#sp clandestine

[willows-escape]

Carpe Diem - Musical!Erik x Reader

Pairing: Musical!Erik x Fem!Reader

Summary: You'd received possibly the worst news a high status woman could receive in their entire life time, and you had only one thought and one goal in mind. Erik had a different one.

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, a lot of crying, jealousy, uninformed consent (?), almost getting caught, oral (f and m receiving), finger sucking, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, forced mask reveal, mentions of murder, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping

Words: 9570

Notes: sorry this took so long, coursework's a pain in the ass and i've written and deleted what i've wanted to write so many times. i've written seven different stories at this point and rewritten them each at least three times. i decided to pull back all the complexity of what i was originally going for and ending up with this thing.

i tried to make the phantom more submissive because i know people wanted to read that but musical!erik just doesn't feel submissive to me, at least not in this kind of scenario. he's just too much of a control freak i feel and i think he would become more of a switch later into a relationship when he grows comfortable.

hopefully i don't take so long to write my next thing in future, and i pray i continue to improve in my writing skills lol.

You were in flight, your heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in your chest, matching the frenzied drumming of your feet against the opera house's ancient wooden floors. Every sinew in your body screamed in protest, yet you willed yourself to run faster, harder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out all thought, all reason, save for one - you have to get to the rooftop.

Your relentless fate was stealthily stalking you, icy tendrils of fear unfurling down your spine, as you envisioned the pitiless roots of destiny relentlessly chasing you, eager to entangle you within their remorseless clutches. The letter you gripped in your trembling hand was the harbinger of your impending doom, a chilling memento of the ominous vow you had once made.

As you turned the corner, your heart pounded in your chest as you darted up the flight of stairs towards the clandestine meeting point. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, matching the dusky sky's ethereal haze. As nightfall descended, it signalled the time when both of you could shed your public facades and bask in the tranquillity of each other's presence, shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

Every muscle in your thighs and calves screamed in protest, pleading for mercy as you drove yourself onward. You forced yourself through each step. As you pushed through the final barrier, the rooftop door swung open, revealing your destination. A gust of crisp, cold air met your face, a shocking contrast against the sweltering heat of your exertion. The sudden chill cut through the stifling humidity clinging to your skin, offering a brief, but sweet, respite.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" you called out aimlessly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

The tension of anticipation didn't linger long. Soon, the haunting familiarity of the black suit and porcelain mask punctuated your line of sight. A smile, so ignorant and blissful, graced his hidden face, while your own mirrored nothing but distress. As your eyes met, his smile faltered and a sense of panic ignited within his gaze.

"Has somebody hurt you?" The first conclusion came tumbling out of his lips as he rushed to stand in front of you, hands reaching out to caress your arms.

An onslaught of feelings of safety and security besieged you. The caress of his gentle touch, his sugar-coated words, and the purity of his love stood stark against the frigid future looming ahead - ice-cold eyes, indifferent touch, and a home that was nothing more than an glorified prison. Your vision blurred, as if submerged underwater, with briny tears carving trails down your icy cheeks. Your body convulsed with splutters and coughs, surrendering to the raw unravelling of your emotions.

"My dear, please, who did this to you?" His voice wavered, desperation tinging his plea. "I can't bare to see you like this," he confessed, his heart aching to draw you into his arms, to cocoon you in a protective embrace. Yet, his hands twitched with uncertainty, unaccustomed to offering unbidden comfort and tormented by the fear of making the wrong choice.

Struggling, you gasped for the words that seemed to evade your grasp. Finally, in a pitiful whimper, you managed to choke out the truth, "My father. It's my father."

"He has hurt you?" His words, taut with restrained fury, barely managed to mask the cataclysmic rage broiling within his core. His eyes flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, pledging an unspoken oath that he would move heavens and earth to guard you from any harm. He would not let this happen again, his earlier leniency was a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

"No... well, yes, sort of," you stammered, every word a struggle as tears choked your speech. Your sentences, muddled and hardly coherent, tumbled out in a rush. He stood there, a silent pillar of patience amidst your storm. "The curtain had just fallen on tonight's performance, when Madame Giry found me, said someone had come to the Opera Populaire with a letter for me. I ventured backstage, and – and –”

"Take your time," he reassured you, trying to keep his tone soft and soothing when he was feeling anything but that.

"My father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "He sent this to me," you raised your arm, presenting him with the damning parchment that bore the news, "It declares that I have a single week to make my return... and to dutifully submit to his wishes, to bind myself in marriage to a man he's handpicked for me.”

As the words tore from your lips, a deluge of sobs overpowered you, shattering your composure into fragments. You crumpled onto the frigid concrete, your body convulsing with the ferocity of your wails, echoing the raw torment festering within.

"He has already decided my fate, to wed me to Alexander Beaumont, heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Paris. But, Erik, I cannot bear the thought! I'd choose the most excruciating demise before even contemplating marrying him!" Your tears began to mingle with your snot, humiliation gnawing your insides, knowing he was bearing witness to your disarray. Yet, you were powerless to stop it, and no amount of snivelling could quell the impending sense of doom building within you.

Erik was consumed by a fury so intense, it was a blinding white light in his mind. Thousands of brutal scenarios played out in rapid succession, each a unique way he could annihilate the man who dared to pull you away from him. The man who had reduced you to nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be used in his ruthless climb up the social ladder.

"I've met him before, his gaze piercing through me, speaking of me as though I were a mere fly on the wall... If I were to wed him, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a trophy wife, imprisoned within the confines of a household, expected to bear children annually until nature robs me of the ability," you choked out between sobs, bitterly recalling his elaborate discourse to your father about his archaic aspirations for a wife, a die-hard traditionalist to his core.

"The Opera Populaire, an impossibility now. My friends, forever out of reach. And you... you, I shall never feast my eyes upon again." The tears assaulted you, battering you with the unrelenting force of a tempest as the brutal reality bore down, each tick of the clock amplifying the sting of truth.

"Then don't go," he uttered, his words masquerading as a suggestion, yet ringing with the commanding tone of a demand, "Don't return home, do not bend to your father's will. There's always another escape, always."

"Oh, Erik," your voice broke, anguish seeping into each syllable, "I can't." A hard lump constricted your throat, the bitter reality of your predicament sinking in. "My father...he wields power, he has influence. If I dare not return, all of Paris would be hunting me down, a bounty on my head. I'm cornered, Erik. I'm left with no other choice."

Before he could utter another syllable, you swiftly eradicated the residue that had amassed on your skin and surged to your feet. Your eyes were ablaze with a bloodshot hue, stray teardrops stubbornly tracing a path down your face. Yet, an unyielding determination was etched across your features. You yearned for one final moment, one last poignant memory before the unavoidable reality of leaving him forever would consume you.

"Take me," you urged in a hushed plea, your gaze ensnaring him with such profound intensity that he was left with no room to misconstrue your meaning. Your purpose was undeniable, and it struck him into stillness. "Please, I beg you, do not deny me this final experience, this closing moment of exhilaration. For I am to be condemned.”

Your fragility was palpable, an image of vulnerability and innocence that made the idea of your bodies entwining, your souls merging into one, nearly impossible to suppress. Erik was gripped by a relentless thought; this encounter wouldn't be your last. A scheme was rapidly taking shape in his mind, a bold plan that he was awaiting the opportunity to enact. Yet, beneath it all, he was merely a mortal, how could he resist such a sweet opportunity laid before him?

As though your initial plea wasn't potent enough, you read his silence as a stark rejection. With a desperate urgency, you persisted, "I must experience what it means to unite with someone who harbours a profound love for me, and whom I equally adore, before time steals this chance forever. This is my final request of you, please, grant me this.”

Every trace of Erik's reservations - his mask, his insecurities, his lack of experience - evaporated in an instant. His entire being was consumed by the sight of your pleading eyes and enticing lips, desperately imploring him to make love to you. The intensity of your need, your last request born out of the fear of never seeing him again, ignited a scorching fire in his abdomen. His slacks tightened unbearably as his body responded to the raw desire coursing through him.

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his body lunged forward, crashing against yours, his lips desperately colliding with yours in an intoxicating, chaotic ballet. It was flawlessly imperfect, devoid of rhythm or pattern, yet it echoed the sheer intensity of your shared lust and fervour. A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your skin prickling, your stomach churning with a heady mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you passionately kissed him.

Small, desperate gasps and whimpers escaped your trembling lips as they urgently sought his, the icy chill of Paris causing a cascade of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You clung to him with a ferocity born of pure, raw fear, as if you were precariously perched on the brink of an abyss and he was the only tether keeping you from plummeting into the void. He was your sole anchor in a sea of chaos, the only force keeping you alive.

The searing heat of your skin beneath his fingertips sent his mind spiralling, the sensation of you - so soft, so yielding under his hands, a staggering, unfamiliar experience. He could feel the rhythmic surge and ebb of your chest, your breath, a hot whisper against his face as your lips clashed and fused, time and time again - he was certain he could feel the pulsating rhythm of your veins as your blood roared through your body. So vivid, so fiercely alive.

Inescapably, the mask had turned into an intolerable burden. Each movement caused it to ruthlessly scrape against your skin, the epidermis painfully inflamed and raw. With a heavy sense of reluctance, you retreated, your eyes slowly fluttering open to behold the breath taking spectacle of your angel, gasping for air, his eyes wide and darkened with intensity.

"My love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers nervously fiddling with the lapels of his coat. "I know this is a significant request..." The tension hung heavy in the air between you two. "But, would you consider... removing your mask?" Your heart pounded in your chest as you dared to meet his eyes. "It's been catching on my skin, and it's starting to hurt. If it's too much, I understand! We can find another way. It's just that... I yearn to see all of you, unobstructed."

His expression shifted to one of grave solemnity. Deep within, he had known this moment would arrive, yet he had clung to the hope that it would be delayed, that he could savour more of you and this opportunity before you were cruelly torn from his grasp. Now, his countenance was a spectacle of terror, a sight so horrific that he was certain it would repel you instantly, forever severing any connection you could have had. It was this dread, this fear of losing you, that compelled him to deny your request.

"No," he declared, his voice cold and final, making it clear he had no intention of prolonging this conversation any further.

A lump formed in your throat, a silent reflection of the tension in the air. His features were chiselled, hardened as if sculpted by an unseen force. His eyes, unyielding and intense, bore into you, commanding silence without uttering a single word. You were far from foolish, aware that any protest would shatter the brittle tranquillity of the moment. Respecting his unspoken plea, you held your tongue, allowing the silence to envelop the space between you.

You plunged back into the fervour of your previous kisses, this time contorting awkwardly to keep your face clear of the cold, threatening porcelain weapon. With each passing moment, you fought to maintain the connection, a bizarre dance with a man whose full face you'd never seen. A wave of filth washed over you, a creeping sense you should be drowning in shame, but you found no room for such feelings. Not when his touch set your skin ablaze with desire.

His hands settled on the small of your back, gently rubbing above the fabric of your dress. You naturally moved closer, your soft chest against his solid one. Your hands wandered, touching every part of him within reach.

"Is this what you call a lovers outing, Piangi? It's cold and dirty!" The piercing voice of the renowned prima donna erupted from the rooftop entrance, slicing through the silence. You and Erik froze.

"Ah, forgive me, my love," replied her lover, his familiar Italian accent flooding through his words. His voice sounded awkward and dejected. One could almost imagine his look of shame, realizing his romantic gesture wasn't appreciated. "I wanted to look at the stars with you, but if that's not what you desire-"

"Forget it," Carlotta spat out. The echo of footsteps approaching sent jolts of panic through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Erik, however, remained calm amongst the chaos. His fingers laced through yours, pulling you urgently towards the shadowed sanctuary of the rooftop's far corner.

"If you get too cold, dear, I have my coat with me. Just say the word and I will give it to you," Piangi spoke, his voice straining with the effort to pierce through Carlotta's gloom.

As their voices clashed in petty discord, a sudden blast of searing air prickled the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your hair bristling on end. A whispered command, laced with urgency, pierced the tension, "Stay behind me and follow. Make no noise. Not even a whisper."

With a sense of increasing trepidation, you gave a tense nod. You watched, breath held, as Erik emerged from your concealed sanctuary, prowling the expanse of the rooftop with a predator's stealth. He would intermittently halt, shielding himself within various makeshift hideaways. You hastened to mirror his movements, until at last, you found yourself inside the familiar confines of the opera house. His hand ensnared yours, his grip firm yet comforting, as he urged you onwards into the unknown.

It didn't take long before he ceased his steps, drawn like a magnet to the first mirror you encountered. His grip on your hand slackened for a fleeting moment, his fingers dancing over the wall in a cryptic rhythm. There was a tense hush, then the sharp click echoed in the silence, and the mirror slid back with a menacing grace to unveil a hidden passageway.

"What on earth?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice as you gazed upon the hole in the wall where once a mirror was.

Erik wheeled around abruptly, a sense of urgency flickering in his eyes as he extended his hand to you. You paused, uncertainty clouding your features, "Where does this passageway lead? Where are you taking me?"

"Trust me," he implored, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying an undertone of desperation.

You swallowed, your throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. The situation and context around it weighed heavily on your mind, a potent cocktail of potential consequences swirling before you. The silence was deafening as you deliberated, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you extended a trembling hand towards him, a silent acquiescence. You nodded, a solemn gesture of trust, surrendering your fate into his hands.

He responded with a nod of his own, guiding you towards the opening. The entrance was inconveniently elevated from the ground - not to an extreme where a leap was required - but enough to pose a considerable risk. With a firm grip, he assisted you as you stepped inside, ensuring the voluminous folds of your dress evaded entanglement. He trailed in your wake, the air heavy with anticipation.

With a precise touch, he activated a concealed point on the wall, causing the mirror to slide back into normalcy. The echo of silence descended, the only sound being the synchronization of your breaths reverberating through the confined passageway. A whirlwind of questions swirled in your mind, each one violently dismissed as the realisation of your shared purpose gripped you. Of what you were coming down here to do.

He steered you through a maze of bewildering turns, his whispers of caution echoing in the cold, damp air. His grip on your hand was constant, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. His familiarity with the convoluted tunnels was unsettling, and a chilling worry gnawed at you, as you wondered what hidden dangers made him tread with such measured care.

Soon you were greeted by a lake, its misty greens and blues shimmering so bright it twinkled like glitter. The view was mesmerising, the many candles scattered around lending the stone walls a glorious golden glow that took your breath away. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, the foliage blending together beautifully as it decorated the walls. You gasped.

He guided you towards a gondola which was tethered to a stout wooden stake driven deep into the ground. With a steadying hand, he aided your entrance into the vessel, ensuring your balance as you nestled into the boat's hollow core. Following your lead, he stepped in with calculated caution, his grip closing around a weathered paddle, poised at the ready to commence the strenuous task of rowing.

"What is this place?" You asked, ogling at the scenery around you.

"My home, my hiding place, the Phantom's lair, the sewers under the opera house..." he drawled off, beginning to row, "whichever one you wish to call it. All apply."

"You live down here?" You questioned, your brow furrowed as the icy air bit harshly at your exposed skin. The beauty of the place was undeniable, yet it held a chilling solitude that whispered of profound isolation, making it a daunting place to inhabit.

"Since I was a young boy," he spoke as if the words that spilled from his lips held no weight.

You couldn't shake the thought that something terrifying lurked beneath the mask. He had warned you, but you'd never considered how truly terrible it could be until now. Your eyebrows shot up, eyes dilating as your mind spun wildly with grotesque possibilities. What could be so monstrous about his visage that he was compelled to conceal it in the depths of a dank cellar?

Clearly, you had no intention of broaching the topic; it would undoubtedly ruin your plans for the evening. Yet, as the journey unfolded, you became lost in a whirlwind of contemplation, feverishly imagining the concealed face beneath the mask. Your affection was unwavering, regardless of how horrific his face was you'd feel the same way, but the mystery added an exhilarating layer of intrigue that consumed you.

Within mere minutes of fervent rowing, the silhouette of land loomed ahead, jolting you from your daze back into reality. You remained in the confines of the boat as Erik disembarked with calculated precision. He secured the boat with a swift, practiced motion, restoring the paddle to its rightful place. Then, he pivoted towards you, his hand outstretched in an offer of assistance, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled graciously, accepting his helping hand as you stepped out of the boat. You were enchanted, looking around at his home and how it was decorated. It was beyond your wildest imagination, intriguing and enigmatic, labyrinthine and gothic.

You were struck by the vast arrangement of candles. They casted a dim, dancing light which bathed the walls in an ethereal glow, casting long, eerie shadows on the dank stone. There was a majestic, ornate pipe organ, and a big mirror off to the side. All the way in the farthest corner, you spotted a bed, grand and draped in heavy, dark fabrics. You were in awe.

Erik did not give you long to stand and stare, as he was quick to pull you in the direction of where his bed resided. After a long, unfamiliar journey, you found yourself standing at your ultimate destination.

Anxiety, like a shadowy predator, stalked and then launched itself upon you, its claws sinking deep into your psyche. Your blood surged in a torrent, your heart hammered an urgent rhythm against your ribs, and your palms became slick with cold sweat as the full weight of your hasty agreement descended upon you.

"Now, it's my turn to pose the question," Erik initiated, his every footstep purposefully resonating tension as he incrementally diminished the space between you both. Your eyes, wide and alert, mirrored the mounting suspense. "Will you do this with me? Allow us to feel each other, become one, before you are to leave and never return?"

Tears welled threateningly in your eyes, a bitter reminder to the tortuous ordeal that loomed above. A personal hell was waiting, embodied in the stony indifference of your father and the pitiless gaze of your suitor. Discarding caution and fear, you hurled yourself against him with the force of a dead weight. In the face of despair, your inner flame roared back to life, desperation clawing its way to the surface once more.

His arms coiled around you with an intensity that left your breath hitched, his lips fiercely claiming yours. With a sudden, swift motion, he hoisted you into the air, your legs automatically snaking around his waist in response. He gently, yet assertively, laid you upon the cool sheets of the bed. He loomed over you. He began to crawl atop, compelling your legs to part in silent compliance. A gasp of anticipation escaped your lips, swallowed by his own, as you felt the weight of him gradually descend upon you.

As you kissed, the inadvertent brush of his crotch against your core sent a jolt through you, driving your senses into a wild frenzy. The searing heat from his arousal, even through the barrier of his trousers, was palpable, each pulsating throb a teasing promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest, as saliva-slick tongues ventured into uncharted territories, escalating the tension that hung in the air.

Driven by instinct, Erik's hands made a beeline for your sleeves, yanking with an insatiable restlessness, a silent plea for their removal. You countered his advances, pushing him back, a giggle escaping you at his stubborn demeanour. Undeterred, his lips sought new territory, latching onto the sensitive expanse of your neck, peppering kisses and grazing his teeth in a seductive dance that sent shivers down your spine.

Erik's movements against your aching core grew in intensity as he realised what he was brushing against, threatening to silence you completely. Yet, if he truly desired your uninhibited vulnerability, he needed to grant you the space to shed every layer.

"Erik," you tried to infuse your voice with authority, but it faltered, punctuated by your ragged sighs and helpless whimpers, "I'm laced into a corset, it needs to come off. Release me."

He moved with urgency, moving away from your form and allowing the space for you to rise, your knees pressing into the solid mattress. With a focused precision, you began to unbutton your dress, the fabric gliding over your head with a practiced ease, your focus fully enveloped in the task at hand. So engrossed were you, you failed to notice the predatory way his gaze drank in the sight of your bared skin, or the noticeable gulp that resonated from his throat as more and more of you unfolded before his eager eyes.

Your fingers trembled, struggling against the stubborn knot that held the ties of your undergarments in a vice-like grip. It was a battle you were unaccustomed to, always having the help of someone else to aid you with your corset. Your difficulty was palpable, a silent cry for assistance. Lifting your gaze to Erik, your eyes were wide, desperate pools of plea.

"Would you... could you, do the honours?" you asked through gritted teeth, your fingers clawing fruitlessly at the defiant knot, the bulge in the string a mocking testament to the maid's overly-zealous efforts.

In a silent affirmation, he nodded his head, his hand reaching out with an unspoken authority to rotate your form, granting him unimpeded access to your corset. You felt your undergarments grow increasingly wet under his firm handling, a damp patch steadily spreading across the fabric in response to your mounting anticipation. Heat suffused your cheeks, each accidental graze of his fingers against your back as he navigated the complexities of the female attire sending a shocks of tension through your body.

After an intense struggle, he conquered the knot, crafted by your maid's expert hands. But victory left him bewildered.

"Now that it's undone, what's the next step?" His gaze bore into the corset's lacings, a new challenge awaiting him.

With a chuckle rippling through the tension, you interjected, "Allow me." Swiftly, you unhooked the busk at the front, stripping the garment from your form. It cascaded to the floor, disappearing from view.

Bare and unshielded, your form was revealed from the hips upward, only your undergarments veiling what remained. There you were, a portrait of vulnerability, kneeling in anticipation yet turned away, placing a blind faith in him, trusting his unspoken intentions.

His hands seized your hips with an assertive grip, drawing you into his sphere, letting you tumble back onto the mattress as you laid facing him. Your breasts bounded with the abrupt motion, your soft contours and supple skin devoured by his relentless gaze. He studied every detail, every curve and secret of your figure, etching them into his memory.

"You might find this... somewhat audacious," you stammered, your gaze darting around the room, evading his intense stare, "But I've come across something in a book. And I have this... this urge to experience it."

Erik seemed to snap out of a daze, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "And what might that be?" he asked.

You dropped your gaze, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you attempted to muster the courage to voice your desires. "Are you familiar with... cunnilingus?"

A silence fell over the room. Erik appeared shell-shocked, his lips parting but no sound escaping as he tried to comprehend the salacious request that had just spilled from your lips. His experiences with carnal pleasures were extensive, more so after meeting you- he'd spent countless nights engrossed in books filled with varying degrees of erotica. He'd envisioned you and him as the characters, and his fantasies of caressing, embracing, and making passionate love to you had kept him awake many a night.

"Briefly, why?" He asked, his voice steady but his façade barely concealing the turmoil within.

"I want... I want you to do that to me," you managed to utter, swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to choke you. "My betrothed, he... he wouldn't. I need to know, just once, what it feels like."

A dark shadow passed over his face at your words, the mention of the man you were intended to wed igniting something within him. His lips met your skin with a ferocity that stole your breath away. His body was pressed against yours, a desperate attempt to meld into one, to erase the space that separated you. His kisses trailed a scorching path from your neck downwards, each mark he left with his teeth due to the simmering anger that consumed him.

His hot breath teased against your core, creating a whirl of anticipation that caused your legs to twitch restlessly, your back to curl off the bed. An tingling sensation flowed from your core to the tips of your legs, prompting your thighs to instinctively tighten. He exerted his dominance, forcibly parting your legs to the sides, his chest pulsating with a primal pride as he observed the clear signs of arousal staining your underwear. The thin fabric did nothing to veil your desire for him.

His lips embarked on a deliberate exploration around your intimate area, strategically withholding the direct contact you craved, fueling a desperate need within you. He relished in your quiet pleas, in your desperation for him, for his touch. He wanted to hear it again - your voice, filled with longing, confessing your need for him, your love for him.

A few teasing kisses and feather-light licks over the fabric of your underwear were enough to reduce you to a state of complete disarray. Your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent plea, you begged, "Please, God, please."

He was relentless, persisting in his torturously slow pace and feather-light touches. He was prepared to play this drawn-out game; after all, he'd been fantasizing about moments like this since the dawn of his adolescence. He could wait an eternity if needed.

By the time he finally conceded, you were a whirlwind of emotion, eyes squeezed shut, body writhing as you grappled with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, struggling to voice your feelings. You appeared as if you had been plucked straight out of a painting, your body seemingly sculpted by celestial forces, the ethereal glow on your skin from your sweat rendering you nothing short of angelic.

His fingers danced along the delicate straps of your underwear, tracing the curve of your hips as he meticulously slid them down your legs. Your underwear was discarded with an impatient kick. He admired how your lips glistened with your wetness, eyes wide and mouth agape as he inspected your parts. His cock felt like it was suffocating in it's tight confinement, begging to be released. He subconsciously rubbed himself against his quilt, hips driving him harder and harder into the fabric.

He didn't allow himself to spend an excessive amount of time simply staring, his fingers gingerly parting the folds of your intimate area as he gradually moved ever closer to the spot where you craved his touch the most. His tongue hesitantly emerged, like a tentative explorer venturing into uncharted territory, testing the waters as he gradually grew accustomed to your unique taste. It was an intoxicating, addictive flavour that he found himself drawn to, your evident arousal dissolving on his tongue like the sweetest candy. As he became more familiar with your body's reactions, his actions started to grow decidedly bolder, his initial cautiousness melting away.

The smooth, cold porcelain of the mask, right where his nose should have been, made direct contact with a particular spot on your body. It was a spot so sensitive, so responsive to his touch, that it turned you into a trembling, moaning mess. Each touch was like heaven, each movement a wave of pleasure that washed over you. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, and it left you weak, gasping for breath.

He pushed himself further into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more needy. His tongue, warm and insistent, ventured into every hidden corner it could find. It was as though he was trying to memorize you, to imprint the taste of you onto his very soul. He was consuming you, devouring you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The side of his face that wasn't hidden behind the mask was growing wetter with each passing moment. Each new wave of your arousal either swallowed by him or adding to the wet mess on his face. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching your every reaction, feeding off your pleasure.

With each passing moment, you found yourself teetering on the edge of exquisite pleasure, its intensity growing with a fervour that rendered you breathless. As cries of delight spilled from your lips, your fingers curled into the fabric of his bedsheets, clutching them with a strength that threatened to rip them to shreds. Now that you had experienced such ecstasy, you were unsure how you’d ever live without it again.

The pressure swelled within the depths of your abdomen, escalating dangerously as your eyes lost focus, surrendering willingly to Erik's touch. The burgeoning tension coiled within you like a heated serpent, until it could no longer be contained, compelling it to uncoil and release the pent-up passion that had been simmering within. Everything let go.

Erik's lips found your most sensitive spot again, sucking on it gently, coaxing a symphony of soft whimpers and quivering gasps from deep within your throat.

The intense sensations that flooded your body soon became far too much and left you with no other option but to gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away from your soaked cunt. His visible cheek and chin bore the shiny evidence of your pleasure, an erotic testament to the intimacy that had just transpired. His lips, swollen and red, were slightly parted as he laboured to catch his breath, the aftermath of your intense encounter leaving him just as breathless as you were.

He planted a single kiss on your thigh before he rose, drinking in the sinful sight of you lying beneath him. Your chest heaved, and the intimate area between your thighs was slick with a mixture of saliva and arousal, a mess he alone was responsible for. He was in disbelief at the sight before him - a woman who had pleaded for his touch, who had permitted him to venture into territory he was not meant to traverse.

You felt utterly winded, struggling to regain your breath as your mind remained in a dense fog. As you sat up, the ringing sensation of blood rushing in your ears was almost deafening. You gave him a once-over and let out a weary pout.

“Why am I naked and you are still dressed head to toe?” you playfully whined, clumsily rising up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt.

A wave of panic washed over him. While a less sensitive subject than the removal of his mask, he was still hesitant about the concept of somebody seeing him disrobed. His hand swiftly intercepted yours, worried eyes looking directly into yours.

“We don’t have to do this,” you reminded him, “Removing clothes is quite necessary to engage in intercourse, so if that’s off the table, that is fine and we do not have to go any further.”

The looming threat of your sexual endeavours coming to a halt was so disconcerting that it pushed his fear of being seen nude into a corner of his mind. If you managed to bare all in front of him, then surely, he should be able to do the same. No horrifying disfigurement marred his body, save for a few scars and marks, which offered him a semblance of comfort amid his anxiety. Yet, it felt so extraordinarily odd - prior to you, people avoided him, disdaining him as a bizarre outcast to either laugh at or run away from. But you, you wanted to see him. You saw him.

With his consent, you delicately unfastened the buttons of his shirt, your fingers tracing the contours of his body as you gently slid it off along with his coat. The anticipation heightened as you unbuttoned his trousers, a sense of awe overtaking you as you noticed the visible sign of his desire pressing against the fabric of his underwear. With a slow, tantalizing motion, you slid his slacks down, pooling them around his ankles, leaving him to step out of them. The sight of him in such a state had your mouth watering, the subtle twitching under the thin fabric not going unnoticed. You glanced up, your eyes silently asking for permission before you proceeded to remove his last piece of clothing.

He was perfect - not too intimidating, yet not too modest. A balance that promised pleasure without the prospect of discomfort. A smile graced your lips as your hands were drawn to him, appreciating the prominent veins that adorned his underside and the swollen tip that seemed to crave the soothing touch of your lips. You didn’t have a second thought before you ducked down to take him into your mouth.

The moment that his length was enveloped by the soft, velvety embrace of your mouth, he felt an explosive sensation, as if he might shatter. The intoxicating blend of your warmth and the slippery wetness was an overwhelming sensory overload, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he savoured the sensation in its entirety. His low, primal groans amplified into a resonant hum of pleasure as you explored his length, your tender hand caressing the parts your lips had yet to discover.

You surfaced for air, drawing in a deep breath before giving him a seductive smile. Your hand continued to stroke him, maintaining the rhythm you'd established, "Have you heard of this one too? It's called fellatio. I've heard from men that it feels quite pleasurable, so I wanted to give it a try."

His brows knitted together in confusion and a hint of possessiveness, "Who's been talking to you about things like this?" he hissed, his fingers entangling in the roots of your hair. He didn't tug or pull, but simply let his hand rest there, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch.

“No one, I just overhear a lot,” you winked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Finding yourself drawn back to your prior task, you returned your mouth to its position, delicately licking around the sides and base of his manhood with a renewed vigour. You made a point to explore every contour, every ridge, leaving no part untouched by your careful ministrations. As you took him into your mouth once more, you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight, welcoming space that made him gasp. You allowed your tongue to wander, tracing the map of protruding veins that decorated his length, making him shiver at your touch. You took your time, adjusting slowly but surely to accommodate his length.

Over time, you found a rhythm that was as steady as it was sensual, each movement drawing forth intoxicating sounds of pleasure from your lover. Your hand was rendered unnecessary, forgotten at your side as your face pressed closer, your nose brushing against the heat of his skin. The taste of him, the intimacy of the act, left you breathless, saliva slipping past your lips. The symphony of his escalating moans and guttural grunts echoed in your ears, signifying the mounting pleasure coursing through him.

Erik was teetering on the edge, every fibre of his being screaming for release. Time had lost all meaning; all he knew was the burning desire to break down your defences and claim you as his own. He tugged urgently at your hair, a silent plea for you to relinquish him from your mouth. His ego soared at the sight of your ravenous gaze and ragged breathing. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably beneath his mask, creating a stifling heat that was nearly unbearable. Yet, he would not — could not — remove it. For your love, he would endure any torment.

With a gentle persuasion, he coaxed you onto the plush solace of the bed, a wordless request to which you surrendered willingly. His fingers, rough yet tender in touch, traced the shape of your lips. You accepted them eagerly, lavishing them with a soft suckle until he withdrew them. Setting off on a slow, teasing journey, his fingers embarked on a path that danced across your lips, before descending the length of your neck. His touch was electrifying, a trail of shivers marking their progress.

His fingers continued their southern movement, drawn to the inviting warmth of your most intimate area. As he approached your yearning core, your breath hitched, a silent supplication mirrored in your eyes as you awaited his touch. He relished the anticipation, playfully circling the edge before carefully penetrating you with one of his fingers. The sensation of being filled by him was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering in sheer overwhelm as he moved in a rhythm that was leisurely and gentle. Every part of your being was tuned to his touch, each motion sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"Erik," you moaned, unaware of how you just moaning his name made his arms feel like jelly. He pushed through, eager to please and show you how good he could make you feel.

He cautiously inserted another finger, gradually stretching you out around his digits. He was utterly enchanted by the soft, plush feel of your walls, which seemed to welcome him in their embrace. He explored you curiously, his fingers gently probing, reaching deeper and deeper inside of you. It was like he was charting a course through a previously unexplored territory, each new discovery making him yearn for more.

The sounds that escaped your lips - cries of pleasure, of anticipation, of need - were music to his ears. The way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he moved, the way your fingers clung to him - everything about you made him feel weak with desire.

He didn't keep his fingers at work for very long, just enough time to make sure that you were adequately warmed up, ready for what would come next. With a simple gesture, he signalled for you to move further up the bed. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he guided you to position your head against the plush softness of the pillows that lay strewn at the head of the bed.

His gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you took the next step. Without needing any words, you communicated your agreement to what was about to unfold. You spat into your hand, a simple but intimate act, sitting up before carefully spreading the moisture over his length.

You allowed yourself to lay back down, your body welcoming the coolness of the sheets beneath you. Erik carefully positioned himself at your sopping wet entrance; his eyes, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire, locked onto yours as he began to push against you. You could feel his bulbous tip as it slowly pushed past your entrance, a sensation so new and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but squeal, your body jolting in response to the sudden intrusion. Erik's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the first part of him slide inside you.

With a slow, cautious movement, he pressed forward further, sinking into you bit by bit, deeper and deeper until he was fully nestled within your warmth. Every inch of him was surrounded by you, his breath hitching once more as he adjusted to the velvety sensation.

For you, it was a fervent blaze, a primal burn that seared through every nerve. His manhood was a stark contrast to his previously tender touch, an unmerciful comparison that seemed impossible to reconcile. A soft whimper of pain broke free, a silent begging for him to pause his movements and allow your body to accommodate his invasion.

You lingered in the throes of this discomfort, each second diluting the initial shock and morphing it into a thrilling wave of bliss. It was a leisurely metamorphosis, a sultry dance between pain and pleasure, until all that was left was pure, unadulterated desire that left you gasping for air and craving more.

Once your body had succumbed to this new sensation, you gave him a silent nod of approval, a signal that he could resume. Erik let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, and his initial gentleness gave way to a carnal rhythm, each slow, deliberate thrust sending ripples of ecstasy that cascaded through your very being.

“So this is what it feels like,” you chuckled, less talking to Erik and more so thinking out loud.

Erik was so utterly focused on you and the indescribable sensations your body was offering him that he found himself unable to formulate an appropriate response. He was completely entranced by the way your intimate area, slick with your abundant arousal, enveloped him so thoroughly. He was lost in the feeling of you, engaged in an internal struggle between wanting to see the expressions of pure pleasure that danced across your face, or to look down and observe the erotic sight of his own manhood disappearing again and again into your inviting warmth.

He draped himself over you, his form a sanctuary, shielding you from the world beyond. His face nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder, an alcove where he could inhale your scent. The cool porcelain of his mask contrasted with your heated skin, tempering the dew of perspiration that glossed your body. Underneath the mask, he endured the humid confinement - a necessary sacrifice for the exquisite torment he was bestowing upon you. Each powerful thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through you, rendering you breathless and dizzy with delight. The potent heat was all-encompassing, filling your consciousness with nothing but unadulterated, exquisite pleasure.

"I love you," you breathed out in a whisper, your voice dripping with desire. Each word was punctuated by a soft moan, the sound of it causing shivers to cascade down his spine, your hot breath against his ear igniting a fire within him.

As if his struggles weren't already overwhelming enough, your words seemed to only add more fuel to the already blazing fire within him. It was as though every syllable you uttered stoked the flames, pushing him further into a realm of passion he had never known before. His arm, strong and certain, forced its way behind your back, pulling you up to hold you close to him. It was a closeness that was almost palpable, almost too much, as he thrusted inside of you.

“I love you too,” he groaned, his words saturated with an intense, raw emotion that welled up in his eyes, the tears threatening to cascade down his face in an uncontrolled torrent of feeling.

You, on the other hand, were no better off, your own tears of sheer joy and devastating heartbreak pooling in your eyes until they were beyond their capacity to hold back any longer. They overflowed, running down your face like precious diamonds, a display of the depth of your misery. Making love to somebody who genuinely loved you back was a concept so beautifully simple, yet tragically forbidden. It was an experience that brimmed with a love so deep, a care so nurturing, and a passion and compassion so profound that it was unparalleled.

You knew you would never encounter such a feeling again in your lifetime. You were merely attempting to stave off the inevitable end, attempting to shield yourself from the stark reality that awaited your return to the surface world. Each moment was a battle against the clock, each second a desperate attempt to extend the blissful ignorance of the impending conclusion.

In that moment, you belonged to him and he to you, your bodies intertwined and connected as the flames consumed you both. You held onto him with a desperation that mirrored your own, your arms wrapping around him, hugging him close. You were a lifeline to each other, two beings lost in a sea of passion and desire, holding on to the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

With every pulsating sensation, you tried desperately to prevent the impending climax that was steadily building within you. You wrestled against it, mustering all of the strength and willpower you possessed. You didn’t want this magical night, this passion and desire, to end. The thought of the experience drawing to a close was unbearable, and yet there was nothing you could to do stop the familiar building pressure in your abdomen.

And you knew, in the deepest recesses of your mind, that you shouldn't have given in to the temptation- that you should have exercised restraint and kept your wandering hands to yourself. Despite this, you were a prisoner to your own overwhelming curiosity, a force so powerful it threatened to consume you whole.

The haze of pleasure Erik was weaving around you kept intensifying, it ebbed and flowed into every crevice of your consciousness, distorting the boundary between the tangible world and the intoxicating euphoria you found yourself spiralling into. Your hands, as though guided by an insatiable yearning that was wholly their own, found their way to the mask that resided on his head.

Your fingers, trembling with anticipation and anxiety, began to play with the thin string keeping the mask firmly in place, protecting his true form. The tension in your body was mounting, your anxiety and the impending orgasm that threatened to shatter your very being reaching the same intense peak.

The familiar ball of pleasure that had been steadily growing within you finally burst, sending shockwaves of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. You could feel Erik's hot semen spurt inside you, marking you as his. As the intense waves of your climax washed over you, you summoned the last of your strength and ripped the mask off his face, revealing the man beneath.

You had comprehended the profound severity of Erik's disfigurement when he confessed that he had been residing here since his tender youth. Why else would somebody feel so compelled to withdraw from society? You had determined then, with unyielding resolve, to love him irrespective of his appearance. Your conviction remained unwavering as his visage came sharply into view. His eyes, dilated with raw fear, his mouth trembling on the verge of speech, and his hands, once securely encircling you, now trembled and twitched uncontrollably.

A sigh escaped you, a bright smile lighting up your face as you gazed at him dreamily. You leaned in, your hand tenderly cradling the side of his face which had remained disfigured and concealed until this moment. Tears which had been threatening to spill from his eyes now fell freely, and your own followed suit as the realization of parting hit you.

With a gentleness that belied the depth of your feelings, your fingers traced the lines of his marked skin. Your lips had found his in a passionate kiss, the tears that slid silently down your cheeks mingled with his, a silent symbol of the connection of your souls, a joining so profound that words failed to capture its essence.

With reluctance, you pulled away from the warmth of his body, rising slowly from where you were entwined with him. You wiped your tears away. A wince crossed your face as you felt Erik's softening length slip out of you, the sensation of his release dripping out of you, serving as a lingering reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

"Do you not take issue with that you see?" His voice was laced with an unnerving intensity, his eyes never leaving your form as you searched for your scattered garments. You assumed his weird behaviour was due to his feelings about your impending departure.

"Not when it's you," you confessed, a poignant smile pulling tragically at the corner of your lips, laden with unspoken emotions.

It didn't take long for you to find your garments. You fastened the corset around your waist, making sure it properly supported your bosom. Despite pulling the laces tightly, you found that you needed additional help. Each time you tried to tie the laces, the corset loosened.

"Could you lace this up for me, Erik? I'm struggling," you chuckled, turning back round to find that he had already put his underwear back on. "Corsets are tricky things. I often need someone else's help to put it on and take it off."

"You don't need it," he declared, his face a stoic mask, eyes unblinking and filled with unwavering resolve.

You hesitated, uncertain of how to respond or process his words. You thought he might not understand the full purpose of your undergarment. "I can't be amongst with people without wearing my corset. It's indecent. Without it, people could see my breasts," you said.

"And that's precisely why you don't require it," he shot back, his hardened face rigid with confrontation, eyes locked onto you as you blinked, wrestling with the weight of his words. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What? Erik, I have to leave," you leaped towards him, a wave of dread washing over you as he remained unaffected, "My father wields a lot of power and influence, a fact you're well aware of. Search parties will be dispatched and they'll hunt us down."

Erik's laughter echoed ominously around you, his jarring mirth only amplifying your unease, "He will not pose a threat, my dear. Act as though he doesn’t exist."

"How can you be so sure?" You shot back, eyes narrowing into slits as you regarded him with deep-rooted suspicion.

"Because he won't live to witness the week's end, fortunate if he survives the night," he sneered.

You were petrified, frozen in terror. The uncertain veracity of his words hung heavy in the air, but the fury etched in his gaze was unmistakable. It was a chilling declaration that bulldozed your defences, sending frigid lashes of fear snaking through your bloodstream.

“No, no,” you whispered, face twisted in dread.

"You said it yourself!" he yelled, seemingly unaffected by your flinch. You lifted your hands, ready to protect yourself if needed, but you knew that if he truly wanted to hurt you, you had no chance. "He was the one who tried to separate us, to spoil our love! How can I let him manipulate destiny? It's a sin!"

"Sin or not, he is my father!" you retorted, tearing off your corset and swiftly pulling your dress over your head. You let it fall over your figure. "I have to go."

“You forget yourself,” Erik's voice echoed ominously from the shadows, untouched by your retreat. “Was it not you pleading for me to awaken your senses to the touch of a genuine lover? Were you not weeping to me over the wreckage your father's deeds would cause in your life? Does Monsieur Beaumont need to be added to the list? Is that what you desire? I am merely aiding you!”

Trying to block out his taunting, you jammed your underwear down your bodice and clung to your corset like a lifeline. Panic was on the verge of consuming you, your thoughts spiralling out of control, too swift and chaotic to grasp. The realization of your own foolishness hit you like a punch, a bitter and unforgiving truth.

In your hour of fragility, you had sought solace in the one individual you deemed a sanctuary, a cure to your torments. But he, like a concealed predator, exploited your vulnerability, shrouding his true motives to feast upon your innocence and cast you into never ending isolation. The dread lay not in his visage, but in his very being, a monstrous revelation.

“Even if you escape, your father cannot. He has to pay for what he's done,” he hissed, his voice becoming a menacing whisper, fading into the background as you distanced yourself.

You were approaching the familiar boat, stepping carefully over the wooden structure. You untied the rope and with the paddle in hand, you prepared to set off on your journey.

CLINK, SLAM.

You froze.

“Besides the fact that you have no idea where you’d be going around the sewers and passageways and would probably end up fatally mutilated in one of my many traps,” he spoke once more, trailing off as he watched the light leave your eyes, “You don’t know how to open the gate. Unfortunate.”

What had you done?

any feedback is appreciated! sorry it ended there, i started writing this at 12pm and it's now 5:21am the day later. i have not had a break. it had to end.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #poto #erik destler #erik the phantom #gaston leroux #phantom of the opera x reader #musical #poto x reader #smut #angst #erik x reader #erik destler x reader #ramin karimloo #the phantom x reader #phantom x reader #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #2004 phantom of the opera

[more-better-words]

Part 4!

Parts 1 and 2, Part 3

Hoshi approached T'Pol's door and entered at her acknowledgement. The commander sat at her desk, an open book in front of her, its pages covered with the elegant curves and crossed lines of Vulcan calligraphy. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Two things," Hoshi said. "I came to return the lexicon you lent me - thank you, by the way, it was very helpful." T'Pol inclined her head. "And second, I brought you the other LeGuin book we were talking about."

"Thank you."

Hoshi nodded, setting the books on the desk and casting a hopefully clandestine look around the room. She wasn't sure what she expected to see - T'Pol was hardly the sort of person to leave either herself or her quarters in a state of post-coital disarray. There was a blue tee shirt neatly folded on the bed, a shirt she recognized as having been worn by Commander Tucker the night before in the mess hall during movie night, but… that was circumstantial evidence.

"So what you reading?" she asked.

"Are you familiar with the poet T'Mana?"

Hoshi's brow furrowed as she searched her memory. "She was a major figure in the A'sket school, right?" T'Pol nodded like a teacher awarding a point, and Hoshi felt a thrill of pride at getting a good grade in Vulcan literature.

"I studied her works when I was younger," T'Pol said, her hand brushing absently over the page. "But I never experienced any sense of connection to the words. I suppose I lacked the proper context."

"Sometimes we have to be in the right place for poetry to speak to us," Hoshi said. She snuck a glance at the open book, quickly translating both the words and script.

My ceaseless seeking ended/I will breathe you alone

Oh.

"And you…feel a connection to it now?"

"I do," T'Pol said quietly.

Wholeness rests in your presence/my yearning drinks deep/I am found

OH.

"Well, I'll leave you to your reading," Hoshi said, trying not to stare. "Good night, Commander."

The next morning found her unhappily picking at her breakfast, low in spirits and not sure why. Malcolm entered, looking vaguely miserable. He swallowed hard at the sight of the breakfast offerings, his mouth turning in revulsion. He finally gave up and approached her table with coffee alone. "Do you need to go to Sickbay?" she asked.

"No. I've brought this on myself."

"What happened?"

"I'd forgotten how much that damn Floridian can drink," he muttered. Her jaw dropped.

"You got him drunk? That's got to be cheating!"

"Maybe, but it didn't work."

"It didn't?"

"No," he said morosely. "He confessed to something, but it wasn't exactly within the scope of our wager."

Her curiosity was piqued. "What did he say?"

Malcolm sighed, and took a long drink of his coffee. "He's in love."

The universe clicked into place, like a lens being focused. "He's not the only one," Hoshi said. She told him about T'Pol's evening reading material, and his eyebrows lifted.

"Vulcan love poetry? I didn't know there was such a thing."

"Oh, there is." She took another gloomy bite of her breakfast, and sighed. "Are we...are we bad friends?"

Malcolm drained his coffee cup, went to refill it, and returned, all the while obviously working on the question. "No," he said finally. "No, because this is a good thing. I mean...watching them pine for each other was exhausting."

"It really was."

"And if they've gotten themselves straightened out, then I, for one, am happy for them!"

"Me too!" she exclaimed, then asked, "So what does that mean for our bet?" He scratched thoughtfully at his chin.

"Probably best to leave it, eh?"

"Probably."

He returned to his coffee, sipping this time, and she resumed eating her breakfast, and they were silent for a few moments before she said, "Of course...maybe we were betting on the wrong thing?"

"Go on."

She leaned over the table, lowering her voice. "Double or nothing says they're engaged by the end of the year."

He looked dubious. "Marriage is a big deal, Hoshi."

"I know! But I'm putting down my marker."

"Alright," Malcolm shrugged. "I look forward to spending your money."

#fic #trip x t'pol #star trek enterprise #STILL DOING THIS LOL

[k1d1c4rus]

ANUTHA ONE (tagged by @cryptophasiac xoxox)

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!

- CLANDESTINE

- bejeweled

- capitol

- 16 candles

- h

- oba

- young blood

- cry

- bandtrick

- haircut

- YBC AFTERMATH

- sp patrick

- tennis trick

- b2bs

- joetrick

- lick this battery

- pp

not all of them are even snippet-able but! feel free to ask 🤭🤭

#they are relatively boring titles lol #honey writes #tag game

[franglishetchocolat]

Ooops sorry, I keep forgetting posting this one so here it is...

I don’t really play in Sunset Valley but from time to time I like to remodel the builds there . I’m not trying to change the whole thing but to adapt it according to the description / name / use for the building.

OCEAN VISTA COTTAGE

Remodeling of Ocean Vista Cottage, home to the Frio Brothers in Sunset Valley.

Renovated on patch 1.67 -Originally in Sunset Valley so best placed there (Size: 20x30 ) - 2 br, 2 ba. - Also set up to be a semi-clandestine bar on the 2nd floor (with public markers, can invite people over and they should be able to hang out in the public areas).

Using Items from: 

No Store item, No CC

EPs: WA, Ambitions, Late Night, Generations, Pets, Showtime, Seasons, University Life and Island Paradise.

 SPs: High End Loft, Fast Lane, Outdoor Living, Town Life and Diesel and I also own 70s,80s &90s and Movie Stuff  but I’m pretty sure I haven’t used anything from these on this lot.

DOWNLOAD

I use markers on my lots: level skip, hidden room, public room… So to be able to modify any of  these buildings you need to have cheats on:  ‘testingcheatsenabled true’, then ‘restrictbuildbuyinbuildings false’ To see/remove the markers you need ‘buydebug on.

#sims3 #builds #download #letsremodel #sunsetvalley #Youtube

[modeception]

Chapter 1: The Mystery of the Vanishing Singles

The city had never witnessed a night as eerie as this. Dense fog crept through the dimly lit alleys, shrouding the metropolis in an unsettling gloom. Juan de la Cruz couldn't shake off the feeling that the darkness itself was alive, silently observing the chaos it had sown.

It had been months since the disappearances began, but the fear in the city had escalated with each passing day. Men, single and unsuspecting, were vanishing without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and sorrowful loved ones. The chilling tales whispered among the survivors spoke of cloaked figures, sinister symbols, and a malevolent underground force that seemed to thrive on fear.

Juan's heart weighed heavy with grief and determination as he clutched a stack of photographs in his trembling hands. Faces of friends who had fallen victim to the mysterious abductions stared back at him, haunting his every step. His life had become consumed by a relentless pursuit of the truth behind these disappearances.

As the clock struck midnight, Juan found himself at the heart of the metropolis, where the densest shadows converged, and rumors of a hidden underground network circulated. The whispers led him to an unassuming entrance tucked between the towering buildings. Steeling his nerves, he pushed open the door, venturing into the unknown.

The underground passageway was a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors and passages, the air thick with an ancient and sinister aura. Faint echoes reverberated through the dark, leading Juan deeper into the belly of the clandestine realm. Each step felt like a plunge into the abyss, where the boundary between reality and nightmare blurred.

Time seemed to lose its meaning as Juan wandered through the maze of secrets. The more he ventured, the clearer it became that he was not alone in this treacherous domain. Eyes seemed to watch from the darkness, and whispers brushed against his ears like a chilling breeze. Fear threatened to consume him, but he clung to the memory of his lost friends, urging him to press on.

Finally, Juan arrived at a cavernous chamber, its walls adorned with ancient symbols and eerie illuminations. The source of the vanishing singles was now within his grasp, but before him stood the enigmatic figures behind it all—the puppeteers of fear.

A figure stepped forward, masked in shadow, and addressed Juan with a voice that seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the chamber. "Juan de la Cruz, you tread on dangerous grounds. Turn back now, for the truth you seek is not one you can bear."

But Juan was resolute. "I've lost friends to your sinister machinations. You've spread fear and chaos through these abductions, and I will uncover the truth behind it all."

In response, the cloaked figure chuckled darkly. "Ah, the brave one, so eager to play with the shadows. You know not the power that lies beneath the surface of this metropolis. We are WEDCON, and our reach extends beyond mere marriages. We thrive on fear, and we control this city from the shadows."

Juan's heart pounded, realizing the magnitude of the sinister organization he faced. "WEDCON... But what purpose does it serve? Why abduct single men? What do you gain from this?"

The masked figure smiled, revealing the extent of their wickedness. "Fear is a powerful currency. It keeps the masses in check, ensuring conformity and control. The vanishing singles serve as a constant reminder to the populace that they are not safe from our grasp. Their disappearances instill fear, and fear keeps them obedient."

Enraged and determined, Juan refused to back down. "You may thrive on fear, but I believe in the strength of unity and truth. Your reign of terror ends now!"

As if awakened by Juan's conviction, the cavern trembled, and the shadows seemed to retreat. The masked figures flinched, their power waning in the face of unwavering resolve.

In that moment of defiance, Juan realized he was not alone. The spirits of his lost friends seemed to surround him, lending him strength and courage. They had become his allies in the fight against WEDCON, and together, they would unveil the city's darkest secrets.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Juan unleashed his relentless pursuit of the truth, unearthing WEDCON's twisted schemes and malevolent motives. As he delved deeper into the abyss of deception, he discovered the key to unraveling the organization's grip on the city—information that would shatter the illusion of fear they had created.

The city's fate now rested in Juan's hands. The battle against WEDCON had just begun, and with every step, he drew closer to uncovering their. But the sinister network was vast, and the stakes were higher than ever.

[ravenloftian]

Spider Spider Burning Bright...

November 29, Y356 (Game session 12/1/2023)

The trio of paladins discover a beguiling unicorn statue at the end of a hallway and begin to explore the niche. Enraptured by the majestic equine form, Percival climbs on its back. He manipulates the horn and triggers a mechanism that unleashes a poisonous fog and unveils a clandestine passage. The gas causes Val and Costi to fall into a trance-like sleep.

Their companions try to wake them up and when they don't respond to typical stimuli begin to apply more draconian measures. Percival goes as far as to burn Val's hand with a hot blade. At their wit's end, Marcus carries the unconscious men back to the chitine lair where they hunker down and wait.

A day later, the men wake up and report similar dizzying visions, hallucinogenic dreams, and the slaying of a white unicorn. The symbol of a skull with a lemniscate symbol between its teeth is the same as the one they saw on the wall. The heinous visions leave them rattled.

Once more the adventurers set out to explore, heading back to the hallway of the unicorn statues. Costi figures out a way past the pit trap and reaches the door on the other side. At the end of the hall he discovers an ancient cellar filled with cobwebs. While most of the bottles have spoiled, he finds four one-gallon wine jugs with ethereally exquisite wine tasting of mountain lakes and fresh berries. When the paladins partake of the vintage, they feel a surge of might and heroism.

They head south and come upon a wide hallway with a series of doors. One of the rooms is filled with a flock of spider-like flying creatures whose paralyzing bites instill fear. The webbirds were being grown as a food supply by the chitines as evidenced by the broken cages. From one of the dead corpses in the room, it appears the creatures incubate their eggs inside the bodies of their prey. Using Euphonious, the paladins communicate with the dead to discover that the gray-skinned humanoid is a race called "Darro."

The next room yields tattered glowing webs and a vicious phantom spider. The creature manages to paralyze Percival but is soon dispatched by the rest. Unable to hit it with his weapons, Costi resorts to throwing a vial of holy water which burns the thing as if it were acid.

Beyond the webbed lair, they uncover a door leading to a room filled with debris and a rocky nest. The opening of the door triggers a magical trap that sends a piercing gong reverberating throughout the dungeon. While battling the axebeaks, they are confronted with a trio of giant spiders from the rear. Costi is poisoned during the encounter and gets progressively worse as time goes on. Luckily the venom begins to fade after a quarter hour.

The axebeak nest contains two unhatched axebeak eggs, 35 gp, 131 sp, four sealed crystal vials each containing a potion, and a bone ring.

Upon exploring the wide hallway, Costi uncovers another pit trap along the south wall. The party realizes that they can jump from the side of the trap into the adjoining corridor. The first warehouse along the hallway is empty, but the second and third are occupied by more phantom spiders–one of which manages to paralyze Percival. As the party begins to look for secret doors, they disturb a nest of webbirds and the creatures pour out of a hole in the ceiling.

Shortly after, they are surprised by another axebeak, but at Val's behest, the party holds their attack. Val has the strangest sensation that he can somehow befriend the beast–and sure enough, he does. A few jerky tidbits later, the bizarre creature out of time is eating out of Val's hand.

The hallway ends at a round room with rotting and stained plaster that has long ago peeled and flaked away from the walls. The ceiling of this room reveals rude stone. Broken masonry, statuary, and other odd­ments are visible beneath the layer of undisturbed dust. Several minutes of diligent searching reveal a hidden door.

Costi disarms a nasty needle trap and a door opens to reveal a chillingly cold chamber. The air inside is dry and stale and dust coats every surface, including a rough block of some crys­talline substance. The dust-covered block stands several feet tall and measures a few feet to the side. A large blot of darkness mars the center of the translucent, dust-shrouded object. A closer inspection reveals the block to be solid ice. The party decides to leave whatever is trapped inside alone and closes the door once more.

Next to the round room, they find a room with a spiral stair leading down but decide not to descend. The party retreats back to the chitine lair to heal and regroup. Val takes the Axebeak eggs with him.

Two days later, they descend the stone steps shown to them by the chitine guide. The stone stairs descend 20 feet toward the east before breaking into the ceiling of a large cavern. The stair is carved into the side of the cavern, though there is no railing along the side to protect against a fall.

The first room the adventurers explore is a bioluminescent garden. Fungi coats the walls and ceiling of this natural cavern, illuminating a fungal garden. Underworld lichens, fungi, toadstools, mushrooms, and unclassifiable growths run riot in this chamber. The smells range from pleasant to revolting, and a strange whining and crying seem to emanate from the north. The brave men follow the wailing sound to discover another cavern with a rocky protuberance erupting from the earth. The rock formation looks like a giant's hand clenched tight but for one finger. This room is also lit by softly glowing fungus, though subtle, the growth here is more restrained. Growing all around the finger are strange fungal puff balls that shiver and shake. The puffballs emit a continuous vegetable wail.

On their way out they encounter two chitine mushroom pickers armed with spears and a brief scuffle ensues. The fight comes to a sudden end when one of the gardeners cuts into his own leg and bleeds out, causing his companion to flee.

Great job everyone! You've earned 2150 XP each!

#ravenloft #dnd campaign #dnd 2nd ed #gothic horror

[psy-vap]

Clandestine Clara by Penhaligon's Eau De Parfum Spray 2.5 oz New

Bonjour,

J'ai découvert cet article sur Cdiscount, et je pense qu'il peut t'intéresser.

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A bientôt,

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[znewstech]

Assam govt cracks the whip on preaching by foreign nationals | India News - Times of India

Assam govt cracks the whip on preaching by foreign nationals | India News – Times of India

GUWAHATI: The Assam government ordered a crackdown on clandestine religious proselytisation in the state after rounding up and deporting 27 foreigners —17 Bangladeshis, three Swedish nationals and seven Germans — in the last six weeks, after they were found to be preaching religion by flouting visa rules. “We have directed SPs of all districts to keep tabs on places — wherever such religious…

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[ahmed25646]

A clandestine shelter closed in Bebedouro, SP, was unhealthy for the elderly, according to social welfare | Ribeirao Preto and France

A clandestine shelter closed in Bebedouro, SP, was unhealthy for the elderly, according to social welfare | Ribeirao Preto and France

A clandestine shelter closed in Bebedouro, SP, was unhealthy for the elderly, according to social welfare | Ribeirao Preto and France According to her, the property had not been regularized in a long-stay establishment for the elderly (ILPI), like the four others in the city. “Health surveillance found irregular medicine, irregular food, dirt, an unhealthy place for them. We can’t talk about…

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[clandestine-academy]

Meet The Students;

Part 1

Stan, Merman

Full Name: Stanley Marsh

Species: Underwater Entity

Age: 17 Autumns

Sexuailty: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

Special Abilities: Transformation (human form), water manipulation, unnaturally fast swimmer

Trivia:

Easily embarrassed by anything

Fights a lot for animal rights, his heart cases are whales, seals, and polar bears  

Has to be in merman form at least 8 hours a day to not dry out and die

Sleeps in a tank at night to get as many hours done as possible then

Is constantly dripping wet, even in human form, hates it

makes a ton of “fish on land” jokes to cope with being an outsider and having depressive episodes  

Cartman, Headless Horseman

Full Name: Eric Cartman

Species: Headless Horseman

Age: 17 Autumns

Sexuailty: Straight (he says, it’s an ongoing storyline okay shh)

Relationship Status: Single

Special Abilities: Removable head, ?

Trivia:

He may only have one real ability but boy does he make the most of it

Takes his head off, puts his body on a treadmill, watches TV while his body suffers working out

Leaves his head in places he can’t be spotted to spy on people

Actually good at school but too lazy

Respects Kyle but will never admit it

The. he has a crush he has the mentality of a five year old who hits his crush to get attention

If his body wanders too far from his head it will just go on autopilot, run into walls, fall down stairs, may get hurt

Once lost his body for three days, no one knows for sure where it went but it sure was nice to be able to just walk away from his stupid head

Kenny, Elemental Mage (former), Animated Corpse

Full Name: Kenneth McCormick

Species: Living Dead

Age: 14 (death) 3 (since revived) 17 in total

Sexuailty: pansexual

Relationship Status: Single

Special Abilities: Lost all mage abilities by death

Trivia:

Died at 14, but was revived just three days later by his necromancer brother, Kevin

Moves ridiculously slowly, talks a bit jagged, but brain functions as well as it did before he died (which is… something, at least)

His left arm tends to fall off, and he tends to forget about it and leave it behind

Doesn’t feel pain, so is always trying something stupid like climbing roofs or touching things he shouldn’t because “Hey, it’s not like I can die again lol guys watch this”

Like can you imagine anything worse than a dumb gang of teen boys with a friend that cannot die (again)

Doesn’t have to eat, but prefers to. The food at the academy is great.

Kyle, Jersey Devil

Full Name: Kyle Broflovski

Species: Devil Entity

Age: 17 Autumns

Sexuailty: biromantic asexual

Relationship Status: single

Special Abilities: Fire manipulation, (limited) body transformation, mind control

Trivia:

The one of the boys with the strongest and most dangerous abilities, but also the one who uses them the least

Hates his devil form, especially the horns and the tail

Hisses when angry

Once lit Cartmans body on fire

Doesn’t regret it

He doesn’t talk about it, but when Kenny died he was so beyond devastated that he was the one who got Kevin to revive him, even tough it’s very illegal to do so when underaged and unsupervised

Which they were

Feels a bit guilt that Kenny didn’t turn out… well, quite as he was

While he usually tells Stan everything, this is just too much, even for his super best friend

Butters, Ghost

Full Name: Leopold Butters Stotch

Species: Deadborn

Age: 17 Autumns

Sexuailty: Bisexual

Relationship Status: In a relationship

Special Abilities: Invisibility, not solid matter, telekinesis

Trivia:

The most cliché ghost, ever

Thinks showing up to class with a sheet over his head is peak comedy

Even better, sheets and some form of accessory, like a hat and/or glasses

Everyone just ignores it now

Goes invisible when embarrassed

Sings “The Addams Family” tune all day, every day

Like, someone snaps twice and everyone is like “Butters???”

Met a girl during summer break and is utterly heartbroken that she goes to a different school, as she is his first girlfriend

Cartman just laughs at him for doing long distance, but Stan and Kenny is super supportive, Kyle is indifferent (a lil’ jealous)

#clandestine tag #clandestine academy #south park #South Park AU #South Park monster au #stan marsh #eric cartman #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #Leopold butters stotch #South Park occult au #sp clandestine #clandestine #sp stan #sp kyle #sp cartman #cartman #sp butters #sp kenny #south park aesthetic #aestethic

[sparkles-and-trash]

Since Tweek is like "the invisible boy" would anyone joke that Craig doesn't actually have a boyfriend, he's just made up?

HAH, you bet, esp Clyde and Jimmy at first lol 

imagine Craig finally introducing him after talking about him SO MUCH but not mentioning the invisible part, and Tweek has been practicing not disappearing for so long, but just as they enter the room, Clyde yells something stupid and loud and Token is sitting there all death-y and scary and Jimmy is Jimmy and joking and bantering with Clyde and it’s all too much and Tweek just “poof” and Craig doesn’t notice since he’s in front of him and he’s like “here’s my bf!” and gestures to nothing and everyone is like…. not sure if he’s joking or crazy lol

they tease him forever after that, but never in a way that’s mean to Tweek, just to Craig hah

also Craig just doing boyfriend things, walking hand in hand, kissing, cuddling, holding his arm around him etc, but Tweek is currently invisible and the whole school is just like

huh, Craig really… he really went crazy, huh 

that’s funny anon, it really is 

#sp clandestine #clandestine au #clandestine tag #sp creek #craig x tweek #tweek x craig #sp craig #sp tweek #Tweek Tweak #craig tucker #anon

[jovishark]

Sorry yes Alicia and 2 and 3 for both plz!

[For Alicia]

2. Cooking Headcanon

shes not great at cooking. she can follow a recipe to a tee, but when it comes to tastes and spices, she underseasons and uses way too much salt. she also tends to overcook meat and pasta because she loses track of time. its usually best to keep her away from an oven.

3. Sleeping

alicia gets so busy and stressed out that she has trouble sleeping, but tries to correct it with meditation and pills. she gets stressed easily, so she tends to overwork herself, and has problems with it. but when she does sleep, its incredibly lightly, and usually without dreams.

[for Kyle (south park)]

2. Cooking

i dont know that hes great at it without practice, but i think he could be if he Tries. picks up little tricks and recipes from his mother and will make dinner sometimes if hes being more conscious about his health, but generally prefers to order food if hes hanging out with friends.

3. Sleeping

to me, kyles generally an easy sleeper, but he overthinks everything in life to the point of giving himself nightmares. he catastrophizes and makes it all so much worse in his head, to the point where the nightmares make the anxiety worse. but usually its not hard for him to fall asleep.

#ocs #oc: alicia #clandestine crew #sp

[tallmadgeandtea]

Take Back Thy Gift

Hello, and welcome to another SS&SP scene! I’d been itching to write some BenLiz for awhile, but inspiration finally struck when I saw a gif and went feral, basically. This scene takes place in April, after Ben and Elizabeth elope in Setauket and come back to Valley Forge. I love all aspects of BenLiz, but the clandestine marriage has to be one of my favorites. Secret relationships are just so fun! And boy, did it feel good to write them again! Elizabeth’s POV is just so comforting to get into. Thanks to @ms-march for beta reading, and thanks to you all for reading and supporting SS&SP and BenLiz! Hope you enjoy!

SS&SP scene under the cut!

She had hated mornings.

She had hated them when she was a child, after her mother had died. Mornings meant another day without her- more aimless hours, walking through the house, sitting in every room, waiting for direction that wouldn’t come. She hadn’t known what to do with herself, right after it had happened. She’d been promised so many things- proper lessons with a governess, outings into Philadelphia that didn’t include Sunday service or dinners of family friends, dancing and singing music. Her mother had been able to sing, and she wanted her Lizzie to do the same, she said. She had been promised the beginning of a life, but it had been taken away before she got the chance to grab ahold of it. Slowly- she should have been smarter. She should have been faster. She should have begged her father to give it to her instead. And he did give her something- an education. An education her brother had shoved aside- seconds for the second child.

She hated mornings.

She hated them as she aged, as the war raged on. The uncertainty rose with the sun, but it didn’t leave at sunset, didn’t sink into the rolling hills at twilight. It stayed, it lingered, like a heavy rain cloud, waiting to strike with thunder and lightning. She didn’t know when peace would return- or if it even would. What if it didn’t? What if violence came, destroying everything in its path, greedy and hungry? And violence did come. For weeks, every morning she was greeted by her father at the breakfast table, furiously reading through reports, urgent letters and missives. He was never brought good news. “Oh, Lizzie,” he would say- then lowered his voice, thinking she was too ladylike to hear, “oh, how we are in the bloody thick of it.”

But she always listened.

She could never stop listening.

After her father abandoned her for York, the violence stayed.

She’d wake to the sickening smoke in the air, remnants of the destruction of the nights’ raids. The British burned whatever they could.

Every morning, she had to pray it wouldn’t be her.

Mornings were more tiring than the night could ever be.

She had hated mornings.

But for a short while, she hadn’t.

Mornings had given her her life back, or some form of it.

Every morning since the twentieth of December, she had somewhere to be. She had somewhere to go. Whether it be down the road to the valley- to Benjamin’s tent, to the Potts’ House, to Greene’s quarters. It was as if the valley waited for her, only coming to life the second her foot touched the hard ground. The soldiers started, giving her gentle greetings as she passed through camp, down the line to Benjamin’s tent- holding up rations, the daily rum and bread like a toast. And she always arrived after breakfast in Headquarters, greeted by the turned backs of the aides as they straightened their coats and turned on their heels towards the room behind them. Then one of them spotted her, and the chorus of “Good morning, Miss Walker!” came, the collective tone caught between tired or surprised. What did they think she meant by “First thing in the morning?”

And if she wasn’t in the valley, she still had somewhere to be- somewhere far from home. Waking up in a tavern on the side of the road, an inn at the heart of the town, just a few streets away from the market. She’d become used to sleeping in a bed that wasn’t her own- they were never as comfortable, but it didn’t matter. All she needed was the feeling in her heart, the soaring and rising excitement when she opened her eyes to the sunshine and the chill, the smell of meat from downstairs and the bustling outside. She wasn’t just somewhere to be- no, it was so much more than that, and thank god it was. She had things to do- people to see, things to buy, problems to solve. She’d gladly spend the rest of her life this way- working for the cause, helping the people who believed in as much as she did.

She couldn’t believe there was a time she thought she couldn’t do it.

Was she meant to do anything else?

Yes, she thought suddenly.

Yes, you are meant to be with him.

She hated mornings.

Instead of giving, they were taking something from her.

Benjamin.

It should’ve been the night that reminded her, but it never was- because in the night, she had him. He escorted her home- he was the only escort now, had been for weeks. The others faded away, happy to leave the duty to him. The Dragoons listened to him, simply nodding when he said she only needed one soldier to see her home. She kept herself contained, kept a grin off her face, a blush off her cheeks. They know, don’t they? They knew what had happened, and what she meant to him. What she was to him. Only a handful of people did- No one should know. The more people know, the more likely you’ll get caught.

The more likely he’ll get hurt.

During the night, she shoved any negative thoughts away. They didn’t have a place there, they couldn’t haunt and torment her the way they once did. She wasn’t alone anymore. He took her home, to their own part of the valley, to the part of the valley she had always owned, but could now share with him- him, and no one else. Every part of it, and every part of herself, her body and soul. Night faded away, and all she saw, all she needed was him. All she needed was his hands, pulling her close, bringing them together in ways she couldn’t imagine. All she needed was his body touching hers, his hands running through her hair, his lips kissing hers and pulling her in, taking her away from it all.

They were alone at night, in a world that belonged to them.

And morning came to take them away from it.

She hated mornings.

Benjamin always woke before her.

Or at least he thought he did.

She knew the second he woke, the second his eyes fluttered open, the second his body moved away from hers- the mattress shifted, but it felt as if the world around her was. She desperately wanted to reach out and pull him closer, pull him back, but she couldn’t let him know that she was awake, that she knew. If she did, he’d never leave the bed.

He’d never leave her.

Is that true, Elizabeth?

Benjamin stirred before the door behind them creeped open, followed by two small steps across the floor, an even smaller voice whispering, “Major, are you awake?”

Elizabeth fought a grin.

Good morning, Mary.

“Yes, Mary.” Benjamin replied with a sigh- she didn’t need to open her eyes to picture him, sitting on the edge of the bed, sheets wrapped around him, running a hair through his hair.

“You need to leave, Major.”

“I know, Mary.”

Was he looking back at her?

But he wouldn’t give in.

He never did.

He moved around the room, slightly silent- the floorboards creaked as he moved, the water splashed in the basin as he washed his face, the brush bristled as he ran it through his hair, the metal on his spurs clinked as he forced his boots on. He never spoke- he didn’t hum, didn’t mutter anything under his breath. She loved to keep her eyes closed and pretend she was dreaming- dreaming about him, without her, but still in her world, still content. What did he think about every morning? Did she occupy his thoughts as much as he did hers, from the moment he opened his eyes? Did he feel the earth shift as they parted? It felt like a dream, whenever he left, as if she couldn’t truly believe what she had, as if it could only last the night, wasn’t meant to stay until morning.

He was done- she peeked for a split second, just enough to catch a glimpse of him, walking back over to the bed, crossing the room in two strides, until he was right next to her, his body so close she could reach out and pull him back in by his legs. He leaned down, his breath on her cheek, the hairs on her neck standing up.

“Good morning, Elizabeth.”

A kiss on the forehead.

A kiss on the forehead, and then he was gone.

But today, it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

She needed more.

Just a bit more than the mornings ever allowed her.

The door gently shut and she waited until his quiet steps faded into a dull echo. Her shawl wasn’t far from the bed- some nights they couldn’t stay in one place. Late night walks through the halls, down to the library, into one of the parlours, in front of the fireplace. They’d whisper and laugh and kiss and wake up on a too small couch- she’d wake up in his lap, her head resting on his chest, and it was so blissful, so comfortable when it shouldn’t have been- that was the magic of him. Anywhere he was, she’d be safe. She’d be comfortable.

She’d be content.

She followed his path down the stairs- he left the back way, the servant’s way. The stairs were dark- sunlight had yet to arrive and come into the house, the rooms illuminated in a deep, bluish hue. It reminded her of his eyes. She took them carefully- she didn’t want Mary to know she was awake yet. The girl deserved a few more moments of solitude and peace.

The servant’s quarters led into the country, the land surrounding the house. Walker Manor had what barely counted as a garden, but the true marvel was the small hills and clearings. The land was pure, untouched. Wildflowers danced in the early morning breeze, the grass wet with the dawn’s dew. The wheat fields were as gold as the sun in the distance, swaying. The trees blocked out the rising light, keeping the back of the manor shrouded, secluded in the stretch of night and day. The sky was a brilliant light blue, scattered streaks of orange and pink running across it.

She walked through the open door, the shawl falling down her shoulders, called out-

“Benjamin.”

It was morning, and he was leaving her.

He stood in the center of the clearing, beside his horse, the fog gathering around him at his feet- he was caught in it, as if he had appeared from it like a beautiful vision, a beautiful dream. It almost took her breath away. He heard her, and his body instinctively turned towards her- he looked at her over his shoulder, frozen, as if he wasn’t sure she was really there.

Did he dream about her, too?

He didn’t say anything.

Instead, he got on his horse in one swift, graceful motion, throwing his head back as he put on his helmet, the plume running down his body, strikingly white, stunning.

Don’t let him leave.

Don’t let him leave without saying goodbye.

She walked across the clearing, but it felt as if she wasn’t taking the steps herself. She was just going to him- the ways she was always meant to, the way she always wanted to be. Walking towards him, going to him until she was right next to him, looking up at him, trying to see the color of his eyes, the expression on his face in the growing sunlight.

He looked down at her, his smile visible through the visor of his helmet.

Say something, Elizabeth.

“Good morning.” Why did she whisper? Why was her voice so small?

“Good morning, Elizabeth.” It was the second time he had said it.

She would have stood in the silence, but time was worth more than silence, than longing stares.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said.

Oh, she hadn’t meant to say it.

Why did you say anything?

Why did you come out here to ruin yourself?

“I know,” Benjamin said.

He shifted in the saddle, and she closed her eyes- he was going to leave. What could he say to make the situation better? What could he do? He had to leave- stalling only made it worse, sharpened the knife, deepened the cut. He has to leave, and you have to accept it. He will leave, and you will get through it.

You wouldn’t have married him if you couldn’t.

How did she know that was true?

But Benjamin-

Benjamin didn’t leave.

He held her.

He reached over, his arm leading her towards the horse, towards his body. His gloved hand rested against the back of her head, patting the curls down, guiding her towards his leg. She nuzzled up against him, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Her cheek brushed against his breeches, the fabric rough and taunt underneath her skin- but it was soft, somehow. It was familiar, it was warm. It was undoubtedly him. All of the worry evaporated like the fog, all of the discomfort and discontent vanished. She was with him, standing beside him, and he was holding her. All she wanted to take, all she needed.

“I know,” he whispered.

‘I know, my Elizabeth.”

“Do you think it will ever get easier?” she asked.

He shook his head, “Not unless we don’t love each other as strongly as we do now.”

“Never,” she said.

If she didn’t love him as fiercely and as strongly as she did now, then she wasn’t herself.

“Never, Elizabeth.”

“And I will see you soon,” his hand had moved near her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze, “in the valley.”

“First thing in the morning.”

She looked up just to see him smile.

“Yes.”

Somehow, she found the strength to remove herself from his touch and take a step back- back towards the house, to the temporary loneliness. “Go on, now. I’ve never met a man so unwilling to leave his wife.”

Benjamin’s laugh was louder than the birdsongs. He clicked his tongue, grabbed the reins. “I’ll meet you in the valley, Mrs. Tallmadge.”

“I’ll meet you in the valley, Benjamin.”

But he’d leave the valley someday, too.Elizabeth hated the morning.

#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #LOOK AT THEM! LOOK! AT! THEM! #I love them! #I missed Liz’s POV so much #I mean I’m writing the chapter too but I missed being feral #and I’ll take any opportunity to write romantic Ben Liz #and MARRIED benliz? AHHHHHH #I Iove them so much your honor #The Summer Soldier and The Sunshine Patriot #SS&SP #benjamin tallmadge #elizabeth walker #otp: first thing in the morning #benliz #benjamin tallmadge x oc #Benjamin & Elizabeth #turn: washington's spies #turn: washington's spies fic #turn fic #amc turn #amc turn fic #turn amc #turn amc fic #amanda writes

[tactical-weapons]

The VSS (Russian: Винтовка Снайперская Специальная, romanized: Vintovka Snayperskaya Spetsialnaya, lit. 'Special Sniper Rifle', GRAU designation 6P29), also called the Vintorez ("thread cutter"/"tap"), is a suppressed sniper rifle that uses a heavy subsonic 9×39mm SP5 cartridge and armor-piercing SP6 cartridge. It was developed in the late 1980s by TsNIITochMash and manufactured by the Tula Arsenal. It is issued primarily to Spetsnaz units for undercover or clandestine operations, a role made evident by its ability to be stripped down for transport in a specially fitted briefcase.

The overall operating principle and sound suppression system used on the VSS are derived from the AS assault rifle. The VSS is a gas-operated select-fire rifle. It has a long-stroke gas piston operating rod in a gas cylinder above the barrel. The weapon is locked with a rotating bolt that has 6 locking lugs which engage appropriate sockets machined into the receiver. The VSS is striker fired. It features a cross-bolt type fire selector switch located behind the trigger, inside the trigger guard; the safety lever and the charging handle resemble those used in Kalashnikov weapons.

The weapon has an integral suppressor which wraps around the barrel. The barrel itself has a series of small ports drilled in the rifling grooves, leading into the suppressor which slows and cools the exhaust gases. The suppressor can be easily removed for storage or maintenance, but the VSS should not be fired without the suppressor. The weapon's integral suppressor has a length of 284.36 mm and a diameter of 35.86 mm.

The skeletonized wooden stock is a more rounded version of that provided on the SVD rifle; it has a rubber shoulder pad and can be removed when the rifle is dismantled for compact storage. The forward handguard is made from a high-impact polymer. The rifle is usually fired semi-automatically. Should the operational need arise, the weapon can be used in fully automatic mode using either its original 10-round magazine or the 20-round magazines from the AS rifle.

It uses a subsonic 9×39 mm SP-5 cartridge to avoid a sonic boom. The bullet of this cartridge weighs about twice as much as that of the 9×19mm Parabellum, giving it a muzzle energy about twice as high as that of a subsonic 9×19mm Parabellum bullet fired from e.g. a HK MP5SD.

Additionally, the bullet is very effective at penetrating body armor. It is equipped with a hardened steel or tungsten tip and can penetrate a 6 mm (0.2 in) high-density steel plate at 100 m; a 2 mm (0.08 in) steel plate or a standard army helmet can be fully penetrated at 500 m; however, the rifle is typically employed under 400 m.

A side rail is provided, installed on the receiver and used to mount the PSO-1-1 (1P43) telescopic sight. The weapon can also be deployed for night-time use with the 3.46x NSPUM-3 (1PN75), special version of NSPU-3 (1PN51), night sight using an appropriate mount. Back-up iron sights consist of a rear notch on a sliding tangent and forward blade. The rear sight has range graduations up to 400 m, with 100 m adjustments.

For carriage and concealment the rifle is dismantled into three main components carried in a special briefcase measuring 450 x 370 x 140 mm (17.7 x 14.5 x 5.5 in). The briefcase also has space for a PSO-1-1 scope, a NSPU-3 night sight and two magazines.

The VSS forms part of the VSK silenced sniper system. With the system, the rifle can be coupled to the PKS-07 collimated telescopic sight or the PKN-03 night sight. When the rifle forms part of the VSK system the range of ammunition can be extended to include the SP-6 and PAB-9 cartridges.

The VSSM (ВССМ) GRAU 6P29M is the most modern iteration of the VSS rifle featuring an aluminum buttstock with an adjustable cheek and butt pad. Additionally it is fitted with Picatinny rail on the top of the dust cover and sides and bottom of the suppressor. Deliveries started in 2018.

[sigritandtheelves]

Surface

Rating: Teen/Mature Timeline: Season 6 Tags: angst, UST, developing relationship

This is a follow-up to the story “Drown,” and I think it will be a 4-part series all together, moving from seasons 5-8 (probably veering into s8 AU). You don’t need to have read the other story first, but it may help. No beta: sorry. CW for brief references to child death (canonical) and hints at something non-consensual (”Biogenesis”).

For @scully-eats-sushi who wanted more. 

_+_

In their sixth year together, the world seems conspiring to mock her with nightmarish gestations: a slimy umbilicus down her throat, vomited out onto a freezing metal grate; a monstrous eruption from a man’s chest in the desert; a backyard of unearthed infant corpses, thrown away like trash. And perhaps most painful, the cruel incubation of Mulder’s once-dead relationship with another woman, rekindled.

Still, she thinks, he tries. Drugged, he tells her he loves her and it is like a fist gripping her insides. She brushes it off, heart pounding, and he never brings it up again. A few weeks later, she tests him—mentions dogs and kids and houses—and he play-acts dumbfounded, as if what she suggests were the truly alien, and not this midnight goose-chase. She doesn’t need the suburbs. Doesn’t want them, even. But she aches for a shared space, for a heavy arm over her waist when she wakes and two coffee mugs in the sink before work. She wants the car to take them to a cabin by a lake, not to Area 51; she longs for its trunk to be full of sunscreen and sleeping bags instead of case notes and clandestine emails. Not every time: she doesn’t need it always. But sometimes the desire to not be alone is overwhelming.

Christmas will be hard for her, he knows, so he distracts her with a ghost hunt that turns more real than he’d expected. Afterward, she shows up at his door and they grin and gift to each other, and it’s the best holiday he’s had in years. Maybe since childhood. He senses that she’s opening to him again, and he’s almost brave enough to do something about it. He settles for a kiss to her temple, on pulling her head against his chest while snow falls outside and colorful paper litters his coffee table. She takes a deep breath, nose to his solar plexus, and he feels her relax. They fall asleep, curled into each other. She’s late to her mother’s house in the morning.

In another hospital she almost dies, and he breaks down at her bedside again without her knowing. He sobs into the sheet at her shoulder and wonders how long he can keep himself from her, from scooping her to him and turning away from the work and the darkness and the car that drives the endless road. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hospital gown. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need.” But she sleeps and sleeps and doesn’t hear. Later, when she’s awake, he toys with her thumb and tells her that maybe death only finds you when you seek its opposite. It’s his timid, cryptic way of acknowledging her desire for life, perhaps even her desire for him. It’s all he’s able to give that day.

Cassandra Spender re-appears, Diana Fowley wedges dangerously between them again, and the Syndicate burns. Two weeks later, seeking death’s cause and unwittingly finding its opposite, Scully delivers a baby during a hurricane and comes face to face, once again, with all the losses she’s tried to forget.

_+_

When the weather cleared, they drove the hour-long trek to the airport in soggy silence. Mulder sensed the weight of something—heavy—pressing between them, something besides the fiasco with Diana. Their flight was delayed, as were many others, because of the storms, so they sat uncomfortably in a crowded airport bar and grill. Mulder tugged at the two hanging drawstrings of his raincoat, wondering what he might have done to upset her. The star profiler, befuddled as usual by the complexities of his partner, blinded by his singular focus, was at a loss when he looked at her.

“Scully,” he said finally.

In a daze in front of her tuna melt and side salad, she at first didn’t respond. He said her name again and she looked up. “Yeah?”

“What’s up?”

Scully frowned, not knowing how to respond. What could she possibly say to him over bad food in a south Florida airport restaurant that could capture the thing that sat on her chest all day, every day? The men who’d kidnapped her, violated her, tried to kill her with cancer, created then murdered her child, and left her barren—almost all were all dead, but would never be brought to justice. She was entangled in a partnership with someone who would die for her, but who didn’t seem capable of intimate connection, unless it was with busty brunettes who worked for his enemies. And she’d spent the morning reliving in her head the miracle of childbirth that she’d witnessed first hand, trying to forget about the fact that it was a thing her body would never have a chance to do, no matter how much she wanted it. So she was running low on hope, running low on motivation. She poked at her salad and said, “Nothing, it’s fine.”

Her frown echoed back at her on Mulder’s face. “Scully, please. Talk to me.”

She considered briefly what he might do if she said all these things, though she was sure he knew them already. What he was asking for was a simple answer, and she had no such thing to offer. She shrugged. “It’s the same as ever, Mulder. I’m just...” she sighed. “I’m struggling to strike a balance between happiness in my work and being heartsick for all the things I’ve lost. Nothing new.” There. He could make of that what he would.

“You’re not happy in your work?”

Scully’s eyes closed and she shook her head. Of course that’s all he heard. “No, Mulder, I am happy in my work. I love what we do.” Flat, toneless.

“So, then…”

She wouldn’t help him; he could put together the other pieces on his own.

---

Perhaps out of some perverse misinterpretation of her distress, Mulder decided that playing house would be a good idea. The day after her birthday, they dressed in pastel and khaki to role-play in what felt like a vulgar mockery of what he seemed to think she wanted. “You know, you’d fit in really well here,” he said, and it was like an elbow in the kidney. He wouldn’t stop touching her, even once tried to kiss her, but it was all of it a cruel joke. She found herself slipping too easily into wanting to touch him back—a lingering pat on the hand, then her own fingers quickly jumping away when his eyes found her face. It could have been fun, she thought, this trash-monster suburban-horror case, but instead it just hurt. His eye-waggle as he patted the bed beside him—what would he have done if she’d wiped off her facemask and slid into that tiny space beside him? Or if she’d dropped her robe and straddled him right there, facemask and all? He’d have panicked and run, choked on his own innuendo.

But she didn’t want another case to end in awkward silence en route to an airport, so in their rented minivan on the way out of Arcadia, she spoke before the heaviness could settle between them.

“You know I’d never want to live in a place like that, don’t you? You can’t think I’d actually fit in there.”

“Why not, Scully? Nice houses, nice people…”

“Nice people?”

“Big Mike was nice.”

“Mulder, that place was like Stepford. What the hell makes you think I’d want that?”

“I…” but his mouth just hung open for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. He was tired of guessing and being wrong.

“That’s not what having a life means to me, Mulder.” She was tired of his guessing and being wrong too.

“Then what…”

But he never finished the question, and she never answered.

---

He read Padgett’s “novel” in a state of both arousal and rage, the one feeding the other. How dare this man, this stranger, see her this way? How dare he be right when Mulder was always so wrong? She’d been sitting on his bed, goddamnit. About to fuck another killer, maybe, while Mulder waited for her two rooms away.

And then, “Agent Scully is already in love.”

Her face: inscrutable.

Later, in his arms, she sobbed like he’d never heard, and he squeezed her small body to him, desperate for the thump of her heart against his own. He rocked her, sat back on the floor to hold her closer yet. His hand went inside her shirt, up her back to feel her hot skin, to feel her heart beating from both sides of her ribcage. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “Shh, you’re okay. I’m here.”

“Mulder,” she whimpered into his chest, bloodying him everywhere and he didn’t mind. Of course her love was his, and how terribly uncareful he’d been with it, how stupidly, recklessly thoughtless. But then, how dangerous the pull of this thing now… He couldn’t help it. He kissed the top of her head and let himself feel, for once, the overwhelming current of his own love for her. When her breathing slowed, he cupped her face in his palms and kissed her mouth, just once, just briefly.

She looked at him with such vulnerability, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. How could he possibly shoulder the weight of that need? How could he give of himself to her, when he was needed in so many other ways? Rather than collapse under its burden and run, as he may have done months ago, he embraced it—embraced her, again. “I’m here,” he repeated, and he felt the shuddering heaviness of her sigh that emptied into his now-bloody shirt. Somewhere in his chest, something loosened. It was his death grip on the truth, he realized later, his fierce and desperate commitment to the Only Thing That Matters. And most surprising to him, he found that in the space created by that loosening grip, something else found its way in. Something like hope. Something like a future.

_+_

On a warm Saturday in April, he tries again not once, but twice. First in their office, he finds a lazy excuse to spend time with her—hurled clichés and a stolen mouthful of her frozen dessert, when he’d rather taste her mouth. They’re going to kiss, he knows it; he can feel it in his toes like the moments before a sneeze. But then he spots an out for himself, and, coward that he is, he runs again. He leaves her disappointed with melted sugar on her hands.

Second try: evening. Stars in the sky, the smell of suede from her jacket, the feel of her ass against his hips, crack! crack! of the bat, and she is giggling again, god help him. This is the best he’s ever felt. He is beginning to get it, he thinks: together like this, it hurts less. Maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t need to torture himself like some ascetic in order to deserve his victories. Maybe, just maybe, love makes him stronger instead of an easy target. In the parking lot he kisses her again, a real kiss this time, with one hand tucked into the curve of her waist and another in her hair. He is weak-kneed with want for this woman. Her mouth opens under him and he groans into it. How could he have known it would feel like this? It scares him and he lets her go. She lays her palm to his chest, closes her eyes for a moment, then gets in her car and drives away.

In shared hallucination, they recognize their codependency, their perfect complementarity. Hand to muddy hand across a bouncing ambulance car, they confirm their faultless symmetry.

And then he is sick, is hearing voices, is collapsing in a stairwell. She calls him and hears the worst thing, the very worst: that other woman’s voice that says “Fox” in that breathy way. She asks, but he won’t say who’s there, just tells her it’s okay (it is decidedly not okay; she knows who is there). He hangs up on her and then the other woman is suddenly naked and climbing into bed with him and he tries to tell her no, but his head hurts so so badly and he can’t stop any of this and he wants to cry out for his partner and feel her cool hand on his head, but he can’t, and then there is darkness.

When Skinner calls her “Dana,” she knows it is very bad. She learns, none too subtly, that the other woman was with him in the night. He screams her last name, his always-cry of desperation, and he can see himself through her eyes, through the fuzzy gray monitor, but he can’t hear her thoughts alone through all the terrible noise.

Then, as he did for her, she is flying across the world to save him. She is standing in warm sand (not ice) on a spaceship that is, though she does not know it, knitting her inner scars back together into smooth flesh, that is healing healing her, deep on the inside where what she thought she’d lost comes back awake. She is learning the secrets of all life’s origins while, inside her, originating cells come back to life.

-end-

#a thing i wrote #season 6 #xf fanfic #msr #angst

[theafricanmedia]

#EndSARSMemorial: Osun police warns against any form of protest and unlawful assembly

#EndSARSMemorial: Osun police warns against any form of protest and unlawful assembly

The Osun State Police Command has warned residents of the state against holding any street protest in commemoration of the one year anniversary of #EnDSARSMemorial today October 20. In a press statement released by the command’s spokesperson SP Opalola Yemisi Olawoyin, the command stated that “The intelligence that availed the police command revealed clandestine plans by some youths/group of…

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#EndSARS #EndSARSProtest