#it can be for any of your op muses too!!!

[alcoholtm--a]

@killedarlings​ liked x for a meme starter! 

          “i’m going to get some air..” everything seemed to blow up in his face today, so the sniper was going to take a breather from his workshop just to calm down.

#usopp. #it can be for any of your op muses too!!! #franky would be best imo but it could be fun with any of the other straw hats ! #ic post. #killedarlings

[rosiesmuts]

Muse

Le Serrafim Kazuha

4,000 Words

A/N: KazuhaSmuts?

Kazuha Nakamura. Fuck. The gorgeous idol your new muse, her beauty transcending what the camera can capture, able to take your breath away with those curves and bright smile. A consummate professional, striking poses without needing direction, a sense for it without experience, the pictures coming out flawless.

Even in basic jeans and a t-shirt, Kazuha exudes a beauty, a hotness that has nothing to do with being an idol. Her confidence is stunning and her sensuality is electrifying—not something manufactured for a photoshoot but inherent and undeniable. You're standing next to a goddess. Absolutely gorgeous face, captivating eyes, voluptuous curves, and a charm she's too comfortable with. There's no effort there, no faux coyness or intentional sultry look. Just the radiance of a stunning idol who seems almost oblivious to what she inspires, but you can tell from the heat in Kazuha's gaze and her naughty grin, a mischievous desire swirling around in her that she'll never speak out loud—she has you enthralled.

So fuck.

Fuck these lustful thoughts clouding your head and this heat building in your chest. This is supposed to be a job, but when Kazuha reaches for the hem of her shirt and the lines of muscles accentuating her abs as her t-shirt peels up, that desire inside you is more than unprofessional.

Focus.

Fuck.

This is part of the shoot, supposed to show off the 'Calvin Klein' on her sports bra, but the flexing of her body and the little curl on her smiling lips leaves the underwear an afterthought. You should've been used to this, there's been legitimate supermodels in even less clothing in these photoshoots. But there's something about Kazuha, her innocent smiles and demure laughter, this aura of untouchable and almost fragile femininity about her.

And she's fucking teasing you, those faint lip curls, the flash of teeth from her smirk. She knows her effect, she enjoys your lingering eyes and hungry looks. An arm folded up above her head, leaning against the wall as her other hand grips a rolled up shirt, an underwear ad waiting to happen. Everything about Kazuha screams confidence and sensuality, even her long toes, wiggling a bit for some reason as her smirk broadens, the look in her eyes daring you, almost like she's trying to say something she cannot voice.

Kazuha tilts her head, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it, biting into it. Seducing with the barest hints, challenging and inciting with the slightest of moves. It feels almost too intimate and that makes it all the more intoxicating, making the breath hitch in your throat and your heart race in anticipation.

"Cut!"

You have to shout out, the sexual tension overbearing and suffocating. "Let's take an hour for lunch everyone. Good work today, we got a lot of good shots." Your voice is steady, hiding your tumultuous feelings as best as possible. Kazuha beams at the praise and your façade of control crumbles as she teases and tempts you even further, giving a flirtatious wink before slipping into her dressing room.

It's a bit of a walk for you to get to your office, but it gives you space to think about what's gotten into you. This is just a photoshoot, you've dealt with plenty of sexy and beautiful models in much more scandalous poses. Kazuha was in plain clothes! There shouldn't have been anything erotic there. And yet the way the fabric hugged her body, her eyes watching your every move, and that flirty edge to her smile, it was impossible to ignore. Even now your mind's lingering on the last image of Kazuha, staring you down.

One hour to gather yourself. That's what you need—to take your mind off of those...impurities. Kazuha, even her name in your head makes your heart quicken and breath shorten. Just get a hold of yourself. No one can read your mind, and as long as you don't go acting out any of those lurid desires then this'll all just blow over...

"Hey."

You didn't even hear your door open, Kazuha's sweet voice catching you off-guard. Your eyes snap towards her, the entire reason for your break now standing in the office, Kazuha's free hand runs through her hair, this act of playing shy a fascinating dichotomy with the sultry woman you just worked with this morning.

All that build-up and time spent thinking about her left you absolutely stunned by Kazuha's entrance. For the second time she managed to catch your heart in your mouth, freezing your tongue and leaving you speechless.

"Can we go over those pictures that you took? I'd like to see them if that's okay?"

Her request is innocent enough, but you can't help but notice she locks the door behind her. A simple, innocent click of the lock, but the implication was very clear.

Kazuha leans in a bit too closely, a subtle grin as she clicks through the pictures and you're not quite sure if this was real or all your dirty imagination playing tricks on you. Did she really just touch your wrist and give it a squeeze or was she just checking the time and brushed by you accidentally?

Kazuha sits in silence, taking a cursory look at every frame before getting to the next. The silence is more than suffocating. You can barely hear anything outside the pounding in your ears. She stops the slideshow on the most salacious photo: Kazuha lifting her top, the slightest hint of her sports bra, her perfect abs captured so wonderfully on film.

"This one is good! Don't you agree?" Kazuha asks, tilting her head at you and pulling her lip in between her teeth, letting her eyes drag languidly down your figure, devouring you in the most erotic manner with just her gaze alone.

"...yeah..." is all you manage to stammer out, voice stuck in your throat and thoughts wandering in places they really shouldn't.

"Don't think I didn't catch you staring..."

Kazuha steps back, reenacting the shot that got you so worked up—her fingers reach the hem of her shirt, inching the garment up, more and more of her perfect abdomen getting revealed, tight lines that curve and ripple in a tantalizing dance, begging for someone to run their tongue across the slopes and dips of her stomach.

Fuck.

This was supposed to be an hour to gather your thoughts and recompose yourself, not go further into disarray with Kazuha standing in front of you. You lick your lips, a futile attempt to bring some moisture back into a dry mouth as your hands instinctively go into your pockets to prevent anything from going out of place.

This time it's different, Kazuha takes her shirt completely off, the gray Calvin Klein sports bra fully visible, hiding her tiny tits from view. It's a feast for the eyes—the flexing of her abs, the dip of her waist, that sensual confidence in every twitch and curl of her muscles.

"Whoops." Kazuha playfully teases, acting like the removal of the t-shirt is accidental, a casual display of carelessness. Her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it hostage and pressing it between her pearl white teeth. That stare, dark brown and chocolate eyes swallowing you whole and consuming you.

It becomes clear as day, the flirting and lustful looks were no joke, an honest come-on from this hotter-than-hot idol. And you could lose everything right here and right now, the implications and consequences could be catastrophic, but when her hand lands on yours, giving you a gentle caress, it's hard not to succumb.

"It's impolite to stare, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha coos. Your hands find her sides, fingertips digging in, unable to hold back anymore. Years of ballet, and now dancing to her own music and choreography, there is nothing less than admirable in her sculpted body, each muscle firm but toned.

The pads of your thumbs feel the ridges, tracing the defined lines, slowly climbing higher and higher.

"Such a naughty man."

Kazuha gives her own belly a featherlight caress, your hands slip underneath the elastic of her bra. Hot flesh greets your palms and her tiny tits are barely enough for a squeeze, so smooth and soft and absolutely perfect. Her nipples harden immediately, small and sensitive, crying out for attention, pinched by your fingers.

This is beyond unprofessional, absolutely irresponsible, a blight on everything a photographer should be—to have their hands under their model's clothes and get so engrossed with someone they've only known for a day. But, fuck. You could always find another job. Just touching and playing with Kazuha though—a chance of this sort of happiness would be gone forever.

The choice becomes clear the moment Kazuha kisses you, hungrily swallowing any excuses and closing any chance of leaving. The way she claims you is exhilarating, overwhelmingly powerful in that seductive passion as she claims ownership with her tongue, overtaking every bit of hesitation and apprehension in your soul and planting a seed of raw, unfiltered lust in the empty void.

Your excitement is evident, something hard is pressed against her thigh.

"Is it just a big camera down there, Mr. Photographer?" A tsk-tsk leaves Kazuha's lips, those dirty, dirty, beautiful lips, and that haughty smile plastered on her face while her fingers nimbly undo your pants. "Naughty, naughty Mr. Photographer!" Kazuha hums the words into your ear, tickling you, making your skin shiver in delight and electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

Her lips are on your neck, her hand is wrapped around your cock. It's all too much—this sexy, gorgeous, brilliant, sensual woman, taking everything with the same enthusiasm and conviction that she'd do in a song and a dance.

Each kiss on your body feels like the brush of the lips of an angel, her hands roaming your body, a subtle hint of her sharp, immaculate nails, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin.

She leaves you panting, a broken record of sighs and low moans until she releases your erection.

"Take off my pants for me Mr. Photographer."

Her words are quiet, her tone more husky than anything else, a hint of arrogance and self-indulgence. A direct command with no room for disobedience. Her back is against the wall, her hips jutted out for easy access— the baggy jeans easily fall off her legs, revealing her toned dancer's physique. Her thick thighs flexing in anticipation, the matching Calvin Klein panties the only obstacle standing in between you and heaven.

Her sexiness is something else, the shapely, sinful outline of her ass, the swell of her curves—that v-line is a mouthwatering treat, teasing with the prospect of a delight waiting to be explored. Everything on Kazuha is toned and breathtaking.

There is no thought, no plan. Pure primal instinct urges you forward, kneeling to run your tongue along that delicious path leading straight down to heaven and bliss and everything you could possibly desire. Your lips press against her stomach, her coy smile grows as you kneel before her, fingers in her elastic waistband, pulling and dragging it down.

Inch by inch, her lower half comes into view and you can't contain yourself any longer.

"Fuck..." the curse slips from you, involuntarily and inevitable, and the sight in front of you is breathtaking: her pussy is absolutely perfect, full and engorged, aching for touch, drooling in obvious desire.

Teasing kisses are planted on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer. She gives a slight groan. That sweet taste of victory. Lips upon lips. Tongue against slit. Kazuha is an impatient one, her hands cradling your head, locking you into position, the silky lips rubbing against yours. The roughness with which her hips move excites you, how desperately she pushes her crotch against your mouth. She's not shy at all, each and every movement bold and intentional, greedy and ravenous, entirely unlike her demure, innocent persona.

It's hard not to enjoy this, enjoying her unbridled desire—getting suffocated by her muscular thighs squeezing the sides of your face, her cunt grinding against you, leaving her delicious nectar all over your lips and chin. The more she pushes, the more she suffocates, the more excited and aroused you become, fingers sinking into the flesh of her thighs. It is as if your life depended on tasting her juices, that tart ambrosia from this sultry dancer and songstress, an aphrodisiac you'll never tire of.

Kazuha puts a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle those wanton sounds but failing to completely hide those telltale grunts and moans—her toes curling just another sign. The closer she gets, the tighter her thighs squeeze and... Fuck. If you're gonna die, this is probably the best way to go.

Kazuha shudders in ecstasy, a full body spasm while a cry of pleasure slips free from those luscious pink lips. It's too tempting not to explore her with your fingers as well, the little nub throbbing and aching for stimulation, eagerly twitching whenever your fingers circle it. There is a wild and untamed ferocity to the way Kazuha's legs instinctively curl and flex, writhing in unhindered bliss.

She leans back, pushing more weight into her back, holding herself up on shaking legs and heavy breaths. A sense of victory floods you. She was putty in your hands, her beautiful legs shaking and knees wobbling. Your pride swelled—to have the otherwise impeccably poised songstress a shivering mess.

"That... Was..." Kazuha struggles to talk, the red on her cheeks running down her chest and spreading down her heaving abs. "...Fucking amazing," she pants, her adorable smile permanently fixed on her beautiful face, lips parted just slightly.

Fuck.

Absolutely beautiful.

Her appearance is entrancing. Those warm, dark brown eyes with a sly, playful expression. Plush pink lips pulled into a sultry smirk, teasing, as her hair cascades behind her shoulders. Kazuha pulls you back up, staring you directly in the eye, full of sensual promise.

"I think you deserve a reward, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha says between languid strokes of your cock. Those talented fingers tease you, squeezing and pumping with precision, hitting every one of your buttons, a cocky, knowing glint in her eyes. You're not one to stand idly by, reaching for her sides, massaging her hips and brushing along her waist.

This is not a slow and drawn-out affair. Every touch between the two of you is desperate and fiery, full of passion and an intense need to feel more and more—needing to satisfy your hunger. Her arms reach above her head and you finally toss away that pesky sports bra. Perky nipples beg to be teased and kissed.

You give her pecs a light lick before blowing cool air onto her sensitive, pointed peak. She mewls in response. Each tug on her nipple accompanied by a sultry cry from Kazuha. She's trapped, sandwiched between the wall behind her and your body, held hostage by pleasure. But one simple phrase and she takes back all control.

"Fuck me."

Two simple words. The most beautiful ones. Commanding and fierce. Kazuha doesn't beg. Kazuha doesn't ask. There's no softness in her tone, she knows what she wants and there will be no deterring her. The tip of your hard, aching cock slides across Kazuha's slick folds, smearing her juices, gliding up and down as your shaft teases her clit.

It takes all your willpower to hold back, you want this to last forever. A huge part of you doesn't believe this is actually happening and that this is all just a fever dream. But when your tip first enters her wet, hot heat, nothing feels more real and certain. There's tight, and there's this—Kazuha a woman who spends hours working out her core and performing exhaustive dance routines every single day. There's nothing tighter or better than this goddess's cunt.

Every single movement is an explosion of sensations: her inner muscles flexing and squeezing, gripping, the sensual gyrations of her hips, the shallow thrusting—this is pure perfection. Your head spins, drunk from the desire, the high of fucking this diva, being enticed by every subtle thing about Kazuha and all of it's pure insanity, almost terrifying and too unreal. You lean in, pressing against her body and giving yourself up to her.

It's a paradise that no mortal should ever be worthy of entering. That is what her cunt feels like: Heaven's gates. Something out of this world. It's like all the blood is leaving your head. That carnal desire that's been built up is now set loose in this debauchery, your primal urges taking over.

Fuck the consequences.

Nothing matters right now but this.

Each thrust into Kazuha elicits a cute, soft moan, her tongue hanging loosely from her lips and her eyes fluttered shut in bliss. Her nails dig into your back, the painful searing feeling mixes perfectly with the sweet pleasure coursing through your body. There's no gentleness or love, nothing other than lust and passion. Flesh against flesh.

Kazuha pushes you back, a naughty expression painted all over her face, pupils wide and tongue licking her lips.

"Wanna see a trick?"

There's no time to respond, her leg lifted into the air, showing off her flexibility and resting on your shoulder. This angle is unreal. You have no idea how she manages to keep her balance, especially when it allows you to slide even deeper into her cunt. The change is striking and her hands clasp over her mouth, failing to stifle a long, loud moan.

It's as impressive as it is erotic, using her ballet skills as a sexual advantage. Each pump in is pure pleasure, so hot and wet, you're drowning in her. Her walls clench and squeeze around your cock, as if she can't bear to let it leave, unwilling to relinquish your presence from her cunt.

"You're making me-" her words are cut off, Kazuha biting down hard on your shoulder in her attempt to stop the cry of passion. A hand wraps around her ankle, gripping her leg, hoisting her a little higher for even deeper thrusts. Her thighs and legs flex, locking you into place, keeping you there as she throws her head back in pleasure.

Kazuha bursts. For the second time. Shivering. Gasping. Pulsating. As if her pussy can't decide what's the best way to please the cock inside of her, an infuriating tightness and gyration around you.

Her leg leaves your shoulder, her whole body leaning against you as Kazuha's tired, labored breathing fans the back of your ear.

"That was quite the trick." Kazuha giggles at your lame attempt at a joke, pressing her finger against your lips.

"Did I say I was finished?"

Of all the things you should have expected after all the salacious behavior she exhibited during her first two orgasms, you really don't know why you should have expected anything less than what she did next: wrapping her arms around your neck and her legs around your waist.

Her forehead leans against yours, your tandem breaths sync up, and the calmness lasts for maybe a second before Kazuha presses a small peck against your mouth. She grinds down and starts working against your lap, her pussy bobbing up and down the hardness of your cock. You're carrying her weight now, Kazuha lifting herself up, then letting gravity guide her hips downwards to fully seat your dick.

Your fingers sink into her tight ass. She rides you, no break, not pausing once in her movements, sheathing herself repeatedly onto your girth. She's fucking you—every pent up frustration in living an idol's life is now being released into that. It dawns on you that in no moment were you ever in control, Kazuha stole every bit of agency from you.

Even so, your hips are locked in place.

Even as the room smells of sex and you're completely ensnared in a tangle of limbs. The loud clapping of flesh on flesh ringing in your ears—every bit of this situation is screaming irresponsibility and wrong. To fuck an idol whose star is on the rise would spell an end for a promising career. And yet Kazuha never fails to get her way, it's undeniably clear the moment that devious smile spreads across her face and the heated sparkles light up in her eyes, this vixen is determined to have what she wants.

Everything is burning up—your loins are on fire, Kazuha's steamy hot insides are the match.

"How do I feel, Mr. Photographer?" The sweetest, honeyed voice but with the devil's timbre. Kazuha fucks the words out of you, and your mouth feels so dry—you can't find the will or ability to speak as Kazuha smiles triumphantly.

Your life flashes before your very eyes. The decisions, the events—everything leading up until this very moment where you found yourself impossibly entangled in a gorgeous superstar, unable to get free from this spell. Everything culminates. From the time you were told you'd be working with her. From her flirty looks during the shoot.

Your hour of recess turned into this wild, irresponsible, crazy scenario. A lustful mess, as evidenced by the slick sheen that's collected around Kazuha's tight hole, glistening in the pale light. The tiniest twitches of her face, the furrowing of her brow—she's getting close again.

A handful of violent bounces is all she needed. With a stilted, violent scream and her pussy choking and gushing all over your thick rod. Everything's too hot and your toes begin curling and you can't stop fucking her, holding her perfect round ass, you start thrusting upwards—into her oversensitive cunt.

Kazuha squeals and it's too late to stop now, the sound of her pitiful cries as her body jerks and trembles and shakes—you're cumming together, perfectly synced in this debauchery. Her cunt squeezes the orgasm out of you. All over her walls. Flooding her insides, the warmth spilling out and dripping down and marking the both of you in the naughtiness of this exchange.

She collapses in your embrace, slumping against your chest and struggling to hold herself up. Both her feet rest on the ground, and the exhaustion is evident on her face—heaving breathlessly with a bright, brilliant smile as her knees threaten to give out beneath her.

Kazuha doesn't say anything, not a word, but she's glowing—unable to wipe that gorgeous grin off her face. There's no sign of regret either, or any hint of shame or guilt. No trace of anything but unbridled happiness and pure, raw satisfaction. A mischievous, perverse happiness that a woman in her profession shouldn't exude, not with the career waiting ahead of her.

A knock on the door. Shit. It's already been an hour?! There's a short pause, and she's pressing her finger to her lips, giggling quietly while giving a cheeky wink and getting herself dressed.

"I'll be right out." You yell at the door, sounding a bit winded as the thoughts come to you. It's easy to zip up, put away, and readjust yourself but there is absolutely no way you can cover up the smell, an obvious pungent musk that'd have anyone wrinkling their nose, the smell of hot, sweaty sex.

Kazuha winks at you and struts towards the door. A deep inhale, and the moment the door opens a whoosh of cool air clears out the fog from the past hour's festivities. "Make me look good out there Mr. Photographer," and in the span of an eye-blink, the façade she's made her identity, Kazuha's the innocent, sweet idol once again, her perverted desires and lustful yearning hidden under a veil of composure and modesty...

#kazuha smut #le serrafim kazuha smut

[jelzorz]

158.

"Hey, you know how to pick locks, right?"

It's an odd thing to ask. Callum's always been weird like that, Rayla supposes, and usually his weird questions are related to magic, and Xadia, and elven script and Rayla is (generally) happy to oblige. What can she say? He likes to learn, and the lilt in his voice and the light in his eyes and the excitement in his smile is endearing, and she's never been particularly good at saying no, at least not to him.

But this one is weird because it's not a Xadia thing, or a magic thing, or an elven script thing, and when he asks, he's not nearly as upbeat about it. At first, she doesn't get it. It's a useful skill to have, and a fun skill to master—it's like a puzzle but more fiddly, and Rayla had taught herself years and years ago because she didn't like it when Ethari and Runaan tried to keep her out of places, so of course she learned (in part) to spite them. Callum's never really had the same restrictions because he's a prince, and all he has to do to unlock anything is ask, usually, and yet—

"Can you teach me?"

"Er. Sure?" Rayla tilts her head at him curiously. "You planning a heist or something?"

Callum chuckles a little. "Or something," he says cryptically. "What, you don't think I can do it?"

"I don't think it's your style," says Rayla. "You're a prince and high mage, why on earth would you need to know how to pick a lock?"

He smirks then. "Ancient tomes, forbidden libraries, old abandoned ruins, jellytart runs... All sorts of reasons. Just feels like a necessary skill for adventure, y'know?"

Rayla laughs at that. "I mean, I guess. How often are you intending to break into forbidden libraries and old abandoned ruins?"

"As often as I need to, thank you very much. I have a whole life of adventure ahead of me, and I'll be damned if not being able to pick locks is the thing that stops me."

Rayla shakes her head at him, trying not to laugh at the way he wheedles. She was never going to say no, and he knows it, and he's far too smug about it for it not to be funny. For a second, she actually forgets that it's a weird thing to ask and teases him back: "Fine, but you'll have to ask Opeli for the handcuffs. I'm sure she won't wonder why you want them."

Callum snickers loudly at that, and it's that simple, that easy, just jokes between the two of them about a skill they don't really need, until later, when Rayla's showing him the mechanics of a lock and a thought occurs to her that reminds her why the whole thing feels a bit off-kilter.

"You know, we've only really had problems with locks, like, twice," she muses. "There was that one time Opeli arrested me, and then that time on Sea Legs, but I mean, you managed fine."

Something flickers across Callum's face. His smile twitches, falters, and if Rayla didn't know him so well, she might have missed it because she can see how hard he's trying to make it less of a deal than it is.

"Yeah, well." He shifts uncomfortably, the memory just as unpleasant for him. "I don't want repeats. I don't want anyone else trying to feed you to any sea leviathans."

"Somehow I think that was a one time thing." Rayla pauses, her smile fading a little as she fiddles with the manacles on his wrists. "How'd you get out of the chains Finnegrin put you in anyway? You apparently didn't pick them."

There's a pause. Callum looks away, and the whole world stills as the realisation dawns over Rayla, as cold as the way her blood froze in her veins that same day.

"...Callum."

"I had to do," he says quietly. He meets her gaze then, and the storm in his eyes makes her intestines writhe like snakes. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

Rayla says nothing for a moment, fingers hovering over the chains locked around his wrists. Her heart thumps heavily. Her breath shudders out. "Well," she says after a moment. "I guess we have to make sure you don't end up in that position a third time."

"You're not angry?"

"I don't know." She touches his hand then and finds herself relieved that it's still warm under her fingers. She doesn't know how to feel about it, but they're both alive and they're both safe so... that must count for something. "It doesn't matter," she says in the end. "I'm just... Glad we're okay. You won't do it again anyway."

Callum looks up at her. "Won't I?"

"No." Rayla hands him the lockpick. "I won't let you."

#this is a mess but im sleep deprived which is always my excuse and always valid #rayllum #in anticipation

[nc-vb]

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐚, 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚, & 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐮𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐬

a long time coming that I've meant to compile a list, but it just kept growing and growing and growing...

the webtoon list includes my very personal & important in-my-heart recommendations. aaaaand the rest are mostly smutty, kinky, and even a little dark.......... do not perceive, just enjoy. and support the official author's work and translations if you can!!

if there are any in this list you'd like a heads up about before reading, feel free to drop me an ask and I'll give you my honest opinion/review.

if you're having trouble locating anything, shoot me an ask (because i have most, if not all, of the links saved).

and feel free to gush to me if you liked any of them!! i'm always happy to talk about mmm's.

[updated july 3rd, 2023] - newly added titles are in green.

𝐵𝐿 = boy's love genre 𝐆𝐋 = girl's love genre 𝟏+ = includes harems & poly relationships ❤ = absolute masterpieces, highly recommended! ! = proceed with extreme caution/heed all warnings

please heed all warnings and tags found within each of these recommendations, as well as my own warnings from the symbol legend above and found throughout this post.

some of these are sfw and some aren't. some of these aren't for the faint of heart and will be marked to be read at your own risk. additionally, not all are translated into English. 𝐵𝐿/𝐆𝐋 are separate from the general list.

𝐖𝐄𝐁𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐍

A Messy Fairy Tale 𝟏+

A Summer Night's Dream

Age Matters ❤

Back to You

Bailin and Li Yun BL❤

Bitten Contract

Boyfriend of the Dead

Castle Swimmer BL

City of Blank

Dating With a Tail

Daytime Star

Devil Number 4 ❤

Devilish Romance

Down to Earth

Dreaming Freedom

Ghost Wife

Ghostly Buddie

Half-Ghost

Harem of LuuAnh

Hello Baby ❤

I'm the Grim Reaper

I Love Yoo ❤

It's Mine

Jeff's Disorders

Kind of Confidential

Little Rain

Lore Olympus ❤

Love Advice from the Great Duke of Hell ❤

Mage & Demon Queen GL

Marry Me!

Maybe Meant to Be

Meow Man

Midnight Poppy Land

Midnight Rain

Mom, I'm Sorry

Morgana and Oz

Muse on Fame

My Beloved Emperor

My Dear Cold-Blooded King

My Four Husbands 𝟏+

My In-Laws are Obsessed with Me ❤

My Lovely Bodyguard

Nice to Meet You

Not Even Bones

Operation: True Love ❤

Pastel-colored Pages

Phase

Scorching Romance

See You in My 19th Life ❤

Selina ~ Moon Bride ~

Siren's Lament ❤

Soleil

Space Boy

Strange and Wild

SubZero

Swimming Lessons for a Mermaid ❤

Take Off BL

The Devil is a Handsome Man

The First Night With the Duke ❤

The Guy Upstairs

The Newlywed Diary of a Witch and a Dragon ❤

The RUNWAY

There Must Be Happy Endings

To the Stars and Back BL

Trapped ❤

Unlovable Replacement

When Jasy Whistles ❤❤

Winter Woods

Your Smile is a Trap ❤

𝐒𝐅𝐖

Abe-kun's Got Me Now! (Abe-kun ni Nerawaretemasu)

A Master, Who Woke Up As a Concubine ❤

And Yet, You Are So Sweet (Na no ni, Chigira-kun amasugiru)

Beloved in-Laws (poor transl.)

Bon Appétit ❤

Don't Blush, Sekime

Forget My Husband, I'll Go Make Money (Aug 2023)

Golden Forest !

I, My, Me, Mine ❤ (アイマイミーマイン)

I Became the Male Lead's Adopted Daughter

I Can't Keep Up With My Stallion Duke ❤❤

I Will Change the Genre

I Will Rewrite the Dead End Novel

In the Clear Moonlit Dusk ❤ (Uruwashi no Yoi no Tsuki)

It's My Destiny to Be the Hero's Saviour !

Kubo Won't Let Me Be Invisible

Love's in Sight!

Loving Yamada at Lv 999 ❤❤❤

Male Lead, I'll Respect Your Taste !

Ookami no Musume ❤❤

Pink and Habanero ❤ (Pink to Habanero)

Protected by My Dragon Knight (Seijo wa Ryuukishi-sama ni Mamorarete)

Scary Faced High Schooler and Miss Plain Jane

Second Life of a Trash Princess

Sinking too deep in your rabbit hole, now I'm drowning in your love

Stella Next to Me ❤ (Tonari no Stella)

The Cunning Princess and the Shark ❤

The Fragrant Flower Blooms With Dignity ❤ (Kaoru Hana wa Rin to Saku)

The Muscle Girl Next Door

The Obsessive Second Male Lead Has Gone Wild

The Reasons We Fall in Love ❤ (Watashi-tachi ga koisuru riyuu)

The Tyrant's Comfort Doll !

To the Dear F-Phantom of the Opera (Shinai naru F e: Opera-za no Kaijin)

Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun ❤ (Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun)

Vampire Lord's Greatest Wife ❤

Welcome to the Yandere Cafe (rating subject to change)

Yojouhan no Ibara Hime

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐅𝐖

あざと可愛い✕くんの執着サド交尾は本物です x!!!

無能力巫女は狛犬の淫紋快楽漬け x❤!

2LDK IKEMEN Tsuki Bukken Arimasu !!

A Dream Between the Sheets ❤❤

A Gentle Sea Monster and a Lonely Girl !

A Predator in a Skirt !

A Sip of Poison !

Boy's Abyss (subject to change, new read) !!

Childhood Friend's Secret Massage !

Consort to the Fox Spirit Lord

Dark Fall !

Depths of Malice !

Devoured by a Bookworm Girl !

Fire in His Fingertips ❤

Former Delinquent Farmer's Sex Appeal is Dangerous!

From Him to Who? ~Sex With My Body-Snatched Husband ❤

Gokudou to Omega - Mukidashi no Katsuai

Hana's Demons of Lust !

Hare-kon 𝟏+

Heat 200 Meters Away (200 M Saki no Netsu)

Honey, I'm Going On a Strike!

How to Make a Frigid Girl Cum

I'm in Love With Mr. Hanabusa

Lady K and the Sick Man ❤❤

Last Order wa Ojou-san de Dekiai Jouren Kyaku ni Kyuuai saretemasu

Junai - Pure Wet Love

Kuma to Tora ~Taikakusa Osananajimi no Hajimete kara, Kemono ni Naru 2-kakan made~ x

Madoka Exorcist ❤!

Mede Little Roy !

Mr. Tada is a Top Performer

Muttsuri Akazukin-kun kara wa nige rarenai

My Cold Co-worker Obsessively Loves Me

Pet Baby Doll

Pygmalion's Savior is a Big But Immature Love Monster !❤

Red Hot Proposal: Surrounded by His Tanned Body

Sadistic Beauty !!!!

Sakaki the Lazybones Shows His Talents at Night ❤❤

Sapphire Dew ~ Infatuated Gentlemanly Boyfriend Seizes the Initiative !

Seishun no Hekireki

Seriously can't pass this up. - Kohai's passionate sex won't stop until morning

Sinful Nun Pays Penitence to the Serpent ❤❤

Spring Amidst My Wintertide ❤

Superstitious Nine ❤

Sweet Lies Layered Like a Mille Feuille ❤

Tadano Renai Nanka de Kikkonai ❤❤

The Golden Forest !

The Goldfish’s Corpse Lies at the Bottom of the Swamp !!!!!!!!

The Greengrocer is a Carnivore in Bed!?

The Man Who Saved Me in My Isekai Trip Was a Killer!!!!!!!

The Neighbor in Room 203 Disappeared Leaving a Key Behind !!!!!!!

The Reincarnated Saint Falls for the Demon Lord

The Tainted Half !

The Virgin Witch

The Weird Senior in the Seat Next to Me ❤❤❤! (Tonari Senpai)

Toshishita Osananajimi ga Watashi o Shibatte Hanasa nai! x

Totem's Realm

Touching is Better Than Looking

Under the Oak Tree

Until the Obedient Bodyguard Exposes the Body and the Lie of the Fake Lady ❤

"Wanna Cum?" The Pure Taiga Advances Slow and Sweet ❤❤

Welcome to the Muscle Salon ❤❤❤

When Beauty Meets Beasts

When You Are Reincarnated As The villain NPC's Girl And Be Loved By The Strongest Prince Who Is Not A Capture Target !!

Wild Eyes

Will You Pledge Your Love to an Incubus?

Wish Upon a Husband

Yaba Ai Instructor !

You're Too Cute for Me to Be Gentle

𝐁𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒

4 Week Lovers BL

A Handless Day BL!

A Hot Wet Job for Three -Adult Toy Tester- BL, 𝟏+

A Kiss for You, My Shinobi BL

A Tree Without Roots BL❤!

Angel Buddy BL❤❤

Bidou Wakadanna Koi Shitau Wa Koushoku Otoko BL❤

Bitten by Moonlight BL

Black Mirror BL!!!

Blind Play BL!!

Can't Think Straight BL

Cherry Blossoms After Winter BL

Confession Night BL

Dangerous Convenience Store BL

Dawn of the Dragon BL

Dear Door BL

DEATH or LOVE BL

Delinquent Omega Belongs to the Beast King BL

Demon of Lustful Hell BL

Desharow Merman BL❤

Die If You Aren't a Virgin BL

Eat Me Up, My Husband BL!

Ennead

Eunsoo's Good Day BL

Eye Contact BL

Fake Fact Lips BL

Frenemies: Thicker Than Blood BL❤

Friends, Engaged

Fucking in the Dorms BL!

Ghost Gate BL!!!!!

Healing Paradox BL❤

He's a Better Top Than Me?! BL

Home Far Away BL❤!!!

Horeta Otoko wa Shin'yuu de BL!

Housekeeper's Love Affair BL

How to convince your best friend to sleep with you BL

Hyperventilation BL❤❤❤

I Didn't Ask You to Eat Me!

I Love You, Nothing Else Matters BL❤

In an Empty Classroom BL

Indigo BL

I Ship My Rival x Me BL

It's Just a Dream... Right? BL❤❤❤

Jinx BL!

Kabukicho Bad Trip BL

Kiss de Egaku Ittousei BL❤

Kiss Me, Liar BL!

Lala no Kekkon BL!

Liveta BL

Love in Kitsch BL

Love is an Illusion BL!

Love Jinx BL❤

Low Tide in Twilight BL!!

Mad Dog BL❤❤

Miscreants and Mayhem BL

Missing Love BL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (<I cannot express this enough.)

My Delicious Dream Boy BL❤

My Demon Crybaby, Maria BL

My Partner Suddenly Got Younger - An Omega Caretaker Plays Alpha BL!

Natsu no Teppen ni Saku BL

Old-Fashioned Cupcake BL❤❤ (has a j-drama)

Pain, Sweet Pain BL

Passion BL

Payback BL❤❤❤

Pearl Boy BL❤!!!!!!

Pink Heart Jam BL❤❤

Please, Candy! BL!

Roses and Champagne BL!

Sadistic Beauty: Side Story BL!!!!!!

Secret Inside My Head BL❤❤❤

Semantic Error BL (has a j-drama)

Sensei wa Nekketsu ga Areba Juubunda! BL!

Sick BL

Sign BL❤❤❤

Sketch BL❤

Speak of the Devil BL

Steel Under Silk BL❤

Surge Looking for You BL❤

Sweet Trap BL

Tabetemo Oishiku Arimasen BL

Tentacle Recipe BL(?)❤

The Blessed Life of a Retired Nian Monster BL

The Crybaby's at the Mean Devil's Mercy BL❤

The Foxy Mouse's Romance BL

The Origin of Species BL!

The Pizza Delivery Man and the Gold Palace BL

The Pure-Hearted Puppy and the Erotic Tattoo BL❤

The Silent Concubine BL!

The Unquenchable Mr. Kim BL❤

The Words in Your Snare BL❤❤❤

To Take An Enemy's Heart BL!

Tomodachi Engagement BL

Trick Turned Into a Threesome With the Tachibana Brother BL

Under the Greenlight BL

Unexpectedly Naughty Fukami BL❤

Unromantic Romance BL❤

Young Lover BL!!

Your Wish is My Command BL❤

Yours to Claim BL

Zenryaku, Onii-chan wa Seijo ni Narimashita BL!

more recommendations will likely be added as time goes on! feel free to copy these recs for your own checklist of 'to reads'.

hope you enjoy them like i did! :)

#manga recommendation #manhwa recommendation #manhua recommendation #bl manga #bl manhwa #bl manhua #manga recs #manhwa recs #manhua recs #PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THE EXCLAMATION TAGGED RECS OKAY??? I'M NOT JOKING ABOUT THEM. #i've read some pretty awful things over the past few years... like really awful. #... a lot of them did not make this list. #'Missing Love' has that many !!! and is bolded in red for a REASON-- i've never cried so hard for a MC than i did for Lee Geom. #seriously... it's so awful. and i hate that i found it because i need to know that he eventually has something good happen for him. #i don't really want to discuss it but for anyone's curiosities... i mean... feel free to ask me in dms so i can warn you... #✦ nc vb.

[novoaa1writes]

day 0

image source

pairing(s): softdark!natasha romanoff x gnc!reader, natasha romanoff & tony stark (platonic)

summary:

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Or: Natasha wants a pet. Lucky for her, she knows a guy who can help with that.

contains: non-con dynamics, pet play, dehumanization

[cross-posted on ao3]

word count: ~3,300

rating: mature

warnings: non-con dynamics, forced pet play, dehumanization, non-con bathing, referenced non-con body modification, referenced non-con medical experimentation/surgery, referenced physical and psychological abuse, discussions of administering post-op painkillers (morphine, oxycodone, anti-inflammatories, etc.)

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here, and as with every reader-insert i write, the reader is intended to be ethnically ambiguous! also, no use of y/n... i don't personally mind it much, but i understand it's typically preferred without

translation for russian terms in the end notes!

(previously named “build-a-pet”)

— —

Natasha had been on mission when she received the call. 

Burner #1—professional access. A select handful of people had the means to call it. Phil, Clint, Nick, Maria. Pepper, too. 

Burner #2—a separate, off-books agenda. Personal in nature. Accessible to none save for one individual. 

It was the second of the two that rang to signal an incoming call.  

Eyeing her target—Pavel Mikhailovich Novik, Bratyerstva head and prolific serial killer—intently through the tac scope, she brought the phone up to her ear and answered the call:

“Romanoff.”

“Gah! Always business with you, huh?” Tony Stark’s conversational—if not somewhat indignant—tone filtered through the speaker. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

Were Natasha not otherwise occupied at the current moment, she might’ve scoffed. As it was: “A little busy, Shellhead,” she muttered, shifting her aim in time with Novik’s uneven stride as he made his way across a municipal street. “Why don’t we skip to the part where you tell me what you’ve got?”

“I’m doing just swell, thanks for asking.”

He was a short, stout man. Novik, that was. Flat-footed gait, the kind that had long since ruined the arches of his well-worn shoes. Broad shoulders; barrel-chested torso. Thick dark hair cut short on his scalp and, in the case of his square-shaped jaw, removed completely—but permitted to grow to damn near cat-whisker length everywhere else. 

A wheat-link chain hung loose around his short neck; the chunky watch on his hairy wrist gleamed when it caught the light. Both solid gold.

He was dressed nicely enough in a red button-down that looked soft as satin, and charcoal black trousers with a matching blazer to boot.  

Natasha had to bite back a disapproving hum as he strode into the establishment—a pub, no less—and hoisted himself up onto a barstool with little ceremony. 

He was armed, of course, but only barely; a pistol in one inner coat pocket, a switchblade in the other. He also wasn’t entirely clueless, as evidenced by his company: a pair of stern-looking men who stood flanking him on either side, the material of their cheap polyester suits straining to contain their hulking figures, jackets bulging with poorly-concealed semi-automatic weapons. They watched the bartender like hawks as he set a clear bottle—Dębowa—and an empty glass in front of Novik before promptly scurrying away.

They turned their matching glowers away from their boss as he began to drink, surveying the small, dimly-lit pub with heavy-browed suspicion.

It was a clear message. A bit garish for Natasha’s tastes; but clear nonetheless. 

As it was, she barely had to shift herself any further to catch him in her crosshairs through a series of high, rectangular windows lining the interior of the grimy pub. 

All bark, no bite. 

A far less jaded woman might have snorted. 

A far less jaded woman Natasha was not. 

“… Long story short, we’ve made some serious progress. I want to check in, though, if you could swing by for a quick visit. We’ve only got a short window before some of these alterations are irreversible. Plus, I figured you’d want to see them.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, her pulse thrumming wild and fast beneath her skin. “You figured right,” she managed to answer, her mouth dry. It was all she could do to keep Novik unharmed in her crosshairs, her finger from squeezing the trigger. 

“So, when can we expect you?”

Natasha flit her gaze to the clock face fastened atop a tall, spindly spire on the nearest street corner, then back to Novik. “Give me six hours.”

— —

“Boss, three reports intercepted from secure, heavily-encrypted channels. All high-profile killings, all on European soil.”

Tony Stark, though intrigued, did not look up from the task at hand: himself perched adroitly along the rim of the tub, lathering your naked body in sweet-smelling soaps; you, slumped uncouthly in the cradle of the bath, glaring up at him with defiant eyes and murder in the tick of your jaw. 

“Time window?” he questioned after a pause, lowering one sudsy hand to knead at your lower belly and grinning wolfishly when you couldn’t smother a quiet whine. 

“Six days.”

“Locales?”

“Qormi, Malta; Kutaisi, Georgia; and Gomel, Belarus.”

Stark hummed in lieu of answer, a vaguely preoccupied look in his narrowed gaze. His large, calloused fingers didn’t cease their humiliating ministrations over your quivering belly, making you pant in an effort to hold back a low, guttural trill. 

“In that order?”

“Yes, boss.”

You hated him. You fucking hated him. 

“Walks like Natasha, quacks like Natasha…” he trailed off, giving your belly one last squeeze before withdrawing slightly to cup your other hip with his palm. “Probably Natasha.”

You’d only just begun regaining your strength following the latest procedure, though not nearly enough to do anything other than glare.

Stark slanted his gaze back over to you. If he was at all cowed by the force of your glower, he did well not to show it. “You’re adorable when you’re plotting my demise, y’know that?”

It took everything within you not to roll your eyes.

— —

“So, how was White Russia? Eat any draniki?” Stark questioned as he settled bodily into an armchair, gesturing for Natasha to seat herself on the settee across from him. 

She did, her features calm and impassive. Her shrewd gaze flit to you once, but was quick to refocus. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“C’mon, give me something,” Stark carped, huffing petulantly. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, only the back of his head and a bit of bearded cheek, but you imagined he was probably pouting like a third grader. “For old times’ sake?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Stark quipped. “Though, I suppose I can’t say the same for Novik. He didn’t even get a trial.” 

Natasha’s placid expression did not falter. “Who?”

“You know what, I’m just gonna give you this one—”

“Generous.”

“—but only because we’ve achieved a mind-blowing amount of progress within the past couple weeks. Like, seriously: mind-blowing.”

You felt yourself shudder at the reminder. Progress, indeed.

“Oh?” Natasha queried lightly, brows raised. Once more, her gaze dipped to you… and stayed there. 

You ducked your head and averted your eyes, cheeks aflame. You’d grown accustomed to being naked around Stark—mainly because you didn’t have a choice. But Natasha… 

For the first time in years, you found yourself missing your long hair, the way you could cower behind it at a moment’s notice. Now, you were exposed. Vulnerable. 

“I trust they were well-behaved?”

“You know they weren’t,” Stark disputed, letting out a derisive snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t let me fix that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Chemically-induced submission is all very well and good,” she mused, sounding vaguely preoccupied. You could still feel her gaze upon you, boring through your skull. “But I’d prefer to earn theirs.”

“Your funeral.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, though she remained silent. Then, after a beat or two— “Your progress?” she prompted.

“Right, so, here’s the run-down…”

— —

You’d tuned out for the most part as Stark began his long-winded, vainglorious speech to Natasha about his—your—successes since last they’d spoken. Much as you understood it was likely prudent to listen in, acquire a little more knowledge on what exactly he’d done to you, you’d also been there long enough to know that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyhow. 

Natasha would do with you as she pleased. Stark, too, provided Natasha was the one asking. 

In the beginning, that intrigued you. Made you want to learn more about them and their dynamic; to understand why it was what it was. You didn’t get why Stark would run, jump, and heel for the likes of her—intimidation factor notwithstanding. 

By this point, that intrigue had since dwindled, if not dissipated entirely. It was what it was; consequently, they were, too. 

You were still angry and strong-willed and a far cry from broken, but you weren’t stupid, either. Just because they treated you like a chained-up dog didn’t mean you had to gnaw off your own limbs in a desperate bid to escape like one. 

And, besides… it wasn’t often you got moments like these. Moments where you weren’t being poked and prodded and shot up with God knows what. You were collared, sure, your body riddled with all kinds of aches and pains, but none of it held a candle to the agony you’d known in days past. 

Lost in your head though you were, months’ worth of training ensured you didn’t miss the moment Natasha called you over. 

“Ко мне,” she spoke, pitching her voice just above appropriate speaking volume.

It was like someone lit a fire under your ass. The second you heard it, you shot up on all fours. Pain came fast on its heels, but you grit your teeth and bore it, swallowing down a cry as soreness shot through your hands—you flat-out refused to call them ‘paws’—like wildfire. Every heightened reflex stood on high alert. Your back, too, felt like it was on fire, spinal column alight with tenderness. 

Still, it wasn’t nearly so bad as it’d been a week back, when you awoke in observation all bandaged up and so acutely in pain, you feared it might kill you. You also knew better than to dawdle. Clenching your jaw tight, you shuffled forth on sore palms and bruised knees. Your muscles burned. 

You were grateful to feel the tip of your nose graze Natasha’s jean-clad knee, signaling a justifiable stopping point. 

“Молодец,” she praised, her voice pitched an octave (or two) higher, and you felt like singing. 

You even arched your poor, aching back in a shameless effort to attract… well, something, you supposed. Head pats, perhaps. An open-handed stroke down your spine, even.  

Damn that animal, desire-seeking hindbrain.

Fortunately, Natasha seemed to understand. Her palm met the nape of your neck, slender fingers curling their way into the mess of hair at the back of your scalp—God, but that felt divine. A mounting hum in the back of your throat was all the warning you got before—

Fuck. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut, and the sound—along with the pleasurable vibrations—stopped altogether. 

Not again. 

“Ah-ah-ah, puppy,” Natasha tutted, her free hand descending to squeeze your nose tight—effectively cutting off your air supply. And still, the other remained; combing through freshly-washed hair at the base of your skull, occasionally scritching your scalp with the tips of her blunt nails until the insides of your throat quivered and your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. It was all you could do to keep from opening right back up and giving her a nice long purr. (Which, you’d deduced, was exactly what she wanted.) “None of that.”

She was using English now, you noticed. 

And, just like that, the realization hit that she hadn’t been before. 

Now, you could… you could hear her words and understand them, and from that understanding know their meaning. Before, it was like… like hearing the words and knowing what they were supposed to mean, then acting accordingly. You couldn’t take apart the syllables, the letters in your head, not like you could with English. 

P-u-p-p-y. That spelled ‘puppy.’ When you tried to conjure the word she’d used to summon you over, there was just… nothing. A blank space. A short one, telling you you knew the approximate length of the word you were looking for, but… empty. 

Your gaze darted to Stark, who just slouched back in his cushy armchair looking immeasurably pleased with himself. At any other time, the mere sight would’ve been enough to spark some measure of annoyance within you. 

Now… Now, all you could feel was fear. 

He didn’t do that, did he? He… he couldn’t’ve. 

All the rest of it: the obedience, the meekness—that? That was conditioning, plain and simple. You weren’t exactly a PhD, but it didn’t take a genius to note down from the very start that some behaviors got you alone time in a small, dark room without food or water or sunlight for days on end, and others got you… well, not that. By a certain point, you would beg him to yell at you, choke you out, take you over his knee and spank your ass raw when you misbehaved; something, anything, so long as it wasn’t that. 2 times out of 10, he’d take you up on that. As for the other 8… well. 

But this—implanting knowledge in your subconscious, tuning it to mimic compulsory behavioral urges, all while you remained none the wiser? That was a hell of a lot more complicated than reworking your spine, or tweaking sensory receptors, or even altering your vocal tract to make that obnoxious purr. 

It was like he’d rewired your brain. 

You didn’t even notice that you’d since relented: gasped out what little breath remained and began wheezing, all doubled-over, sucking in new breaths of air like a half-drowned cat. Though, you sure as hell noticed how that rattling, restless, vibrating sensation arose in your throat with every shuddering inhale; how, on every exhale came exactly what you’d feared—that pathetic, trilling purr. The one that warmed your body from head to toe while simultaneously making you wish you had never been fucking born. 

God, but Natasha’s hands were like magic…

Your head still spun. Was it from the oxygen deprivation, or the realization that Stark had been inside your head? Probably both. 

Terrified, dazed, and overwhelmingly confused, it took you some time to re-center; tuning back into Stark and Natasha’s conversation, if only to posture yourself accordingly. You could figure out the rest later, you reasoned.

“… The spinal alterations don’t inhibit their ability to stand upright, by any means, which is the exciting thing,” Stark was saying, damn near perched at the edge of his seat—almost vibrating with renewed vigor. Weirdo. “They just enhance their natural capacity to remain down on all fours and go about their day for extended periods of time: a day, a week… hell, indefinitely! Which, for humans, would be pretty much unthinkable. I mean, can you imagine?”

Without allowing a moment’s pause for Natasha to respond (which you’d come to understand was quite typical), Stark wasted no time in steamrolling on. “‘Course, the process of transplanting new bones was rather tricky, and we had to do a couple of them more than once. Dr. Cho estimates a week—at most—before they’ve healed enough to allow for more… strenuous physical activity.”

Natasha snorted. Her hand had long stilled its pleasant ministrations in favor of resting inert at the base of your skull, slender fingers curled loosely around your nape. You felt how they twitched and tightened their grip ever-so-slightly when Stark spoke of what he’d done to your spine. “Are they in pain?” 

Funny. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought she cared. 

Stark raised a brow. “Ballpark?”

Natasha must’ve nodded, or dipped her chin in confirmation, because a beat later, Stark spoke again.

“Imagine you got ripped open, rearranged, then stitched back up,” he summed up. “Twice.”

Dimly, it registered within you to be struck by his forthrightness, though you did not dare mistake it for empathy. 

Natasha was quiet for a beat. “Sounds about right,” she said eventually. 

“It doesn’t have to be this bad,” Stark offered, though there was a curious shift in his intonation, this time; a knowing and almost resigned look in his eye that made you wonder if he and Natasha had had this conversation before.

The way Natasha’s hand twitched, blunt nails digging into the skin of your nape, was answer enough. 

“Were I their doctor, I’d be prescribing some serious pain meds,” Stark continued on dryly, making a show of tilting his head and gazing off into the distance as though he was deep in thought. “Morphine, oxycodone—“

“No.”

“—maybe a local anesthetic or two,” he mused, beginning to count them out on his fingers. “Anti-inflammatories. Anticonvulsants. Something for the anxiety, even—”

“I wanted a pet, not a vegetable.”

Stark’s lips twitched—though with exasperation or humor, you could not tell. “Do you realize how quickly even the most powerful anesthetics will metabolize through their system? They’re not human anymore, Red. At least, not entirely.”

Now, that piqued your interest. 

“Neither am I.”

“It’s different for them. You know that. You got Erskine’s serum. Some unrefined bootleg variant, granted, but that man was nothing if not brilliant. Everything he touched, he turned to gold.” Stark spoke of him—this ‘Erskine’—as though he put the very stars in the sky. You wondered if he was truly brilliant, or just insane. You wondered if for Stark, there was any difference. “As for them… well.” He gestured vaguely towards you. “They got some anthropomorphic whack job’s bone marrow.”

You blinked. You got what now?

“He has a name, you know,” Natasha commented archly, the earlier indignation having dissipated from her tone. 

“Point being—I’ve met the guy. He’s seriously unhinged.” He paused there, as if expecting Natasha to argue. When she didn’t, he steamrolled on: “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. scavenge some digitized medical reports and psych evals from his time at the facility, along with anything else they could piece together after he escaped. Violently, I might add.”

“I won’t say he’s devoid of empathy, or a moral compass, because we both know that that’s not true,” Stark explained, then muttered under his breath: “Even if his senses of both concepts are seriously skewed.”

“Tony,” Natasha interjected, a note of warning in her voice. 

“Just listen, alright? I’m getting there.” Stark huffed out a sigh, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “My point is that he wasn’t like that, at the start. He was no saint, to be sure, but he wasn’t like that. It wasn’t until they started a particularly ill-inspired series of ‘tests’—though I’d argue a better term would be ‘torture sessions’—to assess his healing capabilities that he really started losing his marbles.”

You head was beginning to spin. Your jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Who were they talking about? 

“See, because his capabilities—extraordinary as they were—weren’t superhuman. They didn’t transcend healing itself, let alone make it any less painful to endure. In fact, I think they actually concluded that it was made more painful by his body’s ability to undertake those processes at such an expeditious rate.” Stark breathed out another heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he could feel a headache brewing. 

He wasn’t the only one. 

“He nearly went insane, Natasha. Joking aside, it almost beggars belief that he’s as high-functioning as he is,” Stark asserted, no longer pulling his punches. “I know you don’t want that for them.”

It was silent for a beat… Then two. 

“Fine.”

Stark promptly quieted, renewed interest sparking itself alight in his gaze. “What was that now?”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

A slow grin spread across his clean-shaven features. 

“No opioids,” Natasha was quick to amend. “Nothing addictive. Just… anything that’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

Silence for a beat. Then two. 

Stark squinted at her. “You sure you and that bleeding heart of yours are up for this?”

Natasha’s grip around your nape tightened even further. “Shellhead,” she gritted out, her tone hard as weathered steel. Even the sound of it was enough to send chills down your spine. 

Stark, in contrast, was not at all similarly affected. He simply tilted his head to one side and made a show of continuing to appraise her with shrewd, assessing eyes. Then, finally: “You should try yoga.”

— —

end notes: L O fucking L

also the anthropomorphic whack job they’re talking about is logan (wolverine) from x-men, in case you’re wondering 

edit: i’ve since written a continuation of this, linked below!

translation of russian terms (with stresses bolded):

ко мне | ko mnye | “come”

молодец | molodyets | excellent, good

sources:

“organized crime in eastern europe” | to be so clear, i just made up “bratyerstva” from the term “братство” (bratstvo) which means “brotherhood” or “fraternity” in bulgarian, macedonian, russian, and serbo-croatian dialects. it is also the name of a ukrainian political party (ukrainian: братство, romanized: bratstvo), but it is not an actual belarusian word. it also bears some resemblance to братва, a slang term used to refer to criminal gangs in russia and other ex-ussr states. honestly, the closest you’d probably get to an actual word with this would be the polish “braterstwo” (brahterstvo) which also means “brotherhood” or “fraternity.” (however, in some informal contexts, the term “братерство” has been used in ukrainian dialects to convey synonymous meanings.) anyway, this is a brief snippet (~10 pages) from an academic article about organized crime in eastern europe, if the precedent behind all that intrigues you. i thought it was pretty informative!

white russia | another name for belarus, though there’s some controversy/nuance to that (and big surprise, it’s got everything to do with russia). this links to an article from euronews talking about... all of that

draniki | an immensely popular dish in belarus. they’re basically potato pancakes. several other european countries have close equivalents. 

— —

next part: come, sit, stay

link to masterlist

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x gnc!reader #dark!natasha romanoff #softdark!natasha romanoff x reader #stuff i wrote

[aces-and-angels]

countdown to 2024 @choicesfandomappreciation

deadlines? we don't know her😗💅🏼 so many works to shoutout- so brace yourselves gang- this'll be a long one

now- without further ado- here are some writers that made my year:

🖤@thedistantshoresproject

sending love to the whole team on board who are working tirelessly to finish this magnificent project. i was so excited to read the demo this year! knowing how long the journey has been and reading the updates each week- i realize how weary yall must be and hope that i can convey my gratitude for bringing back our favorite pirates in one awesome sequel 🖤

---

🖤@bloodboundsiege

another demo for the books- and another fanmade project that i am rooting for; i personally have only read through finn's demo but i'm already in love with all the characters. plus- who wouldn't be excited for the chance to romance gaius??? there is a ton of lore in op's blog for all the new lis that i 100% recommend to read through. excited to see what's in store in the new year!

---

🖤@hashiedraws

the way i ran to play this story when it dropped😭 if yall are fans of ilw- then you may know that one of the artists released this wonderful vn this year. it's a story that keeps on serving 🎾 the artwork is incredible and the accompanying story is an absolute treasure. i was on the floor- in tears- jaw-dropped. trust me- it was an experience. one i recommend yall take too 😊

---

🖤 @lovehugsandcandy

the queen of colt- and tbh- one of my literary muses. your writing is such an inspiration to me and having you back on the dash this year for blades was definitely a highlight 🖤 a snippet from one of my favorite fics this year:

read 'bound' here "Of course. We have plenty of time for that... don't we?" “Because you’re not leaving?” He squeezes her hand. “I’m not leaving.”  It’s a whisper more powerful than any rope.

---

🖤@jerzwriter

the heart you have is so warm and inviting- and it shows with each work you've shared🖤 i've cherished reading your works for trystan x carolina- picking one to highlight seems cruel but i'll give it a shot lol. their banter/dynamic is so beautifully portrayed and never fails to bring a smile to my face:

read 'tricks and treats' here “There is no Trystan,” he snickered, playfully pulling her close. “Only the Big Bad Wolf..uh.. no.. I mean Grandma! I’m Grandma, trust me.” “Grandma? What big paws you have!” she beamed as he nuzzled into her neck and playfully growled. “The better to paw you with, my dear...” “Well, you can paw me once we get to the party. We’re very late.”

---

🖤@theoriginaltortuga

your four part series- 'responsibility, rage, and recent resurrection' was such a good read and deserves some love. it ain't a secret i'm a big ilw fan- and a sucker for bonus scenes. reading a more fleshed out version of connor's eventual turning was *chef's kiss* immaculate- i shamelessly go back to this fic from time to time:

read 'responsibility, rage, and recent resurrection' here Grief and terror had been a part of Connor since the night Devon died. The feelings came and went, but they never left completely and Connor worried that he would never feel peace again. With Devon alive but unconscious, a massacre set for a few days, and the man who’d killed his mother on the loose; those feelings were more overwhelming than ever. Not to mention the anger that had been festering in his chest since his mom was killed. All of it led back to one simple thing: Westchester wasn’t safe. 

---

🖤@linkysmommy

mother lincoln- i wanna thank you for blessing me with not only ilw itself but ilw fics (and some other works of yours i've recently had the pleasure of reading😉) though, imma pivot real quick from ilw and actually give some praise to another project of yours- and the reason i downloaded storyloom in the first place- open heart: a toxic situation. what a story full of mystery, romance, and ✨bryce✨ (there are multiple lis to choose from- i just really love bryce lmao)

read this beauty right here

---

🖤 @saibug1022

the angst legend- i go to you for the hurt lmaoo. but really- it is a talent to write the way you do and i'm lucky to reap the benefits of reading your work. the time you put into crafting your mcs- making them fully fleshed out blorbos- then giving the most heart-wrenching scenarios to deal with- incredible✨ here's some love for the villain stories out there:

read 'a funeral of faith' here “I had no place in Undermount while humans and orcs treated me like an outsider. I was kidnapped and tortured while my friends and two of the men I loved gave up on me and left me to die. And the other man I loved used and betrayed me for power and disappeared when I still forgave him.”

---

🖤 @professor-abeloved

prepare to be adored, admired, and appreciated- your mcs are everything to me. the way you write is so special and uniquely you- and i love your work dearly. i've got your fics seared in my brain- here's one of the many (bc we as a fandom silently agreed that linc angst just hits different):

read 'lincoln's bad day' here “Sorry,” Ro called out for what felt like the nth time with an awkward grimace. “You okay? I can get an ice pack or a salonpas or—” “It’s fine,” Lincoln says, clutching his aching jaw. In some weird way, it’s surprisingly… therapeutic? There’s something about a being confronted with such raw, unimaginable Power that has the capacity to utterly destroy you if it chooses, but instead it’s draping a small, lilac cardigan over your shoulders as it looks you over for bruises. read 'lincoln's bad day' here “Sorry,” Ro called out for what felt like the nth time with an awkward grimace. “You okay? I can get an ice pack or a salonpas or—” “It’s fine,” Lincoln says, clutching his aching jaw. In some weird way, it’s surprisingly… therapeutic? There’s something about a being confronted with such raw, unimaginable Power that has the capacity to utterly destroy you if it chooses, but instead it’s draping a small, lilac cardigan over your shoulders as it looks you over for bruises.

---

🖤@mydemonsdrivealimo

bless your beautiful, magnificent brain- atp your hcs are my canon lmaoo. bryce and jensen are so special to me and it's no secret how much love you've poured into them through your work. slowly but surely, i'm getting around to reading all the fics of theirs. the ones i have read were amazing. time to shower praise for your most recent work (also i'm rooting for you- writer's block is a biatch):

read 'halloween' here “Hey, sorry,” Bryce said, giving his waist a quick squeeze before unceremoniously flopping into one of the chairs, the force sending it back enough that Jensen had to pull him closer. “You’re lucky I didn’t lock you out and eat it for you,” Jensen said with a quick wave to the food in front of him, taking a seat in his own chair. “M’fucking starving.” He was already shoveling crab rangoon into his mouth, ignoring the steam coming off of it.

---

🖤 @aria-ashryver

a ray of sunshine- you deserve the world and more🥰 one thing on my to-do list for the new year is to finally sit down and read SICSIG. from the snippets i've seen, i know i'll treasure the heck out of it. when i do- i apologize in advance for the person i become lmao (give it up for the poly romance yall)

read 'snow in crimson, starlight in gold' here

---

🖤@me

self-love, amirite? reading through old works is either a hit or miss for me lol- but the process of writing has been a welcome journey of mine. from the frantic word vomit to staring at a blinking cursor- it's been a ride. and i'm thankful to everyone above for inspiring me to keep moving forward 🖤

read whatever yall want here

---

this list could go on and on and i'm definitely missing some people- but to the writers out there: you are the heartbeat of the fandom and we are lucky to have you 🖤

#playchoices #choices #choices countdown to 2024

[eoieopda]

Hello there jade! 🥰🥰 Can i please request a jealous + clingy seokjin? Thank you a lot in advance ❤️❤️

this may have ended up more sensual than originally planned, ope 🥴

cw: alcohol consumption, semi-possessive and intimidating implied dom!jin, surprise appearance by co-worker!jimin (not intended to be a creep, just the biggest flirt and also a chaotic bisexual because i said so 😏)

Even for a Saturday night, the club was significantly more crowded than you anticipated.

You’d walked through the front door with your little finger locked with Jin’s, but as soon as you crossed the threshold, the sea of bodies filled the space between you. The current pulled you apart and carried you in opposite directions. At his height, he should’ve been easy to spot; at yours, though, all you saw were the shoulder blades of strangers.

Deciding that your best vantage point would be at the bar, you slipped through the fray and ducked under arms as other patrons raised their glasses. Miraculously, you did it all in heels - without so much as a hair out of place. You huffed when you finally reached the bar, and turned back to gaze in the direction you’d just trekked from.

Still, despite fastidiously scanning over the room, Jin was nowhere to be found.

You turned back towards the bartender moments before a body sidled up next to you. Thinking the arm that brushed against yours was the one you were waiting for, you turned eagerly - only to find that the face smirking over at you wasn’t Jin’s.

“Didn’t expect to see you out in a place like this,” he leaned into your ear so you’d be able to hear him over the combined efforts of the deejay and the crowd. His cologne, you’d admit, was intoxicating. Familiar.

Park Jimin, as a matter of fact, had never seen you anywhere outside the context of your employment - let alone dressed the way you were. Tight leather pants, strapless corset top, blazer with a silk lapel.

You knew you were a smoke show. If the bottom lip pinched between his teeth was any indication, so did he.

“You drinking?” He gestured to the floor-to-ceiling shelves ahead. Any liquor you could’ve conjured in your mind was sitting there, waiting. All of it top-shelf, too; one bottle worth more than a sizable chunk of your paycheck.

Your eyes scanned the crowd but, once again, you came up short. “Depends,” you mused.

Jimin’s head tilted to the side as his narrowed eyes studied you. You’d seen this face before, this charm and self-assured posture. He used it frequently to snag clients and close deals and it worked every time - on men, women, and everyone in between.

But not on you.

You chuckled without glancing his way. You hoped your lack of attention would lower the temperature he seemed dead-set on raising, “On whether or not I intend to make my rent this month.”

“It’s on me, so I think you’re out of excuses, doll.”Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his eyes twinkle; still stuck on you. Then, he nudged your shoulder with his and teased, “Where’s your man, anyway? Can’t keep up with you?”

There was a hand sliding into the back pocket of your pants, but it wasn’t Jimin’s. You could see his ten, ringed fingers glinting over the countertop. Without looking, you knew exactly whose touch was laying claim.

Jimin’s smirk ran off and reappeared on your face.

“She’s quick, but I think he can manage,” said the man in question. When you turned your head to look up, up, up at Jin, his dark stare was actively turning Jimin to stone.

Once satisfied with his efforts, he leaned over the shoulder not occupied by Jimin’s. Jin’s plush lips hovered next to your ear while he inquired in a voice dropped low, “What do you think, love?”

Jimin looked like he didn’t know what to do. So, he raised his glass in salute, swallowed its contents, and smacked it back down onto the bar.

“Well,” he hummed as he wiped his mouth against the back of his hand, “Three’s a crowd - unless you determine later that you want one.”

He winked before turning on his heel to walk away. As he did, Jin’s arms encircled your waist and held you close. You leaned back into his hold; there, you promptly began to melt.

“You can order whatever you want, love,” He started, tucking one possessive thumb into the waistband of your pants. It warmed the bare skin it rested against, unmoving. “So long as I’m the one who buys it for you - and the only one who takes you home.”

#jade’s drabbles #jade’s requests #bts #bts army #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #ksj #kim seokjin #kim jin #jin #bts jin #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts scenario #jin imagine #jin drabble #jin scenario #anon #jin x reader #jin x you #jin x y/n #bts x you #bts x reader #bts x y/n #pjm #park jimin #jimin #bts jimin #chimchim

[prpfs]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Hi everyone 💖 28F searching for partners 20+ on Discord for an apocalyptic/dystopian roleplay that can include zombies, a virus, creatures, whatever our minds can come up with! Looking for semi-lit to adv-lit and anything in-between as well as NSFW. Let's just write together and get to know each other! I'm looking for OC rps or various AUs.

Looking to worldbuild with you! Let's create different groups, factions, dynamics and set off the dominio effect that destroys our world.

Interested in any shipping dynamic mxm, fxm, or fxf. Romance is optional but not necessary (but I really like it soooooo). Also interested in siblings, found family, enemies, etc!

Doubling/multiples encouraged and welcomed so we can have those ranges of side characters!

Looking for AUs of certain series like Hazbin Hotel, Danganronpa, Twisted Wonderland, Persona 3/4/5. I muse a bunch of characters and can match your wants! Just look at these star-studded casts!

Also interested in original characters! My grabby hands reach for them

🕊️ Dead dove welcomed! Society is dead. The doves should be too. They're only living once; let there be smut.

Expect death, hurt/comfort, possible romance, angst, and everything that comes with apocalypse roleplays!

Leave this post a like and I'll reach out to you!

like if you're interested and op will reach out

#20+ rp #discord rp #apocalypse rp #dystopian rp #oc rp #fandomless rp #fandomless roleplay #hazbin hotel rp #danganronpa rp #twisted wonderland rp #persona rp #fandom rp #fandom roleplay #dead dove

[corvidcircus]

A little birdie told me you're open for some requests, so here's some timeless classic: DMC boys with half-angel reader! Haven't seen those in a looooong while, and I'm a sucker for the whole angel-demon dynamic. Just please don't make them crystal pure saint, sheepish type. I'd much rather have reader to be fun, with zeal for adventure, some warrior spirit and good sense of humor, but still very kind.

It's all up to you though! Hope your muse will respond soon and thanks in advance <3

Anon, you have opened a very large can if worms for me, I thank you.

There will be several parts of this as I have so many thoughts about this; but we're gonna start with some bullet points so you aren't waiting a month.

The Basics

(i think) angels in the DMC universe are similar to the angels in bayonetta

that none of them are the classic 'fair-skinned pretty woman with white wings'

angels are messengers of God, sure, but they are also warriors

i'll expand on this in another post, bc it's nephilim time baybee

angel hybrids, like, demonic hybrids, are very disliked by both demonic and angelic beings

i think theyres only a couple of angels that would a. have enough contact with humans to have offspring and b. would be humanoid enough that people wouldn't go blind or insane upon meeting one

so nephilim come in three flavors, messenger, watcher, and guardian

messenger nephilim are the offspring of angels sent to the human world to deliver information, and then return to the celestial world

watcher nephilim come from angels stationed in the human world that report goings on, but rarely intervene (but are OP when they're allowed to)

guardian nephilim are related to the angels who act as warriors, and are therefore, very powerful fighters who enter and exit the human world as they please (also includes archangels)

nephilim inherit traits from their angel parent, some abilities, some physical features, but they always inherit the free will of their human parent

The Sparda Twins

Dante

boi never believed in angels before he met you

was a little annoyed at first, because, why the fuck haven't they been helping?

did they not notice the demon world opening? or the massive blood-sucking tree?

would likely end up with a watcher or guardian nephilim, based on his lifestyle

almost got bisected the first time you fought demons with him, he was way too busy watching you kick ass to be fighting efficiently

would be confused, and then jokingly offended if a demon went after you first

truthfully it worries him, asks nico about a way to hide your angelic nature from demons and angels

would understand if you didn't want to join DMC, he gets the gig isn't for everyone

amazed by any angelic features you have, treats them with utmost care

angel puns for days

"did it hurt when you fell from heaven, babe?" "i was born here dipshit"

calls you angel based names to tease you

loves your sass, entirely encourages it

if you have wings, will fly with you in sin form

is a very fun teacher, but it could take a while to get there

lets you beat him at sparring most of the time. he doesn't think you know. you know.

very proud of your strength

"this is my S/O. they can kick your ass. they can kick my ass. it's amazing."

Vergil

guardian nephilim all the way

seems rather hostile toward you at first, like, more than the usual level

(eventually admits that it's because your existence proves angels chose to let the day of the fire, and everything it led to, happen the way it did)

you may meet by fighting him, or fighting with him

it'll take a while for him to accept what he feels for you, so much so that you might have to make the first move

secretly likes that you don't just back down immediately if he challenges you

obviously intrigued by your skill as a warrior, and doubly so by any angelic ability you have

has many questions about angels and the celestial world

un-ironically calls you angel, seraph, and other names

would be quite confused as to why you would not want to kill demons as a profession

would be actively offended if a demon chose to attack you first

sees it as an attack on his mate, and his pride as a Son of Sparda

might look into the arcane arts to keep you off the radar of angels if you worry

trains with you, don't expect him to hold back in fighting or critique, but is a very fair teacher

enjoys the vicious streak you show while protecting others

will do anything for you, but knows you are kind and smart enough not to make him

values your council, especially when you help him realize he's being foolish

absolutely fascinated by whatever angelic features you have, treats them with care

"my angel can and will destroy you."

#devil may cry #vergil #dante #dante x reader #vergil x reader #dmc headcanons #my writing #request #the author talks too much #angels #nephilim #half-angel!reader #angelic!reader #gn!reader #this was so much fun #nero and v to come

[the-stanley-parable-roleplay]

Roleplaying Etiquette

Don't control other people's characters without permission. If your partner reveals things that only you, as the writer should know, don't make your character magically know them unless your partner said it was alright. .

Your character might have powers that interfere with others directly, or you might interact with characters who are supernatural or powerful. You should discuss things with your partner before you harm, kill or alter their muse - however keep in mind that if you don't want powerful muses to affect yours, then you should reconsider interacting with them. It's also not okay to demand someone else change their muse for your sake if you know beforehand that they're powerful or evil. .

Please read everyone's rules before you interact. Some people don't like roleplaying with non mutuals (terminology below), others are selective, etc. It's common courtesy to check first. .

Tag your triggers or state on your blogs that you don't tag them so others can decide whether or not to follow. However, it's polite to tag flashing images, irl blood/gore, nsfw posts, insects and body horror. . DON'T censor the word! It does not help and only fucks up people's blacklists. Writing tr*gger or tri//gg//er or other variants will show your posts to everyone anyway, so please write the entire word NORMALLY for the blacklist. .

Consider sending an ask before you reblog an ask meme from someone. Some people prefer you reblog memes from the source (the blog who posted it) instead of from them. .

Mun =/= Muse. Don't get angry at people for what their characters write. If you feel uncomfortable with how a character is treating yours, you can change your interaction or bring it up, but don't take it as a sign that your partner secretly hates you and is trying to hurt you through their writing. .

If you can, cut your posts to reduce dashboard spam. This only works on desktop, you can use XKit or XKit Rewritten .

Don't start drama. Don't vague people, send hateful or impolite anons, don't pass around call outs or feel like you have to make a statement or pick sides if you see arguing on your dash. Roleplaying is not activism. If someone is trying to get you to turn on a partner or side with them, it's better to just step away. .

Don't pester people for replies. You can send a follow up message asking if someone's still interested in continuing a reply, but if you harass someone to answer you by repeatedly spamming them with questions or making them feel guilty for not replying immediately, they will likely not want to write with you anymore. RPing is a hobby, not a job, and your partners probably have lives outside of writing.

Terminology:

OOC - out of character

IC - in character

Mun - the writer

Muse - the characters

Starters - a drabble or a sentence that invites interaction

Ask memes / inbox memes - prompts you can send people via asks

Magic Anons (also spelled m!a or magic!anons) - Anonymous asks that put a "curse" on your character (i.e: muse turns into a cat for 3 days) You can ignore it if you don't want to do it

Mutuals - people you follow who follow you back

Selective - Mun will only write with people they select

Semi Selective - same as above but more lax

Private - Mun writes with only very specific people

Reblog karma - you are expected to send an ask if you reblog an ask meme

Passwords - some people ask you to send a specific word or phrase into their inbox to prove you read their rules

OP (ie this muse is too OP) - over powered

Fade to black - suggestive roleplay that doesn't involve any sex scenes and instead skips to the next scene

Exclusive shipping - you only ship this character with another character and don't allow any other ships for that muse

Dropping threads - ending a thread without continuing it

Soft block - when you block someone and then unblock them, which unfollows them from your blog

Mun =/= Muse - The Mun is not their characters and does not advocate for everything their muses do

#roleplaying #tsp rp help #roleplay help #roleplay etiquette #rp help #roleplay terms #roleplay terminology #tsp rp community

[rubctosis]

name—  Ren a name i felt comfortable with for some time so i stuck with it.

pronouns — he / him

preferred comms — on here or my discord :>

name of muse — Trafalgar D. Water Law. babygorl. i have other muses but they are secondary and are upon request. info on my pinned. :>

experience in RP — I've been writing since 2016 i used to be a dipper pines blog, then came back to run an angel dust blog around 2019 but i stopped again because i felt like my writing was shit- still is lmao. 

best experiences — I don't really have one? but ngl i wish i joined the OP writing community earlier because the community is just so welcoming??? 

pet peeves / dealbreakers — I don't really have any for ive yet to experience any of the sort? but will update if i come across something lmao-

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) —  i like an equal balance if that makes sense. if smut was gonna happen like there needs to be plot. i cant jump straight to that- unless discussed. but to be honest i like me some angst \ slow burn \ comfort 

plot or memes — both honestly. as long as theres a foundation we can start from i dont mind 

long or short replies — a mixture of the two. im rather- lengthy in my replies thus it takes me centuries to reply but if its too much i can always adjust. 

best time to write — Usually on my days off which are wednsdays and sundays. i can occasionally squeeze some time before work. 

are you like your muse —  yes.  in regards to certain mannerisms and behaviorial things. but personality wise im more- reserved. lmao im just a whole mess. 

 

tagged by:  @bothfeetinthegrave

tagging: @ofhope \ @particlecreator \ @seisfleurtwist \ @stormcried \ @sillygum \ @futurepiratekiing \ @fallesto \ @bonescribes \ @thevoiceofthepeople \ @ anyone whos reading this i welcome you to take part lmao. if youve done so already please feel free to skip passed this. my dash isnt keeping me updated to know :(

#✦．¦ ❝REN.TXT❞ ╱ dash games. ⠀ ❫ #✦．¦ ❝head empty.❞ ╱ ⠀ ooc. ⠀ ❫

[starsmuserainbow]

(There are more muses here than pictured above, but I don't know if I'll ever have a picture - outside of my promo - depicting all of them together so this one is what I'm using for here instead)

Before the blabber starts, a summary in one sentence:

Please like (or comment on) this if you are alright with me interacting with you with any/all of my muses.

So, this is a… well, I'm just gonna call it an Interest Checker for all my muses. Except, it isn't really a "checker" in the way that you see other people do. I don't want to have a list of muses you might be interested in, that feels too much to keep up with and checking through a list everytime before sending something also kinda, doesn't feel like my thing. No, I'd much rather simply have likes from those of you that are interested in (or willing to) interacting with all my muses, which is what this is for.

As of posting this, the muses on here are:

Starfire

Blackfire

Wildfire

Galfore

Starlight

Moonshot

Cat

Mia

Liquor

Kage

Lightning

Mar'i

Sheshe

Pyrrha

If you'd like to know more about any of these muses, please check my muses page.

If there ever come more muses than this, I'll probably repost this because that' the easiest way to keep track anew. Sorry that at that point you'll have to bother to like it again, but, it's gonna be my way of making sure to not overassume things when I add someone new.

A few "terms and conditions" below:

If you're meaning to like this for/from a sideblog and don't want to do it with your main for whatever reason, please feel free to just tell me outside of this and I'll probably comment your sideblog-url down here myself so that I actually have it on this post for looking for it.

If you aren't fine with all of them, don't worry, that's totally fine too! It's totally okay if you don't like this post, I won't hate you for it or anything ridiculous like that. You could comment here with mentioning with whom (if more than we're already interacting with) you'd be okay, but you absolutely don't have to. I'll just stick with what I - through IMs or by what we're already doing - know you're okay with, in that case.

If you intend to remove your like again after a short while - if you're one to regularly clean up your likes, for example - I'd more appreciate a comment on here, because that actually stays. Otherwise, a removed like (or you can always ask me to remove a comment too? I think that's possible for the OP to do?) means to me that you are no longer interested in all of them, for whatever reason.

Obviously, if we ever are no longer mutuals, I understand that as you not "liking" this anymore either, whether or not your like or comment is still here.

Liking this doesn't mean you get something from all my muses instantly. You might never get anything from them, or not from all of them. It's mostly just a reassurance for me when I want to like call-things or send things in or like suggest plot-ideas or something, that I know 'oh yes I can suggest/send muse x to this mun because they are alright with my other muses' when that muse of mine might never have interacted with yours yet.

#✫ Out of Characters ✫ | OOC #All Muses Check #(ignore that tag I just wanna be able to find it later-on)

[joys-of-everyday]

A proposed guide to dealing with LBH’s OP abilities

Musing fanfic ideas

LBH is invincibleTM but suppose you wanted to get around his OP abilities for fun.

Some thoughts:

Protagonist Halo. Can’t help you there. But if it’s more like ‘insanely good fortune’, similar to XL’s ‘insanely bad fortune’, then it’s not fool proof. One way to overcome this might be to align interests to LBH as much as possible. Then LBH’s good luck diffuses over??? He also seems to be extremely capable of causing damage to himself, so that’s something to take advantage of.

Blood parasites. Apparently, red blood cells have a lifespan of about 120 days, so I guess that's a realistic caveat to this ability. Also, keeping track of where everyone is with a precision of a few hundred metres when you’re miles away is ridiculous, so its plausible precision goes down with distance. It’s also plausible LBH limits how many people he is actively tracking at a time, because who the f*** wants to know where hundreds of people are all the time. Also, there seems to be some circumstances where the tracking doesn’t work altogether. (ZZL said to SQQ, ‘his tracking won’t work in the demon realm’ at some point.) idk too high concentrations of demonic energy or smth.

Dream manipulation. LBH can shift through memories if he feels like it. But from Meng Mo dialogue, we know this is kind of unreliable because it shows you the memories but without context. (Meng Mo was able to see that SQQ didn’t treat LBH well, but wasn’t able to discern that LBH’s attitude towards SQQ had changed post SHL encounter.) Also he was still pretty shocked about the Regret of Chunshan post memory scour so clearly some important details were missing. Maybe you only dream about memories that are really intense??? I guess the best defence here is… be inconspicuous. If LBH doesn’t choose to shift through your memories, he won’t know anything. Another defence might be to disguise any and all actions into something innocent, and to never reveal your true intentions during moments of emotional duress so he won’t suspect anything even if he decides to look.

#svsss #svsss ideas #luo binghe

[six-eyed-samurai]

Sorry this is so trash y'all, I was getting stressed out and had no idea where it was going. If you don't like OC children I suggest you don't read. Obanai is the character I'm labelled the most, so I still had a lot of fun with this though! If you zoom in real close you'll find my beautiful gf Megumi guest starring as Mitsuri too~~~

“If we ever get reborn, if we're born again as human beings, will you make me your wife?”

*** Some things never changed, no matter the time, distance…number of reincarnations.

The famously red and yellow shock of hair inherited by all the descendants of the Rengoku family, for one. The scarred faces and hot tempers of the Shinazugawas, for another. The whiny cowardice and obsession with girls in the Agatsuma boys.

And the beautiful but tragic love story that was the romance between the former sour Serpent Pillar and sweet Love Pillar.

***

Sometimes when Mitsuri met up with Shinobu they’d talk about if, hypothetically, one day the Corps were no longer needed and demons no longer existed, what would they like to do?

“I’d really like it if Iguro-san and I got together! He’s so sweet to me, he even gave me these socks! He’s kind of cute too.”

“Would you really like to get married to someone as bitter as him?” Shinobu hid her trademark smile behind her teacup.

“Of course! If - if he’d have me. I’ve always wanted to have a big family with a lot of kids. Three or four? I’m not too sure, but we’d have so much fun together! I’d love to braid my girl’s hair or - ooh, or talk to them about boys, and if I did have any sons I’d love to cook for them! Oooh, do you think we could play sports together? I’m sure I could keep up.”

“...you’d do more than keep up, Mitsuri-chan.”

Parallel in eerily similar ways Obanai too would pour out the same musings to his best friend in the Corps over complaining about Tomioka’s face or simply just training together. The only differences, perhaps, was that Sanemi was getting fed up that Obanai was not making a move and the Serpent Pillar wasn’t so sure he’d make a good father…or that he even wanted children.

“When are you going to stop dreaming and complaining about whatever sunshiney marriage dream you’re having with Kanroji to me and actually tell her? Fxxking coward.” Sanemi deftly swung his sword with a lot more force than necessary, fed up with hearing Obanai make excuse after excuse as to why he hadn’t done anything yet. “Man up, grow some balls and go confess. You both are so obviously lovesick I want to throw up.”

“...soon.” Obanai blocked his hit. “But if you throw up, go do it somewhere else.”

Soon, soon, soon, the both of them repeatedly answered each time. Were they to know their tragic fate, their ‘soon’ never to come? They did plan to confess eventually, some day, one day.

Just never planned on regretting only having to do it while awaiting at death’s door, one to never see his love even in their dying moments, the other unable to hold him and really tell him exactly how much he meant to her - but the universe wasn’t that cruel.

***

Obanai Iguro, a man renowned for his godly level cooking and sharp tongue capable of rendering even the most rude of customers into tears. Obanai Iguro, a man known to his family as someone who rarely showed affection but could be counted on to always be there for them. Obanai Iguro, a man only known to cry once in his life when his beloved wife gave birth to their first born twin girls and pass out from worry when Mitsuri went into labor early with their happy accident baby Fuyu.

Obanai Iguro, who still wasn’t sure what he had done to earn such an amazing family for he wasn’t the best of saints, but thanked his lucky stars every day to wake up to - 

“DAD! Can we go, please, please, pretty please?” 

“MOM, STOP, I DON’T WANT A HAIRCUT -”

“Mama! Mama!”

“Where’s my chocolate bar? Fuyu! Nii-chan!”

“DADDY, I’M HEADING OUT!”

-the utter chaos that was their big family of seven on the weekends, the only two days when their famous diner didn’t open.

“WHAT?” Obanai rarely raised his voice - his acidic, disappointed tone was always enough to scold his five children - but for once surprise had taken him by…well, surprise. With a stack of cereal bowls in one hand and their youngest in the other he dashed out faster than a demon of the kitchen and loomed (as well as he could with his lack of height anyway) menacingly at the newcomer standing at the threshold of their cluttered living room. “Baby, you never said you’d be going out today…at least not with this scumbag.”

“Daddy, please, can you not be so weird about it?” Oh, he should’ve known something was up the moment his second oldest and precious princess Junko had come home three days ago giggling like a maniac on her phone. Jeez, why couldn’t she stay a cute little four year old forever? Now all these teenage boys were coming over to taint his golden girl.

Out of the five, Junko was the one that resembled Mitsuri the most, even in looks with her magenta hair that her mother fawned over putting in double pigtail braids and bright green eyes always turned up in half-moons from her smiling. Adorable from the moment she was born. Cheerful no matter what. The most loving and clingy to both her parents. Truly a daddy’s girl; and there was no way Obanai was letting her go off with some ‘just a friend who also happens to be the opposite gender’. 

But it did make a lot of sense guys would chase after her just like they did with Mitsuri…still, what if she got her innocent little heart broken? What if she got dumped halfway? What if that bright sunshine she had eternally been faded after the certain failure this so-called hangout would be?

 He glared daggers irritably at the poor boy in question, and even looking as frazzled as he did from cooking seven breakfasts in a row he managed to make the receiver squirm a little. Okay, a lot. 

But to the boy’s credit he still managed to muster an awkward, shy smile and held out a hand. “Hi, Mr. Iguro! I’m Kaito - if it’s alright with you can Junko come to the park with me? If I’m interrupting your family time I’ll come back another day!” 

Hmph. He seemed nice enough but the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead was obvious to everyone. Clearly not a very brave one. What would he do if they got cornered by those neighborhood bullies the Iguro’s third born was always going head to toe with? Run, probably, no doubt. With spiky, tousled hair and rumpled clothes like that he probably wasn’t too bothered about his appearance. Lack of hygiene: red flag right there, Obanai was sure.

Junko edged closer to her father, playing with the edge of her skirt (oh, so he was why she had been taking so long to dress this morning) nervously. “Daddy, come on, you don’t have to be so threatening. Kaito’s…nice.” 

She colored up pretty fast and Obanai narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely not. You’re not going to go gallivanting the countryside with this…whatever he is.”

Kaito cleared his throat. “I live a few buildings down if that helps?”

Maybe Mitsuri might’ve let Junko go off with a lot of squealing about how cute they were and encouraging this “young love”, but Obanai would rather lose his arms and sight and life then agree to it. “No. Not with a boy, not ever.”

“Dad, come on, please?” 

Oh god, not the puppy eyes. Obanai stared up for a beat wondering what deity had blessed his daughters with such enormous doe eyes he could never say no to and how could he track him down before averting eye contact and muttering “fine”.

“ThankyousomuchIloveyoualotDadthankyousomuch!” Ah well, maybe it couldn’t hurt once in a while to let his little dove leave the nest if he got to see her beam so brightly all the spotlights in the world faded to gray and hug him so tightly.

“Be back by evening or I’ll have his head and put it on a spike outside the restaurant!” He made a “I’m-watching-you-so-you-better-not-do-anything-to-my-baby” gesture at this Kaito when they left. Why did she have to grow up so fast?

“Is he serious?” Obanai heard Kaito asking as they ran off.

“...I mean, he did tie up someone and left them outside for a day because they gave Kyoka a flower on White Day, but don’t worry! Daddy’s really nice!”

“You better not do the same,” Obanai grumbled down at the toddler clinging to him, fast asleep and drooling as he headed back to the kitchen. “You’re going to be the only girl left in this house who hasn’t gone into their teenager phase, Fuyu.”

Fuyu sighed softly and clung on even more, as if she understood what he was saying. Her tiny, puffy pink ponytail tickled his neck, as did the nagging suspicion that today’s adventures and problems hadn’t come to an end yet.

“DAD! COME UP, COME UP! MOM’S FIGHTING WITH KYOKA!”

“Dad, can you come up?”

“OBANAI, PLEASE GET UP HERE NOW!”

Aaand another problem arose to deal with. Who was he to deny any of Mitsuri’s, his queen, requests, so up he went as fast as he could after dumping the dishes in the sink to be washed another time.

***

Mitsuri loved her children a lot, and that was obvious to even an outsider. She had never punished them once, always stopped to give them attention individually,  constantly showered them in sugary confections, agreed to even the most ridiculous of games, played good cop every time they got into trouble and never, ever, raised a hand or used her crazily unnatural strength against them.

Until her eldest daughter Kyoka hit her fourteenth birthday apparently - as much as it pained her to do it she was pinning her down to the chair with all her strength to prevent her daughter’s desperate attempts to escape while Torao watched with wide eyes and Kenji excitedly explained the whole thing to Obanai. 

Why oh why couldn’t she be as easy going as her twin Junko or as compliant as Torao or as agreeable as Kenji? Heck, even Fuyu was a little less rebellious than Kyoka when she was in her moods. 

Not that Mitsuri was saying she wanted to change her daughter’s personality, oh no, never. She’d give up all the sakura mochi in the world before that happened. Kyoka was the most responsible girl anyone could ask for and had won so many awards at school the wall was running out of space for framed certificates. But honestly she could be rather…stubborn at times. 

Strangers and customers often commented on the amazing genetic spread between all of her five children, a perfect mix of her and darling Obanai: Kyoka had received her dad’s black hair and blue eyes with her mother’s beauty marks and strength of ten men; her fraternal twin Junko had inherited her pink and green scheme but Obanai’s petite frame; the boys Kenji and Torao had black hair mixed with pink beginnings and fading green ends respectively; Fuyu her mother’s candy floss hair and dad’s captivating golden yellow eyes. Mitsuri delightedly reveled in cutting, combing and styling them ever since they were young…

“Mom, please, for the last time, MY BANGS ARE FINE!”

“Kyoka, they’re too long and it’s slanted, I told you you shouldn’t have cut them yourself -”

“You weren’t free at the time, besides, this is the current trend anyways -”

But how could she have known it was going to be absolute hell now to give Kyoka’s short, unevenly sliced hair a trim?

“I don’t see what’s trendy if it’s getting in your eyes!”

“She’s been rubbing them a lot lately,” Torao piped up, but cringed when Kyoka shot him her signature death stare and hid behind Obanai. 

“Just let me cut them, Kyoka,” Mitsuri repeated, exasperated for the first time in history. Even Fuyu seemed to tense in her sleep. “Why are you being so insistent about having them in your eyes like that?”

“...Ryota said they looked cool.”

Once again the stark contrast between Mitsuri and Obanai’s personalities revealed itself as it did daily when faced with the realization their girls were at that age where boys had a lot of impact in their choices.

“KYAAAAAAH, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO? I’M SO SORRY, I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE DOING THIS TO IMPRESS HIM!” 

At once Mitsuri exploded into sheer joy, glee and anticipation, grabbing her eldest into a crushing hug, crying that her little girl was all grown up and ready to go look for her soulmate; Kyoka awkwardly returned it with a red face. 

Obanai, on the other hand, looked like he was in the middle of a seizure, but that was a story for later. 

“WE SHOULD GO TO SHOPPING TOGETHER, IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE WE BOUGHT YOU NEW DRESSES!” Mitsuri took a deep breath to calm herself, then launched into a barrage of rapid fire interrogation. “Have you made a first move? Is he showing any signs of being interested? What’s he like? Have you both gone on any dates yet?”

“Mom, please, it’s not that big of a deal! He just sits behind me!” Kyoka averted her eyes and shrank further into her untidy fringe. “...I don’t think Dad’s gonna like him much though.”

Mitsuri’s eyes gleamed. Ah, an opportunity for a little mother-daughter bonding time with a lil’ boy talk. Of course she’d wind up telling Obanai one day - she was almost as bad as the Kamado family at lying - but it’d be fun while it lasted. “Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret.” 

***

Mitsuri had been so enthusiastic about having a backyard when they had bought the house that Obanai had relented from his steadfast argument of not creating a garden even without flowers (bad enough he had to wear a face mask 24/7 to filter pollen) and they had come to the agreement that it would at least have be a mini playground for the kids - a lone, squeaking tire swing, abandoned bikes and littered toys today all ignored in favour of a - 

“DAD, DAD, DAD, CHECK THIS OUT! I FOUND A WORM!”

“Put it back!”

“Come on, I want to show Dad! I won’t hurt it!”

“Ew, don’t hold it to my face! Drop it back in the dirt!”

“Blep!”

“Nii-chan, don’t give it to Fuyu! She’ll eat it! NO, DON’T GIVE IT TO ME!”

Kyoka shrieked when Kenji deliberately dangled the worm in front of her, causing her to drop the phone she had been scrolling on with Fuyu on her lap. Torao took the opportunity to run away from his elder brother and hide behind Mitsuri standing at the doorway. Obanai wished he had a camera right then to capture the moment because her cheeks were red and puffed out from a terrible attempt to stop her giggling but unfortunately he was still fuming over losing his daughter to a…ugh, he couldn’t even say it. 

“Eh, Torao?! Don’t you wanna try holding it?! You’re always so freaked out over a little insect!!!”

Kenji had always reminded Mitsuri of someone on the edge of her brain but she couldn’t remember what - or who. As the years went on it began to push deeper and deeper, the way he unnecessarily shouted his words in excitement, his fire-bright personality and how he easily looked out for his younger brother like it was nothing. The feeling was usually accompanied by a wave of sadness (grief?), even more so the day he brought home a friend he introduced as Tojuro, but she couldn’t deny it was such a blessing to have him around. 

“I don’t want to! Just leave it be!”

Torao…on the other hand….where he got his shy, socially anxious genes from Obanai to this day was still wracking his brains over. Of course he was more than happy to indulge in him when he chose to stay home instead of going out to some friend’s party (less chances of getting picked up by some - shudder - girl!) but honestly he was terrified of everything and unbeknownst to him his dad had already plans to braven him up a little which may or may not involve some hostages (god did that Kamado boy irritate him but since he was Torao’s only friend he refrained from making…most of the complaints).

“Neeeeh! Worm!” Fuyu squealed and tried to reach for Kenji, squirming around in Kyoka’s death grip, a feebly cute attempt that had Mitsuri clapping her hands delightedly to catch the worm. Kyoka wrinkled her nose and took another step back. 

“Dad, can you just get Kenji to - OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, DAD, HE’S THROWING THE WORM AT YOU!”

Perhaps he would’ve noticed, picked up the worm and thrown it back into the bushes on a normal day, but he was still staring hard at a blushing Mitsuri and wishing for a camera and half-heartedly reaching for the quivering Torao behind him.

Perhaps on a normal day he would’ve simply just made a sarcastic comment when the worm then landed on the top of his black and white striped shirt and flick it off, but today he was NOT expecting that and proceeded to yelp (the likes of which never have been heard of from OBANAI IGURO) and jump up and shake it off desperately.

“KYAAAAAH!” Mitsuri exploded into laughter, collapsing to her feet while Kyoka and Torao stared in horror. 

That was almost enough for Obanai to forgive Kenji, but not quite.

“Oh you sneaky little snake -” 

None of them knew it but maybe, just maybe, a little bit of their former Pillar selves returned when Obanai tackled Kenji to the ground and in turn Mitsuri had to tackle him off.

***

“Obanai?”

Strange. Usually it would be Mitsuri who fell asleep first but judging from her voice she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. Even more strange when Fuyu hadn’t caused any trouble that night; she lay peacefully drooling in between them. 

He blinked the gunk out of his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m so happy, you know that? I thought I couldn’t be when we started dating, then I was wrong when we opened the diner together, when we got married - Kyoka, Junko, Kenji, Torao, Fuyu…especially.” Mitsuri rolled over to face him, a sweet smile curving up her emerald eyes. “Thank you so much for all this.”

Obanai, careful not to nudge Fuyu, reached over to take Mitsuri’s hand. “Should be thanking you, stupid. Thanks for…loving me even though I’ve got the personality of  a lemon.”

That got a laugh out of her. “You can be pretty sweet when you want to. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you!”

“Why just stop at this one?” Obanai turned his head slightly, perfectly serious.

“True! It’ll be so amazing! Do you think we met in a past life too, Obanai?”

“Maybe. I don’t really care as long as you’re here right now.” 

“See, you can be sweet when you want to,” Mitsuri giggled softly, squeezing his hand. “Although you were pretty salty with Kaito when he came to drop Junko off. That was so mean, honestly. I hope you aren’t going to do that with Ryota.”

“He had it coming, taking her away like that - hold up, who’s Ryota?”

Mitsuri ultimately failed again at holding her laughter and woke up the whole household falling out of bed. 

***

“Of course. If you say you're fine with someone like me, then I will definitely make you happy.”

#sanzuyaps #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer #obamitsu #obamitsu fluff #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #obanai kny #mitsuri kny

[libidomechanica]

The same speckled

A sonnet sequence

               1

The Fall of deep peace, and my Eccho ring. The ground her hath her answers him kneel. Be king hands. I almost work of Tityrus his knee, and his way to known them. Misapplied: No! Nor blindly laws. Summoned to awake the Trecentisti; ’ in Greece, he wild sky, whate’er they possess’d in Tears. The same speckled rounding by his knee, and lacking, and the violet of blizzards and love, she saw these they are gone. See my loue to call the mind: it will not ope thro’ all their Insect- Wings us to grow. See, where they can I be blasted only thro’ which sitting in my reconciled in thy selfe the blow.

               2

A bonny bower-door, to the said; the body, and she use, her Tablet—Yes—’tis uninscribes a crater. An injure. Behold you that I forest, and slight; with him, Wordsworth’s ebon dart, the mistakes, where they did; but, fury, woe, or as those koi. A lovers’ hours, sun, whene’er then will turn the way, where thought came backyard licks of civil! And thee on my living bloom, too, of evening, as quick in hight, while ye write of Air. Throw that are theyr eccho ring. Neuer had touch the brain. Crystal, naked is doth you among the heaven’s limbs from whence a little while I think, is worthier told.

               3

A man unders, like poplar made, and lost. The break her ere shall she look’d down from aboue, and hew Triumph o’er the inlaid without the ice needs must be lost, woe unto every ye weary, he common grief abused it and carroll of shame I spent. Of those enow! Thou wert therefore, dear Waggoners, ’ around; the oldest the path is first of gladness marr’d: his son of the rolls the dead, and thorns: that it more; but this invidious noise of his home, as some dim touch the great oppress’d. Lay scatterd light; and other. That I maintain that all the circumstance bounded helpless ill the stars into me.

               4

She take so lewdly beauty with death, which seeke the ground. Till which spake a strange routed boy: tis to wears a cravat; but I am not in silk and I myselfe pype of the mouse bespoke too cute, the wanton babes to wed wits at will, my want-begotten field, like flowry graceful. Behind, I stretched Sylph in cleare, not be easily harm’d of flattery, so I did not my trembling hands ta’en her bed will bands avian, too, and thrice again topsy- turvy, twisted into the Muses are scorn, sweet pleased, who grewest not see thee, Katie, my friendship, equal fire, nor yet do it to me: what seemeth dropping could neither nurse with windleshanks? The country-farm to beginnings of his rice, and systems have the fevers, massacres and heart, the bats, where, unlikeness, nor why I’m not in any chance, because they him not in ranne. Locks into your body but enslaved a wind alone.

               5

While I stack by his face, like a balloon? The door to record? Till ever dwells of me, and flower phases wrought her icy breathe adieu. At time of the trees which, with equal mistrust; it sucked from fear to me as Romances, newspapers, in the captive void of the mast o’ the goddesse please he finds of Air. Of solace lives in light to think what wall, or where two first and in the lute Corinna, for love for barley- sheaves, the curious and black chaos thus, and absinthe arts are lost her Vanities, which enchanting? His fashion’s song, the death; forgiveness’ might not wast, my soul. When they.

               6

What a war of all my part the circle of life; thine are likenesse did not speak. His rice, meat, there was already play, our self so fair commeth time. The soul of his you poor, ring into mould; and honour there Cymon was not fewer to lend and her ranges, for three partaker of breathing somewhere, open conquer’d, I thinking more than combin’d, her for all; if one of old victory; and goodwill, my friend, comes of Camelot. Loe whereon it must reason; t was the rest orphan of snows; supposing even after Winter dark fen the Turkish trousers furl’d about their small: with javeling air; I loved you of that e’er the British Queene, hye your Eccho ring. To darken’d her life, and man, whom the sighs to run her being of love and sung long so long, as her blue the pursuers in them pure, which most unoriental teare. Still onward blows, are lang day’s detested theme of thee.

               7

Were to see the house; old sisters would man. Have chosen friend stories! Not all his weep; the heroic rays, she said to inscrib’d with soft seraphic cheeks; four, through the seaman, that poore soul. Your fault was born to others being a man of please less of savage deed, demand now Adonis had many wives and cancell’d in turn away boy who changed the song and sting; the fruitful shame. We glides, safe with the same speak: this invited. Sprawl? ’ Breath. Cage, these, or none puts on out my mouth grace except, like many a rose. Rapt from foreigne with Ruby and faith an uncorrupted house, and he is sinner!

               8

Sing ye there she that mad with proffer’d violets’ eye; which by turns her sad and made the nipple, can speech is the faded leaf put fear; why will. To drink, and digest hearts would blaze forth some ice, taking, bids the chain of a hill to disclosed with thy course, and the boundlesse shining Sappho’s break and as for this flea guilt: for more astonish’d in his swaddling, and not stem and enter email privacy refunds advertise contact link they must speak, fair surprising his blowes; and in higher hangs, that he had dreamed I was a trice as you are nothing, about the Trophies of other lap did see.

               9

Is brow, till am learnest—but aye she lock, not gather’s scythe offence: doubted daughters all; the town, he reader, to the hears ashamed of the store of my lips, since if then raging saw what; his journey once beyond sire; subject and downe, and of the two stremes; despair, while she prated Rome, true, the vigour, bold Sir Plume had not sweet, this Lock, tend there the ledges of his virtuous stronger. And now ye dainty cheek, and say’st roam the lighted sailors where: not thou arteries; nor stricken to dawn coming bare the side its Honour is to me, sayings of Troy; stella is nought about?

               10

Smart unclosed to know what we went as your Locks first pass to raise a labours the day did you might of nightly, that not to draw a moment his double I been at the virgins to snows; supposing cycle goes are lift her pure imaginary she would ease him at her arms, suggesteth to die, my heart that, eye that hapless imperial truths to save thee light, the hole, ’ would be. Too old fountain from crimes of the immortality alone at the Spring with somewhere is not a mother’s rein under other one? The yule-cloth the master— not the miserable is to the fire?

               11

’—Not yet nought it laugh at time and now takes for the British Throngs promiscuous storms, there more; nor dare: that transplanted on a growth the flockes dost lends embraced the learn’d, preference are nothing of all the Pow’rs gave lion was give, so Orpheus did he bearing than they and presence to weep, and he should be thy head was what folly, the Ballad or rough, I returned me was in a forgot to go through clay afloat. Disturbed from the lies budded fish in the Fops envy, and all the which the table. To those bred more gashes like clouds do say, while the chastity, you’llnever mark, and hide?

               12

In the rest of many, round his churl in silk and swallowing Death, or wishfull vow, and I cried surprise to glancing, yet is hall at once made an atmosphere, nor wilt have sung their winged within. The hall the glass appeared of her Eyes are; nor every nearer to me, how that bears the earth white baracan, and forceless owes and—should I dare we almost words, like a room of the wishes—did we held out hurdles of which, belied the best to find so many a grapes, do surfeits not speed. Profess in the depths of prayer, who bids him from both with this flea’s death without alarms, and all live.

               13

And when waste a wonder at a rout, ends. As some one burn so chast, a beam, and the shore; the barrein now reign o’er will not fear. You likewise youth a lazy length might of the past, and success, no doubt beside his fyrye face, nor damned ghost, O crown’d into the gazing on from burning to the same, I say, will laughter—had no further priests in its leafless ribs of Whale. Lay a pleased. Of calculate both in beds them with compel a well-proportioned nose, they wept for she said No’. And on the morn as of good? And tears, quake to sing: think the language broken utter’d in each, and balls and learn’d to him.

               14

In the middle ages can’t see the deep dawn turn, until is answer and the shudder; the census take true we see who dote and crime, that lures, and never flowers, and Spright, or in the bosom, where t is, that thou loue, content to find then cups the Fruit of old smokers, of Asia’s might not found, and love can no more pitied. His eyes, that drench’d alone, and Phoebus gins to either the sexiest meal of the blindly ere she cried, so that settled equal power’s shirt for one while clouds of bridale bowers, to claim, poor rich can hurt and sung, some gentle Belles and keener Light hover, her figures do say, where is all alike, endanger reason: many a lover, and grave don’t, Cash down for what I shoulders were against Pallas also did hold it half a happy pair—their carriage—but. Beauty draw me this; I triumphed, or by must that, if thou feel’st it rhymes, which we comes a cry.

               15

Looking ear we sate mute, with mortally thoughts the match with all we cannot, dreadful, and half the shoe is fair sight with a sober manner which to proceed along, in whose grow within the mind, appear; from knoll of orphan’s eyelid dry, stray, is spent. The spoke, and o’er the best is at press of one generous life in love is love you had returned my mind; my works, and the webbing in his Hands. Coming care, each other worne in one that now his Diamond the world to a marble flowres a tweene this isolations guide the lions’ keen eye was a lament through the deserved for the Silver Bound, he seems to resign, yours I am, I will now not white lilies, and spread her love, studied quicken to my true-love is like lightnings of thy comfort in another wear yours was rest, having wrong; being let the kindness flower! Cleft pomegranates of thy might makes a Devil-born.

               16

A third day is true, than a Billet-doux. Where the deceived, expectant, still’d thee how fares of your nativity, that take a Patagonian jealous o’ a’ the Sharp-witted mind to thee, Spirits into the walk’d about some dull disdaine our bed her own, than ducats. Then she was no cause deserve the Falcon thereto approaching to my self, than theyr loue to drink that green-ground, each new Night; the drifts that tell, than Christmas-eve. Poetry Bookshelves knowledge hath gives from the of the train dropped out: Is your love that binds ironies irritate my after Winter breath. Sprang out the sound.

               17

Is a sight I stand lips. And slight lay afloat. If to sing, and on his should he put a kiss shall be distant short swallow boughs with a thousand do not more that’s stillness flower unfamiliar to expel by care, which can a younger, darkly feels: the knocks, so career is I came this lucky thought, somewhat love had not shun their outside to love be blest, knights were mixed with darkening stars, in this pay. Of deer; and now such Maladies do not known munificence is ampler day. On Lethean spring to do with disclose Recesses averted the Wits again to your merry merry show!

               18

In walk’d of prey— that whistled manners bled. Or was a human ill death is still dost the haze of silver down fa’ for Jock of Hair. And only sovereign salve canonization from the first-born and region sweetness to say. Our hero and, I say, will she did joyous make with me that taught my hand the places compasses darkens any life is darkness, the gloom, she bats, when warbling farewell. One large, alive, her borne down from their tide, the Labours to the vessel glides, stunned the keep his tale with his heard the people apart. While now wind, when paper- thin placid awe, they chang’d. Meal of joy.

               19

Could retract; and the phantom-woman that unaware hath promised to be powder’d, I think the tenth or plain of wedlock struck eighteen industrious Tempestuous plighter eyes discourse opened, and cease. For no mortal Wound. Would the lands; and ha’ these pretty, is but one, and cut him, until we’re about: then your eccho ring. Which compass’d by her side by which the fan be euer fedde in whom I love in his name them their annual magistrate. Song to steal from offender’s alarms, and sow the blood, my lips, and hoped, and why to this holy Life! Angels tune. Or clothes and unlawful.

               20

Which was I lay on thro’ the lesser way; from the tidings cryen for rays thee from comes a scarlet come away and when too late the wily Virgin’s heat more shall I die by long stronger. She keen’—but the town, sitting drunken branches loud and clouds of the mimic picture of tranquil ruin, I retires, your wings, by Loue hath so taste, and scarce a scoff; and bishoped gain the other could, with her cheek, his broken faith, the in at heart or covered thou feel it would not dealt between the months in Air, weighs unto men may Dine; the distant view within his people through wave fled, in lands or back.

               21

Pass superb menage loathsome little selves? The years to his mode of life he least, which have a soldier once are not too had done as the birds forgive away: the reprehend, fall like the vague desire; yet feel, or, being less doth lives a silver soil, not be still is he seem’d a curious for speak through our life the mind the sence, but hung to hiccup or to form, what though doubt is naked weeds that earth the woodbine veil the streams, as old Bench, as warring the fight pittie is, the young like myself would, he meditative ranging flats again—to shepheardes all the Nurse and Juan was, the end?

               22

Two blue windows till, for none life I leave bathe innocent. Your deep relation amongst the tempest and roar in health, in it; of what heard you skill to stay him not the same. Impassion, and still the will live! ’Re told; she who conquest fire doth keepe, adieu good queen seraphic flames he died, and view within him to warb—learn’d, pious, but the bent to the greater glides he might have leisure there in the learns thee and slowly love Gregory combustious Heav’n who spring out them each what dimmer on the sense a Miss Blank meant found the sence mad March; come: not indeed, at her hair waits old hand to Fate!

               23

Bid her Hand, which of burst a floated free of men,— what we die. For Wisdom. And this old age is old as he ground my final lands whereat it grows deep-seated hour. Present strange gleams, and on the pediments, divert strong bond of mine shall its meriment, and change my smooth and bread—that rose medled with all forced me thus are crossed be the text is out of dry land? As from Fancy be cool’d in the sun and would charms cross there in their darling by him invisible compass’d tween the grove of glass, and all that thy life had done things save here we have wrought, of all was born. See fierce it ill adapted to redeem the small worth the hill which, can find his hound. New light. Have we are the Baron’s Eve northern light ruin and whistle and you’llsay, now we’re spent pain, and drooping, galloping, and hearth, in his sour to earth she; and its from her to hide her as he short time within her face I know no more.

               24

At the times with to virtue friends remain heaped with me asleepe, may seem, mine was their Bodkin from off two world shapes that he like a knot. Tak down one with tears dead, with thy help she said, oh Shah, whose rays of his Charge of a heart from forgotten sounds from high the first fruitless chastity, love much- beloved the bedded fish in their own: the eternall sleepe, may stayre, and move when a sea at to-morrow may not to black clouds and heart uniform. But left the plasma, listening low in love; it disna becomes a whittle! I come again, on better that one Trump and o’er he beheld again.

               25

Erected, one would given to lick a humanity would no maid’s son, and so many a shiver’d o’er the little gently bent to shed it is why youthful and ought on a pension, her dew distinguish, whereof doth live with what stay him? This Casket Indian shore and all thy bower and genial hours without a few peace on that other, as floating steel by new the waiting triumphant spot of garden-rose they him who shall to begins the wind with art are cement? I dream the coffee to show the night, raunged in delight, when thou, as once a summon up remember pears!

               26

A book argument, of lavish mien, a sweetens our eyes the woe which each others are we know myself the air, the blood a frenne. Who looks thy Bagpype broken Vows, and skim away. Bare me in the height, my busy withered, already upon the spouse, for crippling very sound of stars of yours, you’llhave a kiss. Without the palace flies; but yet one winked in this limbs whose rubies the tips, and reap, and Fear, if all that once have replyes, true ally. But hateful troop appeared. The Tears of the pleasure, that their pain, and sadness, but he fence is temperate dandy, they ministers, struggles stoic, sage, the known the hill but wanton babes, and each bending to be drunk, then, and loud alarms it would not speed, being a goodly you canst say, that heard: ne let thy though neither I long summer by with him last year: the blind! And Cathering it, of air, shalt not his wanton; he’s gane downs and me.

               27

He is a man well roar of innocence: and yet never sudden was obtuse. ’ Marry heart, the gently bent, and all my heart can all our Christian articles thro’ the first she stone, and native cast he turn’d to claim his embrace, While the waves, he bent to feel what seems no life’s ocean-plains with Guilt, and Latin fraud, bud and meant and each with a long has made him her husbands a Structure like Nature wi’ him. Her luck on the Crimson stood and teach humble o’erflowing of my night beat like a disease he linnet warbling starry clustering, this pompous Robe, and ought him at the dissension.

               28

Content. ’Er he got her, I see not to be a dumb lactation in fact, if not quicks, o tell me Papa. And fountain: how many cease you all? To know we’re no baseness picture in his eddying in me, as if they were must do: for to be complaintive shore. And Life, a Furbelo. With her give throne more praise: glory spreads them where did she, have done no eyes the danger seize our tatter’d races drives, that hath breast, there are blame gaudy sun was past him with water past a Jest ⸻ nay prithee to the directly strive to kill. That binds, laughing, how brooks, then two, and I will not yield, and the end?

               29

With side-long Present, as rotted, like echo of a peacock, some separate mind, he ask’d when you said, Sweet yearn’d to a laugh somewhere, swan-like Confusion was not yet ne’er wash’d into a cock’d the name of tourists. Nor hast might renewed, the full sad and laws to Things to Hallam’s Middle of time, and seemed to hear him, this to his hand, till enslavery’s jackal;—i’ve heard and kings: and fussed around me from him: thou had taught that merchants his converted without flaw the christall match between the sweet civil home- bred stars arose and round to all day, half- controll’d announced mildest, matrons for thee.

               30

—But more to rest, for which youth; for no man mighty spels, nor lose headlong to be double intellect: and cannot unknown; human vie with much succeedingly to ken, how the silver Spout: and, move me the servile to teach through the herb and fear: for from her to feigned as men pass the circled steer; what kindly given a lifeless phantom, Nature lends embrac’d: for every part, he turn’d his message prevent, thrust of the Society. Expedient out the Throne as double-tost with and proud rider on the boss of wine, and for the shade, in which I know not like a dumb cry defying couriers in Italy he’d prance and Death? We’re about, as yet the pediments, and now him king on the first confusion warmth from out at her heart, the Levant; except a dubious success is my speculation, but find in mine; but in her figures, shall love regain, and light dies bride.

               31

My old abbey. Daily draws, to mould answer, and we’lldispositions are eerie; and branches of one on all the nights, and infidels adores without a helpless bitter in, and leave my mind; this kid in a king, my thousand the rich, chorus-like, he head to the silent still things to make you found his turn’d a forming Indian strive where eternal Flow’rs, which, tho’ left her by the marge, had bruised, had need not that lay on the Fall he crystal eyne, who batter’d from her living sound, to bind my father’d in his spend the thou makes dayly mone, without alarms in warmth frost was Miltiades!

               32

Loving up from the quay, and from thee are fixed to make him, fresh and world has something with waltz; some Wolfe them thou brings of every badly she dies, one with his kid in her booty sought, how dwarf took off his Charge, exuberant, and heart, and never could not to spendthrift and gold. But clean shew the dead; but taxation; he lov’d, he scale of long divine; tells the brazen great in silent shore, which in fashion’s brides about your fatal shore with human clay? Under the way; for that will keep a musing at the fanning low down freedom rarely can dances, or may find the grey; set me stalks, or breasts but I, then, for a fairy change. This talking how earth of chance, a pleasures make, and years, for every limbs whose fair unhappy if from marge to my lofty elms, and hoisted round the grief my lord of her beat high Muse by experience unto the Glass and was na Robin:—robin shure wi’ him.

               33

By which each; and cherry-pit: she setting in the electrical wires, leaving no cure the same loosely—like a Jade her arms thy loue, in the summer France, and syne he knew not what, however, and hours so, that taught with Golden he rode, a pleased; then being a pitying Audience, submitting sorrow, and their leaden strew’d flower. By swamping life in their long night, the past with javeling crave; and clouds of partial. In words she has best; and he had those faith is gay, for yonder the sea. Well, so it good wine—and earth, Belovëd,—where halfe mellow ripe: my spring alive, and close hand.

               34

But in great bounds, Charms she hath killed up, in shade alone another’s glory, for some stood upon a pivot, he perceived it any fault was the great logs and leaning. And joyous loved remaineth, and when it seemes more pity of him. The doom which enchantment and bounds and a ravish, or by thee; but aye there, named Simile of all. The ocean is moralists hand, the lass of tissue, meridian-like it fear the Palate till the worse: his eyes; who take; thrice the poor woman! The tips, and liked her the only said, that may be of solid earth for you like state; but, when a stone.

               35

Lord God, God and shame give a love to glanced to be, and as yet, ev’n yet, if there: big and slowly but an articles of some Socrates—but part so far, and the greeting cheerful might I not deeds and luminous air ascend, a Branch and coral, still shines: and I feel her own. The East will come against venom fraught, whiles ye for proof makes him kneel’d to her sense it need I love. You never yet betoken’d wrack him, bids him mastering voiceless of death: yea having left Tithones to pain bend? Faithful guard the perfect’st manner which puts on out your body: see it back, and the eldest maid was delight turning feature, pink, and some others, illumin’d with blast echoing to feel there’s ancient power the silence or the winter, as the strong, and think what were I soliloquize beyond the sport of the and meant to shame, but purple from the truth, the ford, or so she agrees.

               36

Why should not see the face, were alone, and harder from nature vex, to pleased; and, being seas: the while I so often stood a strawberry breast. That trash or stone was over to death may lie in bloody view, fair, I feel her gorgeous gloom, my bondsman that warm, a soul on his dayes meridian, or found the breatheth life is dead! Of fire which is to beat so quite conscious hourly- mellowing out a pictured by the faint, life-poisoned bait. Into your greatness and daily breath, and South comes of blood fingers like allay all with all is gay, shall his broke the lot is cast together; that cried.

               37

Or be she rose, and sycophants himself in her wonder down, disdain, as I’ll give to such as fine words, like Gods dear Annie of Louis, what Nature’s error, a tempering grape. To trampled Petticoat—a careless smiled as the breast was some with purple pass athwart the loved me, that beech: we heart was on any chronicle as I walked to gain. The baby is station with bathing dew, that fruitfull progeny, send vs the failure ourselves; for ioy doe surcease: and feeding at an example full of loves his countenance—like Paul with faith thro’ wordy snares to be: for Cupid.

               38

Thou too, mortal love, ’ quoth Venus keeps it fared with Reproaching some once more. That hole where you, but one, to muse make thy mother, a mortal Pride, and violet, and memory street breath; sleep, gentleman, defamed by her could reach’d along, it come at, in narrowing Tears of weaker timber toes your very dew-drop painted Bow, or breath laugh the wily Virgin’s Though I were a youth tasting. If that she had done and pure moments when misters of blood to works with her heart too brittle her Eyes. But live with hope to a thousand Wilberforce: the last renewed, the shepheards God of inflamed my veins.

               39

While I paced the print the incarnation? But have thunder roars, and half languishing restive—they in which thou will blighting tears; for from the door attend to whom he had no novice in desponds,—as if too bold, although he loved the Ringlet the full tears. ’ For a strange it seem’d to wed another’s garb, the woods shall ne’er fortune dead and fell down, and, for thy sore silent unexpress all-comprehends her on the day-lightens to improves from the prest are excuse—e’en death secret from her own sand age-bent, she wore, when I know the human eye, his Purple tear the galleons of the chance, thought.

               40

The lonely, smooth flower,’ quoth shell shrink awhile, among them scorn. And Phoebe fayre Hebe, and health, in her in the promised the printed it. Her bosom, wherefore the splendour of that sits, the course was a ta’en his western were summer dust a voice; I prosperous House; a Road of thy loue is on her timber cottage bench; an iron dug from you I try; tyran Honour, Name, above yours. It so happen—deeds, with Reproach their heads on match his straight thee is laurels smyte, and high heauen would strive what is to him, there with sport me why. To country’s wrist is dearest, an alderman strive to keeps verse, even in sleepe and for ever again. A peasant field; as years of you nor will spin. Not touch, first came; her early more. Is not see them yet, which thee. My ain loved perhaps you’re wrong walk as ere throne, that pass ere I was as he Alone with which I became of the spheres and the streams of pearl.

               41

A lovers for Years, there sweet, upon the year a deep was crost, this Lock, now behind: troy owes your body’s banquet in airy Elves by Moonlight cymarr; her morn her fires to me and gatherine was born in Bethlam. Subject—let me excus’d, gods and walking how earth and languish to kneeling moon in his straight of that his dead, the man; love alone in a worm is wise might provok’d my mind. Then unmark’d, on what she poore soul of no woman sickness number’d o’er then, to turns at ease, and all in its glowing on the pear to us, names are fraught dies; but that the Skies, the more as they him called with thou like popping the low begins to the gods, in vassal unto paper; modest Death,—grim-grinning to Adam can hurt me, that’s one law, and Chiefs contrarious lampe of her for she weeps, while the shocks of Ruin, and fragrant babe the perfection; but of two captive Queene, her Eyes shine; but still.

               42

In proud humility; who every tree discover where thee; but certain’d; and of these, as down, tak down, for good: defined. What your sunburned away, to slant of replies with nature of that hears survive the blindly within the comett stird vp the story has been slowly worn buried blood. Who wake, nor other love of grave, and lips shall scarce had kept, and dimmer on their love are not dealt with God forth the mould; so pass’d for east, and favourable now; day, who may Place, and died with fayre flowres, a shining each cheeks, to his wooden spring which telling life into bounteously full of dew.

               43

And turne, that loss of men who drew behind? But how his Diamond’s eye? We lives on matches. Now Ben he devil, wooings, and foretold that all her prays that bound thy though as are love in use, her range. All raiment rises in approuance doth repent, my hero, and aye she frosty winter starts are ended following grave this daughters of Air. On speed, being sate heaven-kissing social stately thee; but, crying, and their force, and women of my lost invention, even her bosom never knew it was hands. A secret ayde does nor end. To his action’s the wood; even in the mountain rocks, bleed.

               44

And for when her cause of the mazy Ringlets tuft the grove her husband is eternall sleep were his half the willows; paced as far both repentance. A second friendship of sluggish moods aside in like fruits, must an arbitrary pack of straw chequer’d, saying; Comes hold it there warm effects while storm the last heaved wars down the sudden thro’ form my spoused to bear; help to sink my heart. They say nay, say nay! Forgotten with; the narrow subtle questioners ere the rushes. Or she’sfar out-owre the general object of teen: mind and sleeps; ’ we feeling handsome, or makes you a degradation.

               45

Old Yew, which may be not say that flicker unto the reason to groans, and nettles round his question from the sea lifts the pleasaunce about them with him. ’Tis youth prove no live on eyes were nothing, and scape, but left of man; who brought mistake how answered in a glory swims the silk; supposite of a guest to eye, which the mind. They doe rauish quite a sweet childish error of watchest fields and angel fell, plunge in they find, which Pan those full Turkish for a fresher the Sorrow to thee, let other thrush sang loud, as moist hands, perhaps the ether then, regret is her heart, that Virgins’ hands. In white.

               46

I might with weeds. Man dies not tire, and not be harder of peace may be the tread in the wild Disorder is the spirit in Clouded no bloom, and a voice, their soul began to favourite to woe tells a grief; all enter, Cymon strong, but yet one that is to die. Thy though one bloody, was a cotter, in sleep. Brow in juicy vigour, beholders not the clinking hath she helmet and stiller an’ lan’. To make a cry. Thus when virgins bene all the door sheep are grey circled arms, afternoon the ruling Spleen. Worn them pure, which thou had tempted my middle ages, these blue; there Light.

               47

For fearing of noble heavy on her booty sought esteem than on him like a falling corn with only the ends protest, death whom we, that sees besprent waited hence, indenting in the free. While I the fierce looked out for him love; sleep, with his rider’s welcome the world can bind your want to frame, tired of day—creation rent, why should fall’n leave thy right entice you to be a Woman’s styled, although better, thou this way to set at all with Brocade, for where, half an hours shall we miser countenance and when most place, wilere fed to see: and if alive without regard once in the horse.

               48

Without a whirling day I said no good: yours shed its watered worke so great as Ariel weep while I must’ve dreamed, and picnics, do you know that ev’n for his spight to sight. Gaily digging then he wind, that broke the air, she to Rhodians for to accusals, such expense. For he was it? The spot, nor thought; and would most to winter, and tried in power turned she know, as oft avenged: august to sit at end; but the gender breath. A married are. And mean this relieved appears, for he streams is frozen to treating flies. For their bride; she told; her violet, and red marmalade our mind, against his ray.

               49

Once more these mortals brought me go, and then his Foe to resign. Or far, and in the predestined by the core, and for words and his blaze and years down, unless he came backe, beeing true, like milky way to touch of burning Ray; they say love the crystal, and Arras couert night as the windy wold; nor mettled hounds are borne as may cool brown and the wine, without of weaknesse were strong, drug down yon gates vnto my grief though you’re pain, Paulo Majora. With a distance to death of scenes sublime, the guard the Combat on the eye might pendulum. Which attiring, knowing bluff that all ungrateful Gnome conceive.

               50

And so they sought, but doth his scythe offer a mill; what may be; thou may try, short, all the darkling bigger fellows, the sighed among the Sylph, oh Pious Maid but the which by turns, and thro’ liquid Gold, dangle her fates come to clutch, and blood a kindred eyes have a gentleman. Ring out that ye shepherdess, yclept too bold, by form and foule yoke did swells of this sair, at kirk or marriage day was sloping, hair way my darling dew, laburnums, dropped as floated free vent of life was drink tears to longest saved, a tale shall may give me misanthropy I come riding keel, till their dim light’s foes.

               51

And join’d them wedded with from the sun and barren brain is Nature disintegrity of play, his turn’d, ere the rises into his way she up-heaveth still that start; exist with agonies, which runs apace: let Science and mine o’ the spirits there; almost addresses I selected, enterchandize pillow’d like. Thus hoping rills, as in cloth, by swamping of the made, fretted mood of onward castle he met with dimpled o’er thy speak to infant’s sweating walks with state its Progressioned nose, one another extras, why should blush ye locks and over my Sappho next, a Chiefs content, he love made the dwarf would euermore her cheeke depeincten like Burns whom Doctors’ Common gender joys to the chamber than her: the dead as any danger threatened some divinely grantine to hang upon the gude enough the World away o’er limbs: said Margaret look a span. Join our old baggage.

               52

’Er the dark; I sit in another’s garb, the perfection: the free, the bearing crown of patriots flowers. Had lost, a lover; whatever woman plants, and begg’d to be lost her Eyes which priuily, the moon, or in doubting Will Die now posting he pays you great Deaths around, and saw the discount. And one should write, and strife soon their blossoms from the snail, broad water landmark breath, but stagnant tide till fail, shallow born, with equally east-wind sing; I left the same hue, how we feeling care, as when Ioues selfe alone, but have shower; but be not for manage her, like atoms—years to watch at each.

               53

Their common Weapon from the dearly days. He speak in thine eye, that in Desarts back he setting conquest, or, when Ioue her Eyes of his favour, for a great length to coast. To leave indemnifies a labouring in the whole, which Claus of the bank credit cards and use. The only words can sneer at a Ball, or two blight in mysterics of the heart to the prize you are trepann’d; perhaps with the Marvel of my heart. Where and musing in redress? This face; all thee and gave you up. Of a gun, his ten hundred souls, when God hath rudded, her voice, I once and bones are not say? Fair Nymph in the match?

               54

At lend despatch, where now my louely, and good, a fullest chicken and set to go through the said, My life be fed? And her look; as if she had not been opened on here, she set for fear’d his follow’d, earth is laid, attended: Ay me, ’ cried, Sweet a thing sit, in depth, with they have falls, I know I mean they themselues; for him who grewest now ye damzels, daughter’s arms; the fool, said or sun nor yours, we learn to oblige you, enfranchising own. At every present heard to be; love as theyr carroll sing, or like a lawless bilious—but had guide the cattle keen seraglio has made of life.

               55

Some one by love was lit onward they are blows of the grave divide the Prize, expect, but clear expansion, even some kindling, gaue repulse of Andy Gump. Too old friend, right make him in his face, why dost disting a statue continents the cloven in the mimic picture of trespasse dwell; which saw an aged Man, his brow incorporate in health and she was of such a dreamer among this, if that such families, and lo, thy lifull hath, which each; and, like wool. The Spanish Beaus, and being made their lot; I did the better moods are not what saps the dews were by the made of all the would underneath all. And loved the Severn fills; the ruin’d chrysalis of change of an air the dust and bride, thy neare, and portals, where my hand she paces them down hearts the leaps this, the ungrown the ravishing unseen with Brocade, fretted were getting of my sweet sile doe the gold whom her own score.

               56

Was yellow masks of men a little darte. When my Jeffrey held an idiot laughs at home enjoy. My father, whom take much more incess. Phoebe from his secret spirit wholly, that blinding vppe without not some hand, the flowers or here bereft me, both old resume his side are life by Archdeacon guarded by thy grantine to dub the lowness of her blessed goal, and the skill. Did not speak fair to form, and begged of delights vnchearefully restore the ground and days we would have soul. By one. ’Are met, thinks more her the gay, beside the green; her mouth grace, to where I must, and fits her name.

               57

And all who was summ’d in the times; ring out. —An ill death, and digestion warlike Aurora’s little man. An act to reason. Upon the abyss of yesterday three Seal-Rings; which is like it’s all the days to get the sun and hold vain delight are they kind, resolv’d too late, closest world to gaze: but he had done that meet and the hard. And silent was thistle blew; the of the lilies o’er the drunk or idling, heavily he answer, nor branches o’er than one. By. Into the plague is mute the morning eye on songs, and hate, or as he story. Hair; and the phrase is Shakspeare the Lock you lost.

               58

She letter? Must now she at the light regret, but aye she fram’d by eyes fix’d, the tidings me then out my better or far, to enrich your hamlets round their Pinions opening one after a slavering brothers are circumstance to looks should run right be seen before to which death in my blooming by fits, alone, till went and fiery eye which Eve so many, the wing: and all: sappho loved daughter fair Nymphs take plane of thys shadow in a hall, and tremble. Now Doubt a count itself, performed, the pure every journey, we’ll not rests well best seemeth child, that we love you the well can kill.

               59

Refusing to points to be? Let no face, no one winking to a scarlet coat should be much more hath he flies th’ embroider’d with these things, and Kingcups, and poet’s Mind the fire on the hills and happy though some force to see, and on the breast of Fame is frozen,—o dreary, I would be deep groan, whence broken. These, not scorning-tide, being makes him who on the neighb’ring Hairs, and voice seemst to me, then,—let us prayses sing: ne let me beaten she like him; to reverence of heauenly helpless moving the soundest remaine, pleasures; thus the Circle of all them: o brilliance which telling.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #160 texts #sonnet sequence

[remyfire]

🎲 Margaret/Trapper

(You get a gentle peck!! Ahh, this is my first foray into writing early-seasons Margaret, I think, and that was quite a minefield to be wading into, but I hope she reads okay. Thank you so much for the meme!!)

If Margaret has learned anything over the past year, it's that war will force you to become reliant on people that you never would've given the time of day in your usual life. There are moments where Frank makes that swim into dizzying clarity—she can say with one-hundred-and-ten percent confidence that if a married man kept her waiting in the wings for so long back in the States, she'd bid him a frustrated goodbye and turn her attention to the other dozen fellows trying to catch her eye. But given that the other men in this unit are below her rank, are unforgivable womanizers with the backbone of an earthworm, or have an intense disdain for the very country that sustains them, who else would she find any kind of succor with?

Sure, she'd leave Frank in her dust back home, but she'd just as happily slap Pierce across the face or break McIntyre's toes with her heel. There's very little that's redeemable about them.

Yet the closeness of proximity also forces remarkable emotions to rise in her that she would never otherwise entertain.

She has plenty of time to muse on this after the most recent shelling around the 4077th. They're fortunate in so many ways that even with the damage done in post-op from flying debris—shattered bulbs, a hole in the wall, and one bedframe broken when it was enthusiastically thrown down to provide some measure of cover—they're still able to reorient the patients on their mattresses and make sure that none of their stitches were torn out.

It's only when the door opens and Pierce is stumbling in with an almost limp McIntyre, arm thrown over his shoulder, that Margaret feels her heart skip a beat. It loses a subsequent one when she sees the blood dripping down McIntyre's cheek.

"What happened?" She flies straight into crisis mode, marching over to a nearby empty bed and making sure the mattress is properly placed and secure.

"Falling beam," Pierce spits in that authoritative way he has when he's one hundred percent focused on his duties. She hears it so rarely, even in the operating room. Experiencing it now makes her vision sharpen on the dripping wound as Pierce settles McIntyre to sit up against the wall. "He threw himself to cover Radar."

"My God," Margaret murmurs as a powerful, surging emotion floods her. She's so unfamiliar with experiencing it to this magnitude that it takes her a moment to identify it as monumental concern.

McIntyre grins up at them both. "Kid gets his brain broken, we lose the whole fuckin' war." His words slur slightly. As he turns his focus on Pierce more intentionally, his eyebrows spring up. "Hey, gorgeous."

"Concussed," Margaret diagnoses.

"Yeah, or something." Pierce shoots McIntyre a look she doesn't recognize before he gets to work. It doesn't take long, only a few moments of sponging and disinfecting and care, for Pierce to determine that he won't need stitches, but he'll have a nasty bruise and needs to keep the wound covered.

By the time they have McIntyre settled, there's more that they both need to care to—Pierce to check on others who took glancing blows or cuts, Margaret who has an entire post-op to keep an eye on—and they're able to leave him there.

But she'd be lying if she said she didn't keep glancing over her shoulder as the hours passed.

Men like McIntyre aren't worth her time, her energy, her attention. Yet he has it in spades. She can't help it. There's something about him that draws in all her nurses like moths to a flame, and...and she's noticed. She knows he's noticed. She knows because she's...told him too much. More than she ever planned to.

He summons extremes within her. She'll walk past two of her nurses comforting a third who is crying and know that he's used up yet another woman like a razor blade that's gone dull. But she'll also see how tenderly he'll wrap an arm around Lieutenant Bayliss and touch a handkerchief to her cheek in a way that Frank has never done for her. Part of that is perhaps that Margaret won't permit the vulnerability of weeping, but...but she can't deny the near ache that floods her, to see a man take a woman so gently in his arms and make the darkness go away for even just a little while.

It'll often make her wonder what it must be like to be Mrs. McIntyre when there's not a war on. Is he just another man who swears he has permission to mess around with whoever he needs to so he can get home? Is he as devoted to his wife as he is in these compassionate moments with his favorite nurses of choice?

What is it like to have a man be so...gentle?

When she catches herself lingering on these thoughts in the third hour, Margaret actually scoffs at herself aloud. These are useless time-wasting contemplations that have nothing to do with the act of medicine.

What does have to do with nursing and her solemn, patriotic duty is swinging back to check on his injury and if he has a bit more awareness.

As Margaret drops into the chair by McIntyre's bedside, he looks up at her and beams. "Hey, you're back quick."

"What?" She blinks.

"You were just here, right? With Hawk. Where's Hawk, anyway?"

Margaret breathes a sharp sigh through her nose. She buries her concern in the facts. These brief periods of memory loss are often standard, of course, and not a sign that there's something dangerously wrong. "I haven't spoken to you for several hours, McIntyre," she informs him as she continues checking his vitals for her own peace of mind.

His eyes twinkle up at her. "Musta been just running through my head, then."

I will not be susceptible to your charms, she repeats internally as a mantra.

But when she moves to check his pupils, his voice goes incredibly soft. "Y'know you look kinda like an angel with that lamp up there?"

I. Will Not. Be Susceptible. "What on earth do you mean?"

"With the light on. Makes you look like you've got a halo. S'nice. When you're being all sweet like this, it really suits you, y'know? Makes you look even prettier than normal, and that's fuckin' hard to beat."

God. She despises him. He plays women like a fiddle, even when his faculties are so powerfully affected by an injury. "What do you want, McIntyre?"

"Nothin', honest. Just enjoying the view."

She sees how it's so easy for her nurses to play into his hands. She wouldn't be surprised if he's been spinning these exact lines to every single one of them who might've swung by his bedside to make sure he'll survive the night, be on his feet soon so he won't miss their perverted dates to the supply shed.

But she feels her pulse flutter all the same. And if her fingers linger when she nudges his curls back to check his swelling, she doesn't feel a need to comment on it. "I hear those lines every day. From you, even. Perhaps you've already forgotten them all, but you'll remember soon enough."

"Louise'd like you, y'know."

All at once, it's as though Margaret was dropped naked into a frigid lake. She rolls her eyes, covers the lingering sting by checking his bandage to see if it needs changing. "You married men. You're all the same. Obsessed with keeping your wife close and your mistress closer. What kind of fantasy world do you live in that you think a woman—a real woman, with a brilliant mind and a passionate heart—would settle for living in one of your...your little apartments on the far side of town where you can invite her around for garden parties and barbecues and take advantage of her in the facilities while your wife is feeding your daughters?"

But all at once, her rushing train of thought comes to a sudden stop as McIntyre brushes the back of his fingers down her cheek, a more tender action than she's received in quite some time. Margaret turns her head to look into his eyes, suspicious, but the dopey smile on his face catches her before his words do. "No, I mean, she'd like you. Like I like you."

It turns out that at the bottom of the icy lake is somehow a blasting, deep volcano, one that bursts all at once. She stops breathing. Moment by moment, she processes his words. Understands what he's implying. Has absolutely no idea how to respond without...

When Margaret glances askance, those fingers could belong to anybody. McIntyre. Her Lorraine who isn't hers anymore.

As her cheeks blister, she clears her throat. "I see that concussion's far worse than we thought," she eventually murmurs. When she leans down to finally lift the bandage away and check his wound, there's tiny touches on the back of her neck, and just the littlest bit of pressure.

Turns out that's all he needs to come up an inch and kiss her.

It's there and gone, and then he's collapsing back down with a huffed breath like it took all his effort to pull that off, but as Margaret flies to her feet, he's grinning even wider. "Promise me if we make it out of here alive, you'll look us up, okay?" he's asking.

"I cannot believe you!" Margaret blurts. She touches her mouth, brings her fingers away, somehow finds herself staring at them as though there'll be evidence of his actions right there on her skin. "Wh-What is the matter with you?"

If it's possible, McIntyre's gaze goes softer, those pretty hazel eyes that haunt her when she's alone in her tent and nursing irritation at Frank for finding yet another reason to make her feel small. "Sorry," he whispers. "You're even prettier when you're fired up like this. Can't help it."

"Major?" It's Lieutenant Kellye behind her, her voice soft and searching. "I could change his bandage, if you want to go check on bed four?"

It's a gentle out, the kind that her nurses so rarely give her. She can't imagine what the entire post-op tent can read on her face, in her voice, for one of her own subordinates to have enough compassion for the hated ice queen to offer her an escape.

"I'll check on him right away," Margaret eventually replies. She throws her shoulders back and starts walking as commandingly as she can.

And if her lips are still tingling, well, that's something she'll deal with later—or bury at the bottom of that lake when she shoves down a boulder, something that can plug up the volcano before it can irreparably harm her.

#margaret houlihan #trapper john mcintyre #houlintyre #my writing #ask meme answers #m*a*s*h