” he said, taking a swig of rum from his flask, “I am the greatest pirate on the high seas. And many years ago I discovered the city of gold.”

Emma watched the sparkle in the distance grow brighter. “Is it all true? They practice black magic?”

“Aye. The El Doradians worship ancient heathen gods of rage and sex. They’re rituals involve rape and blood sacrifice. It is a very dangerous city. We’ll have to be careful.”

“If it’s a dangerous city then why on Earth are we here??” Emma bit out spitefully.

Killian sighed, brushing his nose with his thumb. “The truth is Emma, I bought you for... a nefarious purpose.”

Emma sent him a sarcastic expression, “No.”

“Indeed.” Killian said seriously, missing her insinuation completely, “The pleasure of gave you, the countless orgasms, long, excruciating orgasms--”

“Yes, captain , you are very talented.”

“Well it was supposed to be a ruse so that I could use your body for an ancient and powerful ritual that would involve impregnating you with dark magic producing a monster that will defeat my greatest enemy.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yes, it’s rather gruesome. But the good news is I won’t have to hold you down because I have thoroughly seduced. Aren’t I clever?”

Emma slapped him hard across the cheek, “You tricked me! You made me think that you cared for me!”

“Emma, I do care for you!”

She went to slap him again but he caught her arm with a dark look in his eye. “Clearly not as much as your revenge.”

“Did it ever occur to you, princess, that my revenge is the same thing as your safety? With the Dark One dead the Dark kingdom will fall, along with it’s prince. Your parents will be free of their deal and you’ll be free to marry who you like.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma begged, “I know that this sounds like an easy solution but dark magic isn’t the way. There are always consequences.”

“Emma you don’t understand. El Dorado isn’t another kingdom, it’s another realm. It’s rules are different from the Enchanted Forest. Here, there is no dark magic, only black magic. It’s powered by there gods who aren’t evil here, but revered. It’s how their society works. Anger and lust are virtues here.”

With an incredulous look she implored him to tell her what he was leaving out.

Killian scratched behind his ear nervously, “The thing is... they’re a tad misogynist.”

“How misogynistic?”

He winced, “According to their religion women were put on earth to sexually please men. It’s what they do, all day, everyday, anytime they’re desired. They also operate on a caste system, so some women are considered communal property and can be taken by anyone at any time. The result can be... a bit disturbing.”

“So they’re just raped in the streets?!” she said in horror, trying not to be aroused by the idea. Killian had turned her into a very sick girl.

“Well, not all the time. There are flowers that grow everywhere called fire flowers. Their magic causes men and women to crave sex constantly. If they go without it too long they get violent. Which isn’t good since the flowers also case men to have fifteen inch cocks.”

“No, they don’t.” Emma said rolling her eyes. The light had grown dark with dusk approaching and the gold light was getting closer by the minute. “That is a myth that lady’s maids tell late at night because they are silly little girls. A man couldn’t fuck any woman with a fifteen inch cock.”

“They can with magic. When women step on this island their bodies change so that they can take it.”

“But it would hurt!”

“Well I hear it’s a little difficult to breathe if you don’t arch your back enough but I assure you it’s quite pleasurable. Imagine your favorite spot lining your walls all way up to here.” He slid his fingers from her crotch to the spot just below her cleavage. Then he grabbed her puller her to him facing out. He put his hand on her stomach, “You see, their pregnancy ritual is unlike any other. The man needs a long cock so that he can cum directly inside the womb.”

“That is not how the human anatomy works!”

“It is here.” he said insistently. “He then fills the womb with so much come her belly starts to bulge. He fucks her some more and the flowers make pain cause pleasure so he makes her come which hurts more, which makes her come until finally he fills her with as much as necessary. Now he can barely fit because her ass is full too.”

“With what?!” Emma shrieked.

“Come! On the island men can come continuously for half an hour. He puts a couple of liters in her ass before he starts filling the womb. She has to be completely full until she looks around ten months pregnant. In a month she’ll be ready to give birth, usually to quadruplets.”

“That is the most repulsive thing I have ever heard!”

“Don’t be silly. I told you, pain brings pleasure here. You’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Emma turned around “What the hell makes you think I’m doing that?!”

“Emma, we have a solution to all our problems. We love each other, the ritual is harmless and notoriously enjoyable. There is no reason why we can’t make a monster who will destroy both the Dark One and his wretched son. I can take you home and--”

“And what?! And I can marry you?! Hook I can’t marry a pirate, what good would that do my kingdom? You’ve murdered, you’ve destroyed villages. You’re a criminal. You can’t sit next to me on the throne.” Emma blinked. How had those words come out of her mouth? It felt like she believed them, but how could she? Her parents had taught her that love was more important than anything else, but was the love of her kingdom more powerful that her love for a pirate? The look on his face was heartbreaking. He looked as if she had struck him. He was shocked. Did he believe what she said?

After a moment, Killian’s face grew dark. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and walked her briskly over to the railing. “The sun is setting.” he said, “The next time it rises it will be nothing more than a ring of gold and will stay in the sky for a month. Tomorrow we will perform the ritual which will likely take all day. You’ll be pregnant for a month, and then you will give birth to a magnificent beast capable of destroying our enemies. If you resist, I will tie you down. If you somehow cause the ritual to fail, I will spend the next month fucking you with my fifteen inch cock and I will fill you with so much come you won’t be able to physically move. Do you understand?”

Emma gulped. What had she done? The pirate had gone mad with jealousy. She thought of a place fueled by black magic. It would make him worse. More angry. More violent. A month was a very long time. But she had nowhere else to go.

KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEK

El Dorado was truly incredible. Emma marveled at the architecture. Great pyramids made of gold soared high into the sky. The streets were filled with vendors selling strange meats and gorgeous fabrics. Everything was adorned with gold and jewels. Killian took her to the top of a pyramid where he had rented a beautiful apartment. She explored the rooms that wound through the top point of the pyramid. It was an incredible place. The bedroom had a large balcony that looked over the city far below. As night fell, the lights on the ground shined brighter than the stars. This realm was much more advanced than the Enchanted Forrest.

She managed to drift to sleep, reluctantly sleeping Killian’s arms. She tried not to acknowledge the hope in her heart that the foolish pirate’s plan would work. But what would she have to go through to get it.

KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE

The next morning Emma woke to darkness. She walked out onto the open balcony and breathed in the cool springlike breeze. The weather was perfect here. In the sky was the sun concealed completely by the moon save for a thin rim of gold. She had been dressed in a humiliating garb. She wasn’t allowed anything but band of gold medallions around her waist holding up two thin swaths of fabric, one for the front, and one for the back.

Killian had said he would be walking in the pleasure gardens which were filled with fire flowers. Apparently it would only take a few hours for his body to change. Hers was changing too. He’d filled the entire room with the bright orange blooms. The men felt rage and lust, but she felt no anger. Only the endless stream leaking out of her. She felt empty. Her body ached for stimulation. And just then, he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“Killian--”

With a growl the captain pulled Emma onto the bed and put her on all fours. “I was thinking, perhaps the reason you don’t want to do this is because you actually want to be with Baelfire.”

“Killian, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, it doesn’t sound so ridiculous to me. I mean, he’s a prince. Prince’s are gallant and honorable. They do don’t to their princesses what I’m about to do to you.”

She heard trouser come off and felt the head of an enormous cock at her entrance. She cried out in fright, “No! Killian you can’t! That’s... that’s...” He chuckled darkly, straightening his back, “Too big for you? Yes, it is. It’s astoundingly large, isn’t it? Four inches thick, at least.”

“Hook, there is no possible way that I can take that without pain. It will kill me!”

He laughed, spanking her hard, “Pain feels like pleasure. And your body has been altered. Your anatomy is different.”

“This is insane!” she sobbed.

“This has to be done,” Killian lined himself up and guided her upper body down to the mattress. Emma took a deep breath. “You need you arch your back.” he said, forcing her into an extreme position.

He forced his bulbous head past her lips and she immediately felt the stretch. She sobbed. “Shhhh...” he cooed, “It’s alright, you can take it. I promise it won’t hurt. You’ll feel it, but it won’t hurt. You’re very wet.” She whimpered as he forced himself deeper. Inch by inch he penetrated into the depth of her body. It was as if his cock never ended. She felt him press against a wall of resistance and she winced at the pleasure pain it caused. Her body was quivering around him. “I-is that all of it?” she asked hopefully.

“No. It’s only half.”

She cried out as he pushed past the wall, somehow going deeper than should have been possible. Emma was making helpless noises now. They were loud. It was an agonizing feeling to have a four inch wide, rock hard cock buried at least elbow deep. How was she alive? How did it not hurt? She could literally feel him in her stomach. She was stuck like a pig, completely unable to move her body, too overloaded with physical sensations to move her limbs. But most shameful of all, the amount arousal that was pouring from her body was immense. Her thighs were dripping like a leaky faucet. Her walls were pulsing and aching for him to move. “No more!” she begged. “Arch your back more.” Emma moaned as he pushed the last few inches in. “There you go, princess.” then he burst into a fit of laughter, “Darling, you’re so full. Tell me how it feels.”

Emma tried to respond but couldn’t speak. Every time she took in a breath she could fell cock pressing against every single part of her. He spanked her several times until she said, “I feel stretched!”

“Can you move?”

She shook her head.

Killian laughed giddily. Without warning he pulled out and slammed his cock into her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. He fucked her deep and fast, making her bottom half slam into his hips hard enough to bruise. Her eyes rolled back into her head at the pressure instantly started to build but he stopped after just a few seconds. She sobbed at the lack of sensation. She wanted more. He spanked her several times, the tight sound echoing around the walls. “This dirty pirate is going to fill you with his come until your body runs out of room. And then your precious prince can have the filthy rag that’s left.”

He wasted no time in fucking her like a fucking machine. It was surreal. Her body was somehow taking him, but just barely. He was pounding into her so hard and so fast she felt like nothing more than an abusable toy. The pressure suddenly exploded inside her and she came so hard she thought it would literally kill her. As her body shook uncontrollably her pussy clenched around his massive cock and water poured from her like a river. The pleasure inside her grew until the spasming muscles became blindingly painful. When it finally released her she gasped desperately for breath. Killian didn’t stop fucking her for even a second. He brought her to orgasm in just seconds, this one just as painful as the last, and fucked her through it, sliding through her clenching walls in a way no human man should be able to. The pain felt like pleasure indeed. Every time his cock would push extra deep it would trigger another orgasm and another until they began to overlap. Her body fought it like pain which made it agonizing, but as soon as it stopped she wanted more.

When Killian turned her on her back he slowed down. He kissed her passionately and said, “Watch.”

Emma looked down her bare body to where is join hers. He very slowly entered her and her eyes widened as she took in the sight. His cock was as thick as his arm and as long as a small sword. She trembled around it as it went deeper and cried out as her stomach bulged with it’s girth.

“Look at that.” he chuckled. There was nothing but a sick darkness in his voice and eyes. He pushed in further and angled up so that the bulge forced her back to arch. She moaned pathetically.

“It’s feels too big. I feel like I’m going to burst.”

It feels that way but you won’t, I promise.” He then began fucking her slowly, never taking his eyes off the moving bulge that proved his utter domination of her body. Sometimes he force her into an arch just to hear her beg for mercy. He fucked hard until he was ready to come and then he quickly put her back on all fours. Somehow, his cock slipped easily into her virgin ass. Her body shivered as he pushed it in halfway and with a few pumps began to release his seed.

His body spasmed endlessly and Emma began to panic as she felt the amount of hot come growing steadily inside her. Deep inside, in a foreign place, she began to feel full. He had said she needed to take two liters, but she didn’t know how much that was. The presseure built gradually until it was making her wince.

“I’m getting full.” she said worriedly.

“It’s alright,” he grunted, “It won’t hurt. Men and women from our world do something similar without the magic of pleasure pain. You’ll be stretched to your limit but you’ll be fine.”

As minutes past she felt her stomach stretching. She gasped when her hand felt the bulge growing in her belly. “My stomach! No more, please!”

“It’s alright Emma. You can take quite a bit more.”

He filled her, stretching her insides with a warm pressure until it felt like her gut was full of lead. There was so much in her it was as heavy as a bucket of water. Finally he pulled out and let her fall to the bed, but not before forcing a soft plug into her ass to keep it in. Emma slowly struggled to roll over. Her bowels were filled to bursting. She could barely move but managed to sit up against the ornate pillows of the bed. She put her hand on her stomach and ogled in amazement. How could there possibly be that much come inside her? It looked as if she were five months pregnant.

When she looked up, Killian was stroking his already hard cock.

“No!” she cried.

“Emma I have to fill your womb now.”

“With as much?” she asked, lip trembling.

“Twice as much, I’m afraid.”

“But I can’t! I can’t take you like this!”

He walked over to the bed and kissed her hard. She kissed him back, hungry for his lips despite her hate. When they parted he growled, “I will not let Baelfire have you. Now, get on all fours, it will be the best position for you.”

Emma sighed, but obeyed. There was no point in resisting now. With a full belly she rolled over and pulled herself up, sticking her as in the air for him. This time he could barely force himself in, her insides were so full of come,  but when he did he wasted no time. She could feel his long cock fucking her deep. Amazingly the pain from his immense girth pressing against her full bowels just made her come. When the pleasure resided the pain returned and sent her spiraling again. Sh came hard and saw nothing but white for what felt like hours. Her body welcomed his cock despite the tight fit. And then he began to come.

She could feel the hot liquid spilling inside her. Immediately the pressure caused her already large bulge to grow. This part of her body was much more sensitive to heat and she began to whimper, “It’s hot, Killian. It feels like it’s on fire!”

“Shh...” he managed, “The hot spring... it was extremely hot, but it didn’t burn you. You can take it. Let me fill you, Emma.”

She breathed, telling herself over and over that the magic of the island would protect her body. Even so, his cock was now taking up way too much space. Her bowels were filled, her womb was filled, and there was a fifteen inch pole plunged through her body. She could do nothing but let him pump her full of liter after liter of come. When he was finally done her pulled her up. She fell into him, unable to speak. His hands came down to rub her large belly. “Look at how full you are.” he laughed, “My little come keeper. I like it. I can put as much as I want in you and none of it comes out until I say so. Isn’t that right.”

“Please let me... my... ass is too full.”

“You want to expel. Not yet. It’s an important part of the ritual.”

“But it’s cramping.”

“Cramps are good. They make you more sensitive so when you come it’s more intense. Watch.” He gently pressed on her stomach her scream out as the pressure on her bowels blinded her with pain only to send her spiraling into an epics orgasm. Water poured from her and her body attempted to clench around the liquid inside her. Killian forced her to come this way several times just to prove a point, then he flipped her over and entered her slowly, but soon was fucking her hard and deep. The orgasms were ripping through her. Every time she thought she would pass out from the cramping her body would clench and come harder than before.

When Killian came for the last time a dark glint sparkled in his eye as he watched her bloat with his seed. In the end, Emma gave in to the curse of this evil island. She laid back and enjoyed him filling her past the point that she thought would surely kill her. She watched her belly rise. Her whole body was telling her she needed to release the pressure yet it survived the procedure.

Emma lay there, a vessel for a dirty pirate’s come. How could she ever go back to her old life now? Her body was undeniably his. Not only had he marked it inside and out, but he’d stolen her heart.

Killian came to lay beside her on the bed. His hand went straight to her swollen belly. “I wish there was a child in there.”

Emma whipped her head to him in fear.

“There’s not! This will be a baby monster created by ancient heathen gods of rage and sex. Much less frightening.”

“We can never have children. Where would we raising them, the Jolly Roger?”

“I don’t see why not!”

“And you’ll teach our sons to be gentlemen while stealing from and raiding villages?”

“Oi! A pirate’s life builds character and I’ll have know disparaging my profession from the woman stuffed to bursting with my come.”

“What happens now?” she asked with a wince. It hurt to speak.

“You need to expel what you can. It will help. You’re womb will stay full but the cramps will go away.” He helped her to the bathroom and after helping her clean, took her to bed. All night, Killian kept his hands on her swollen belly. She put her hand on his and felt a blush rise through her. It did feel like she was pregnant.

For just a moment, Emma closed her eyes and imagined she was carrying their child. A boy with black hair and blue eyes just like his father. She fell asleep to the image of her giving him a child.

The happiness she felt was troublesome and she knew it would be the death of her.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

#captain swan smut #cs smut #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan ff #cs fanfiction #cs ff #dubious consent #dubcon #cs dubcon #captain swan dubcon #please forgive me #i am a sick sick puppy

[sapphire-rosa]

Izzy & David (as yet untitled)

Sometimes, one simple thing that you do every day can change your life. Izzy had been coming to the park each afternoon for the last year, and every time it was different - the grass felt a little cooler or warmer, the trees made a different sound as breezes rustled their leaves or rattled their branches, the smell of the air changed, and new noises settled into the atmosphere - but today was special because it was the first time that someone had decided to share a park bench with her.

She had felt his presence first, not in an eerie, witchy, New-Age kind of way, but just because he’d stood in her sun and her face felt colder under his shadow.

“Mind if I sit here?” he’d asked, and his voice was soft. Kind, she thought, kind and gentle. So many people’s voices were hard or shrill, like nails on a chalkboard or icicles on the windowsill. This one was like spiced tea, warm, inviting and comfortable.

“Sure,” she’d said, wondering if there had been too much of a pause between his question and her reply. Sometimes she got lost in processing sensations and forgot to respond promptly.

His shadow moved across her face, letting the sun back in, and presently she felt the wooden slats of the bench give ever so slightly as he sat down.

“Thanks for letting me sit here. It’s the best spot in the park.”

“I think so too,” she agreed, privately thinking that it was probably for different reasons.

“I like to listen to the trees,” he explained, surprising her.

“That’s why I like it here, too. I didn’t think other people noticed.”

“I like listening to things,” he said simply. “Music, people, trees … everything speaks if you listen hard enough.”

That was extremely interesting. Most sighted people, in Izzy’s experience, relied heavily on vision to the detriment of all their other senses, especially hearing. Nobody listened, not to the trees and not to each other and certainly not to her. A girl without sight was an awkward thing to have around; she made people feel uncomfortable with their own eyes, and they tended to try to hedge around the subject like a particularly large and offensively fragranced elephant in the room. Unfortunately, like an elephant, it refused to remain helpfully unnoticed, and people usually ended up making things ten times worse by their efforts to avoid it. Many times Izzy had wished desperately that someone would just come out with it and meet her blindness head-on without all this ridiculous pussyfooting.

“Trees are nicer to listen to than most people.” It was the simple truth, but she realised as she said it that it probably sounded unkind.

He paused to think, and hummed softly under his breath in a manner that was oddly endearing. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you. People are interesting, though, and sometimes when you listen you realise that you misunderstood them at first. Appearances can be deceptive.”

She smiled wryly. Appearances were for her the one thing that could never mislead.

“I’m David, by the way,” he offered after a moment, and she felt him move, but wasn’t quite sure what he was doing.

“Izzy,” she offered in return.

“You don’t like to shake hands?” he asked, but he wasn’t teasing or puzzled, just genuinely interested.

Damn it. That’s what the movement had been for - he had put out his hand for her to shake. “I’m really sorry. David, it’s nice to meet you, and I would like to shake your hand. The problem is I can’t see where it is. I’m blind.” Somehow it didn’t feel like such an embarrassment after all.

“God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise, with the sunglasses and it being a sunny day and …” he trailed off, and she felt a sense of sharp disappointment. He was as tongue-tied and unhappy as every other sighted person when faced unexpectedly with her disability.

“It’s ok. It isn’t as if I go around with a neon sign above my head saying ‘Caution: Blind Girl’.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

She shook her head. “I’m allergic.” Anyway, my brother insists I don’t need a service animal when I have him to look after me. But there are some things you just don’t say to someone called David whom you met about ten minutes ago.

“That’s a pity. My dad has a service dog for his epilepsy. They sense seizures before they happen, which I think is pretty incredible really. But this isn’t very helpful to you, I’m sorry. Maybe I should go.”

She wasn’t going to stop him. Izzy wasn’t lonely enough to force a man to sit with her in a park and be exquisitely uncomfortable. Lonely! She had no right to feel lonely at all, with Marcus constantly worrying about her. Being able to come and sit in the park every afternoon was a luxury she had managed to earn only by intense perseverance over a period of several months and demonstrating that she would be perfectly fine for an hour without her brother hovering protectively over her shoulder.  

“My brother will be coming to pick me up soon,” she said, giving her new acquaintance a graceful ‘out’.

David didn’t sound or feel like he was getting ready to leave. “In that case maybe I’ll stay until he arrives.”

Izzy knitted her brows together. “You don’t have to do that, honestly. Normally I’m alone in the park and Marcus picks me up every day and I’m quite alright, you know.”

David chuckled. It was a quiet noise, gentle like trees. “I wasn’t trying to be chivalrous. I like sitting here with you. Earlier when I said I should go … I thought I’d made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh. No, not really. I thought me being blind made you uncomfortable.”

“May I still shake hands with you?”

He was really quite sweet, wasn’t he?  “Ok, but I can’t see your hand.”

“That’s alright. Put your hand out first and then I can shake it.”

She smiled, and extended her hand. David’s hand clasped hers, warm and friendly and strangely reassuring. It felt good.

“There,” he said, and released her hand. She folded her arms across her chest because she suddenly didn’t know what to do with them.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” You don’t normally express gratitude to blind girls who shake your hand in a park.  

“For trusting me.”

She giggled. “It was a handshake, not a tightrope walk.”

“I know, but ...” He seemed to be struggling for words. “Thank you anyway, Izzy.” 

#writing #my writing #izzy x david #blind girl meets goth boy #romance

[scioscribe]

on writing depression, writing while depressed, fantasy, and utility

I’ve been in a mild depression lately and most of the writing I’ve done over the last two weeks has been disorganized and incomplete: snippets rather than stories.  None of it is for anyone else and none of it even could be for anyone else, because it’s all disgustingly well-tailored to my own sloppy emotional needs and, even beyond that, thoroughly rooted in intensely designed AUs of canon that are vivid to me and undoubtedly ridiculous and unrecognizable to anyone else.  Even my wife thinks they’re self-indulgent.  But what they all are, when you come right down to it, is a very particular brand of hurt/comfort.

I’m especially brutal to my favorite characters when I’m depressed, because, dammit, I just want to read about well-deserved comfort, and I don’t have the time or even the emotional complexity in these periods to work out how to do this in any kind of subtle, plausible way that would actually be consistent with good, emotionally nuanced writing.  This isn’t the time for that.  This is the time for “the characters have inexplicably been kidnapped by torturers with some random and likely unmentioned motivation.”  It’s the time for impractical kidnappings, for (at least feigned) betrayal, for public humiliation, for strange magical harms done to people in decidedly non-magical canons.  I find this soothing.

[More real-life depression talk under the cut, as well as discussion of fictional/literary CSA, domestic violence, death, bereavement, suicide, self-harm, car accidents, sexual trauma, and medical trauma.)

And I used, I think, to be able to write about a kind of fictionalized depression that way, in a manner that I can’t do now that I have an unfortunately close personal relationship with the fucking thing.  For the record, I, at least, have no problem with fictionalized, simplified, and even sentimentalized depression: different stories fill different emotional needs for different people.  (And it would, in any case, be massively hypocritical of me to rail against it even if I wanted to, because nobody is fonder of fictional, soap opera-style amnesia than I am.)  But I can’t write it myself now, because it feels like I’m breaking some kind of inner logic.

What breaks it isn’t the portrayal of the depression as it’s being suffered but rather the way in which the depression is exited, which usually happens when some other character notices how deeply, horribly sad Character A is and provides comfort and support.  And Character A then starts to make their way out of the murky, muddy emotional place they’re mired in.  Something at last feels sort of good.  Something doesn’t hurt.  And then, thankfully, beautifully, they’re pushed down a greased slide to a place of greater emotional stability.

Whereas in my experience, someone notices I’m depressed and extends sympathy and support, and I... I don’t know.  Say it helps?  They are good people for trying to help and I am, when depressed, fundamentally aware of my utter lack of good personhood, so I don’t want to be a trial, which will only make me feel worse anyway.  So I end up in this weird pattern of opening up to someone and then panicking because I realize that there is nothing they can say that will actually help me, that I will in fact move the emotional goalposts on what I want to hear anytime they say what previously seemed like all I needed, and why would I put them in that position?  Why am I so awful?  The solution is to pretend like they have, in fact, totally fixed me, or at least pushed me up onto dry land where I will gradually fix myself, and in the meantime, I make a mental note to try extra-hard to seem normal and happy around them, because I don’t want it to be weird.  I don’t want them to have to keep expending effort and worry that will do nothing.

At the same time, of course, I desperately want them to expend effort and worry, because I’m an asshole with no currently functioning barometer of self-worth, so the only way I know how to feel even marginally better for even a minute is to provoke someone else into telling me I matter.  Provided I can convince myself for at least five minutes or so that they really think that and that they aren’t just saying it to be nice.  They’re probably saying it to be nice.

So I say the thing, I express the self-loathing, I get comforted, and then I tell myself to never, under pain of death, ever mention to that person ever again that I hate myself.

I had this thing at work a couple months ago, when I was doing okay, where a coworker and I were mourning the fact that we’d missed a chance to attend a particular conference.

“I can’t believe we both forgot to register,” she said.

“Well, you had all those meetings around then,” I said, “and I think I had something going on, too, but I can’t remember--oh, yeah!  I was super depressed.  I was really busy trying not to kill myself.”

We actually had a pretty good laugh about that, because I have an unusually cool workplace.

But I get one of those things--one disclosure that I’d sat at work trying to talk to someone on a suicide chat system--and then I’m done, then it has to become a joke.  God knows I haven’t told anyone here that the same thing is happening now.  (Not nearly as bad, though, thankfully.)

People don’t make me feel better.  Love hasn’t fixed me.  So if I tried to write that story now, Character B would bring Character A a blanket and then nothing would change.  In the morning Character A would be the same.  And Character B would try again.  And try again.  And then start to get a little impatient: I mean, fuck, I gave you the fucking blanket, didn’t I?  I hugged you.  I told you that you mattered, that I loved you, that there are so many people who love you.  Why do you not feel better.  How long am I supposed to do this.

...And then one day Character A would either get a prescription that worked or for some other reason come out the other end of the tunnel blinking at the light, and Character B would be like, “What changed?” and Character A would just shrug, especially if it’s the second kind of situation.  I literally once had a terrible, suicidal bout of depression and right at the end of it I watched The Hateful Eight, and it was the first thing I was conscious of enjoying in a really, really long time.  It is probably not true that The Hateful Eight, which I genuinely (and, in addition, a little superstitiously) love, cured my depression, but it did kind of feel like that. This is not a satisfying resolution to a story unless your story is ad copy for The Hateful Eight and you are marketing it exclusively to the mentally ill.

A satisfying resolution to the story is that pain that is felt by someone else--love that bridges the fundamental loneliness of suffering--cures things.  I like that.  It’s the kind of thing that should be true even if it’s not, and it’s the kind of thing that I consider myself lucky to still be able to enjoy in other formats.  Keep writing those stories, if you’re doing that, because they matter.  (And some of them are probably written by people who are depressed, or who have been depressed, the world eerily enough not being endlessly composed of carbon copies of my experiences.)

But where I was going with all this is the kind of ridiculous depression story currently living in bits and pieces on my hard drive, and also the ridiculous, professionally published, over-the-top depression story that I find oddly convincing as a fantasy of suffering by the suffering.

Me first, because it’s simpler.  In addition to the blatant, implausible hurt/comfort I talked about way up at the top of the post, I also keep writing this incredibly weird thing where I can write the traditional depression story by making it a magical depression story.  It makes no sense.  It’s a character who trades a year of happiness for four years of his little brother’s tuition, that’s the level of WTFery we’re talking about here.  But.  It’s about the idea that the sadness has some kind of profundity to it, that it’s been incurred for a reason, and even a noble, self-sacrificing reason.  It’s about how eventually his brother will find this out and figure out a way to fix things, so love will cure the sadness after all.  It’s about there being a comprehensible, emotionally valid reason for why the sadness just won’t leave: buddy, your contract’s not up yet.  This is gloppy, sentimental wish-fulfillment wrapped all around characters I love and want to be okay.

The over-the-top, professionally published fantasy of suffering story is Hanya Yanagihara A Little Life, aka, the Story of How Literally Every Awful Thing in the World Happened to the Beautifully Sad Jude St. Francis.  (Spoilers follow.)  A Little Life gestures vaguely in the direction of being an ensemble story where the narratives of its three other primary characters--Willem, an actor and part-time Norse god of handsomeness; JB, a talented avant-garde artist and eventual acclaimed photographer and part-time drug addict who suffers way less beautifully than Jude and so consequently gets shit on by everyone; and Malcolm, a successful architect and the group’s resident normal--will actually matter, but it gives up on this after not very long.  Which it kind of has to do, because you almost literally cannot tell an in-depth story of even a ridiculously glamorous and successful life alongside Jude’s life, which will dwarf it to the point of making it seem ant-like in its insignificance.

Oh, boy.  Jude.

I was going to summarize it, but the Wikipedia summary is hilarious in its Perils of Pauline approach to it all and is recommended reading, so I’ll just do bullet-points.

* Jude is an abandoned child with no knowledge of his parents (the novel dwells at slightly discomfiting length on how no one can even tell what race he is, which... gets a little weird after a while).

* He is raised in a monastery, because apparently that’s a thing that can happen, where he is treated mostly cruelly and routinely physically abused and neglected, until he reaches an age where the abuse becomes sexual and widespread.  If not every monk participates, no one actually does anything to prevent it.

* The closest thing to kindly intervention he gets is from Brother Luke, young Jude’s only source of comfort, and, naturally enough for this kind of novel, also interested in raping him, just with the illusion in place that they really love each other.

* Brother Luke abducts Jude and takes him on the road and then--oh-so-tearfully--explains how they’re going to have to start paying their way by renting out time with Jude to a series of strange men.

* Mentally disintegrating under the weight of all this, Jude begins to brutally harm himself by slamming his head into the wall; Brother Luke decides to teach him to cut himself instead, as that process is more controlled.  This habit will last the rest of Jude’s life.

* When Jude finally gets away from Brother Luke, he’s put into a group home where the sexual abuse continues.  After a chance at living in a more stable and less horrifically traumatic environment (of course) falls through, Jude succeeds in running away.

* He is picked up by a doctor who promptly imprisons him in his basement and rapes him for months.

* Then the doctor runs him over with his car and leaves Jude for dead.  In fact, Jude is not dead, but he has acquired a lifelong limp and significant nerve damage, conditions that will a) worsen over the course of his life and b) keep him in nearly constant pain.

* Then handwave-handwave, Jude finally finds where the non-rapists live and receives just enough therapy that the novel can vaguely indicate how he’s still functional after all of this.  He gets into a prestigious college and makes a group of lifelong friends, named above, but is especially close to Willem, because Willem is a Perfect Human and Endlessly Patient Best Friend.  They move in together while Willem looks for acting jobs and Jude attends law school.

* Now, not all of this backstory is revealed at once, which is good, because even when spread out over seven hundred pages, there’s still an “oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me” feeling when you get to the part about the doctor.  The novel actually begins with Jude and Willem moving into their first post-grad apartment, and for a while, it seems like this will be a novel primarily about living on and trying to make a life in the aftermath of a horrific past.  Jude’s life is good for a while, though understandably enough continuously shadowed.  He still cuts himself, and he still has mental breakdowns that lead to him making gourmet catering and desserts for everyone (the BEST kind of mental breakdown, bar none), but... he’s doing okay.  He becomes a lawyer.  He acquires A Perfect Father Figure Who At Last Does Not Want to Sexually Abuse Him, a wonderfully kind law professor accompanied by his wonderfully kind wife, who are always ecstatically happy to invite him into their home and in fact even adopt him, formally, when he’s thirty, and start calling him their son.

* If you’re thinking it sounds like the other shoe is about to drop, you are correct.

* JB becomes addicted to crystal meth, but this is not Innocent Suffering Like Jude’s but instead Something He Brought Upon Himself, so when Jude tries to help him and JB lashes out by imitating Jude’s limp and occasionally slurred speech, both Jude and Willem find it unforgivable and sever relationships with him, though they’ll drift back into contact later on.

* After years of everyone talking about Jude’s possible sexual orientation behind his back instead of just fucking asking him like any normal person would do (especially since no one has any real idea of his past), Jude finally ends up in a relationship with a high-powered fashion executive named Caleb whom he meets at a party.

* Caleb promptly begins showing creepy danger signs--he’s especially critical of Jude’s increasing need for a wheelchair and thinks it’s a sign of weakness and Jude “giving in” to his deformity--and before you can say “many survivors of childhood abuse find themselves in abusive relationships later in life,” Caleb has become the abusive husband in every Lifetime movie ever made.  When Jude--with kindly law professor and surrogate dad’s help--sort of succeeds in severing things with him, Caleb breaks into Jude’s apartment and rapes him and throws him down a flight of stairs.  (Actually, Wikipedia tells me this is the second rape in their relationship.  That’s how often Jude gets raped in this novel.  I have forgotten entire instances of it.)

* Jude then tries to kill himself, which prompts Hollywood star Willem to move back in with him.  Jude cherry-picks a few of the less cataclysmically awful stories from his childhood to finally tell and Willem is horrified by them while the reader leans back and smokes a cigarette and says, “Will, you wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve seen.”

* Willem, despite having been straight to this point, then begins to fall in love with Jude, and you know, I’m all for flexible models of sexuality and sexual desire that proceeds from romantic connection that proceeds from the realization that this person is closer to you than anyone else in the world, but also: come the fuck on.  This could not get any ficcier if it tried.

* Anyway, Jude of course loves Willem back, Willem being a Perfect Human and all, so they begin an honestly very touching relationship, marred only by Jude’s continued self-harm (which he can’t bring himself to stop for good, though Willem does provide him with enough stability that he’s able to minimize it) and their problems in bed.  Willem is highly satisfied with having sex with Jude, but Jude’s life has left him entirely sex-repulsed, and his continued assent to their encounters and his continued concealment of the pain and distress they cause him leads to escalated self-harm.

* Willem finally finds out and Jude at last reveals to him at least 90% of his childhood as an explanation for his hatred of sex.  They cut it out of their relationship entirely and have a honeymoon phase--Willem goes back to sleeping with women in no-strings-attached arrangements that don’t bother Jude in the slightest, and their life together is exceedingly happy and romantic.

* AND THEN WILLEM, MALCOLM, AND MALCOLM’S WIFE ALL DIE TOGETHER IN A CAR CRASH.

* Also at some point in here, Jude lost one of his legs.  I don’t even remember when.  There was a medical reason for it, related to maybe the initial damage or the subsequent damage from Caleb throwing him down the stairs or him burning himself severely on his leg, it didn’t just fall off like the legs of the cows in Cold Comfort Farm, but really, in the wash of all this trauma, who can keep track of the odd leg or two?

* Well, Jude practically starves himself to death, gets help temporarily, and then finally succeeds in killing himself and leaving his devastated adoptive father behind to close out the novel.

It’s actually a good novel if you like this sort of thing.  There’s no real character depth to anyone, because all you need to know about Jude is that he suffers beautifully and nobly and all you need to know about anyone else is that they either love and admire Jude or have raped/are currently raping him.  (The one exception to this is JB, who seems to have escaped from a more complex novel, as he is allowed the occasional spot of selfishness and realistic misreadings of situations, and I seriously considered requesting post-Willem Jude/JB for Yuletide just to see this story travel towards a more nuanced, textured view of life going on and people reconciling themselves with imperfections.)  But Yanagihara writes well and there is a melodramatic but genuine emotional intensity to it all.  I was involved throughout.  But just as Oscar Wilde said it would take a heart of stone not to laugh at the death of Little Nell, I have to admit that my reaction to Willem’s death was a combination of raw sobbing and horrified laughter.  But again, if you like over-the-top hurt/comfort, this is your kind of thing.  It’s my kind of thing.  I mean, I did finish.  I do actually own this book.  It’s sloppy and hyperbolic, but I like crying and can cry around my criticisms of the text.

I laid all that out, though, not to defend or condemn A Little Life but to contextualize why I think it has an odd power as a fantasy of suffering by the sufferers themselves.  That it’s a voyeuristic fantasy of suffering is pretty obvious.  But it works inwardly, too, or at least it works inwardly for me.  (I’ve talked about this elsewhere, so forgive me if you’ve seen it before.)

No one in A Little Life ever loses patience with Jude.  His pain never exhausts them; his refusal to explain the cause of his pain never genuinely frustrates them.  They wish he would tell them, but his not telling them doesn’t get on their nerves, doesn’t strike them as unfair emotional withholding.  In fact, everyone loves Jude.  His professor adopts him.  His friends stay loyal over decades.  His doctor continues to treat him even after giving up the rest of his practice.  His straight best friend considers him the exception to the romantic rule and has no problem at all at adjusting to a romance without sex.  Anyone who is cruel to him is judged harshly by the other characters, even if it’s the cruelty of a moment.  No one ever tells him to get over it.

It’s not that none of these things never happen, or could never happen, but the unalloyed kindness with which Jude’s suffering is largely received is the melodramatic counterpoint to unalloyed evil and pain that slowly destroy him.

And I’ll go on: there are proximate and instantly comprehensible causes for Jude’s pain.  There are even physical and undeniable signs of his pain.  His trauma is so profound as to justify, for any listener, a lifetime of suffering expressed however he likes.  His depression and self-loathing does not descend randomly, leaving him poleaxed by feeling awful and feeling worse because he has seemingly no reason to feel awful.  He doesn’t talk to people about it, generally--he has nearly perfect self-control around his friends, his pain makes him ungenerous and unfair and snappish on really only one occasion--but if he did, they would concede, automatically, the righteousness of his pain.  They would be amazed at how well he’s doing.

A Little Life provides, for its readers who are hurting, a story where suffering doesn’t come from nowhere, where their emotions are an understandable response to a history of terrible trauma, where loved ones are never tired of dealing with them, where debilitating emotional and physical pain is never enough of an inconvenience to interfere in providing the markers of success and even glamour, where you don’t have to cry your eyes out in a shitty apartment, where you will never lose your job because you don’t show up for three days, where everyone would understand how you feel if only they knew, and where they really do want to know.

And, for that matter, where you don’t have to strain yourself into saying that yes, all of this has helped, yes, you feel better now.  Jude never separates himself from this hypothetical reader by recovering, which would seem, in this light, not like a victory but a hateful cheat.  That bastard--what does it say that he can get better and you can’t seem to?  How, after this steamy bath of melodrama, are you supposed to wrap your brain around normalcy?  His interlude with Willem is an interlude, its happiness so complete as to signal its coming downfall, its happiness so complete as to signal that we have not left this fervently emotional Expressionism.  The car crash is devastating, but it’s also, come on, total confirmation.  Yeah.  That’s how it goes.  It’s okay not to recover--you don’t have to worry that there’s something wrong with you, or weak in you, for not recovering--if you’re Jude, whose every escape is another fall off the cliff.  It lets you indulge in the fantasy of not having to do the exhausting and difficult work of trying, because each effort, on its failure or collapse, only further justifies the preexisting pain.  It’s okay to stay down if every time you stand up, someone punches you in the face.  Just lie there a while.  Just breathe.  People will admire you for it.  People will love you.  No one will say that this has gone on long enough and they just don’t know if they can do it anymore.  They know what’s happened to you.  If they don’t, man, won’t they have egg on their face when you tell them.

If my snippets of self-indulgent fic are about the fantasy of suffering that says that the suffering is somehow profound, that there is concrete proof that the person suffering is good and kind and undeserving of this, that everyone will worry and love you, and that the love will fix things because magic, A Little Life is the fantasy of complete and utter validation of seemingly endless agony.  What I’m writing right now is what I can write because, though I’m not doing great, I’m on medication and I’m doing okay.  The book, on the other hand, is a fantasy for the times when it does not seem like there is any possibility of okayness anywhere on the horizon, when you could not believe in recovery or even treatment and all that will comfort you is a story where it is 100% fine to feel like that because it’s true.

It’s not hard to see ways in which that fantasy could potentially hurt someone--that there could be someone who sees, in that story, not comfort but an awesome rationale for making the same eventual decision as Jude himself does--but life and literature are complicated.  Umberto Eco said that “a novel is a machine for generating interpretations,” and that’s something I find true as well as heartening.  No story runs only in one direction.  People interact with narratives in messy, challenging, lopsided ways; we respect stories, we fall in love with stories, we curl up with them, and we also hit them over the head and leave them to wake up in a bathtub of ice with their kidneys missing because we’re just going to take what we need from them and go, thanks.  I say this because this has been, for me, an oddly utilitarian look at literature--it’s not my normal approach to textual analysis--and I want to pull back from that at least a little.  To draw attention to the complexity and weirdness of people’s relationships to art: that things can work on us in unpredictable and uncanny ways.  And that also, for that matter, you can probably read A Little Life purely for the bits about cooking.

Utility is all you can see, and all you can properly care about, when you need the fantasy.

And then you get better.  And your relationship to those stories changes.  Maybe you come back and say, “Okay, in the clear light of day, I cannot stand this, glad it was there for me earlier, but yikes.”  But maybe, and beautifully, you get Erich Fromm’s mature love, in a literary sense: not “I love you because I need you” but “I need you because I love you.”  I’m in the tunnel between those two places at the moment, and this is the view, looking back and looking forward.

Also, I just wanted to tell everyone how batshit A Little Life is.

#meta #personal #depression #a little life #literary criticism #the uses of enchantment I suppose if I want to steal from Bettelheim #comfort reading and comfort writing