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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years

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Fresh Fallen Snow, Part 4

Summary: Curtis claims you.

Pairings: Curtis Everett X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, smut, loss of innocence, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.3K

Series Masterlist

*divider created by @firefly-graphics

Tanya pushes people out of the way, pulling you towards the fountain. This wasn’t how it was to be used, but she insisted. Your eyes look over towards Curtis who smiles alongside Edgar, and it makes your heart swell. He looked joyful, and even he was cleaner than he once was, thanks to Tanya.

She notices how you rarely take your eyes off of Curtis, giving you a warm smile as she washes off as much of your body as possible, “Cheryl, bring the ladies over to create a wall. She’s getting the whole body washed.”

“The whole body?” you ask her, suddenly embarrassed at being naked in front of everybody. Watching nervously as woman after woman create a barrier around you, and even Curtis and some of the other men stand guard a bit more.

“You don’t want him to see you in all your glory, and be filthy. Save that to the pillow talk,” sheepishly you look away from her as you start to undress. “Now don’t go all shy now. Everyone knows how much restraint that boy has concerning you. It’s not easy for him.”

“It’s not been easy for me either,” you smart back as she starts washing off your body.

“Easier. You don’t know what you’re missing,” the thought of Curtis with another woman, doing the things you had been doing makes your nose turn up in disgust. “He never had a lot. Stop your pouting.”

“Why is this necessary?” you ask. Curious as to why a ceremony pledging your undying love was needed. Marriages weren’t recognized by the front.

“Let me tell you about a young boy that came to live on this train. Barely made it on here. He had dreams of becoming an architect. Was in school, too. He had house plans for the home we was going to make his family. Wanted to adopt a dog for his kids, was designing the future. And then he ended up in the tail end of this godforsaken train.”

She pulls a dress on you, while it was nothing as grand as a wedding gown, her and the other ladies had made you as fancy of a dress that they could with the rags they had collected. And you smile up at Tanya when she starts styling your hair.

“That man, oh that man, you’ve got you one of the best on here. He’s fiercely protective of everyone, but mostly you. He’s going to help us. Everyone know it. He’s got plans. And maybe one day, he can design the life he thought he would have. It’s what he deserves.”

With a quick glance to Curtis, you nod your head agreeing. He truly did deserve everything he wanted, and then some. And you wanted to make that a reality to him.

Her hand moves over your belly, and she can’t help, but cry, “It’s stupid to have kids on this train. But it makes us feel human. Hoping that one of us births the one that can deliver us from this life.”

“But the winter?”

“Tanya!” Gilliam stands beside her, and there’s a quick darkness that is apparent. “There is nothing but the train. You’d do good to remember that. Sweet Aspen, Curtis has paid your bunk neighbors handsomely in protein blocks. You’ll have a few hours alone.”

“Gilliam, that is not what ladies discuss. Go on, old man. Don’t let him bother you. Decorum went out the window with such close living quarters. He’s not wrong, it’s just not appropriate. Are you ready to marry your man?”

You gulp, but nod your head. Grabbing up your hand, she walks you to the opposite end of the tail from your bunk. Both yours and Curtis’ eyes only on the other as she walks you down the makeshift aisle.

Him looking more handsome that ever, a perma-grin on his face as Gilliam does a quick speech, “These two could very well, change the world,” he says calmly tapping on his heart. Curtis didn’t catch it, but you do. A quick wink, and he moves his finger to the center of his chest.

A quick and lighthearted ceremony, just to be told, “You may now kiss your girl.”

And it was a kiss from him you hadn’t ever experienced. Deep and warm immediately. His arms wrapping around you tightly, while yours hold tight to his cheeks.

“Sheesh, go ahead and take her to your wedding suite,” Edgar groans. “Someone start singing and carrying on. And give these two what they’ve been begging for.”

Pulling apart from Curtis, only to smile up at him. Nodding your head, he grabs a hand, gently walking you towards your bunk.

It’s awkward, and you feel a bit exposed, but he made you his in front of the whole train car. Your arm wraps around him soothingly, and there’s only the tiniest part that would like to join in on the celebration. Few moments of the entire car being happy, happen. And you fear that this, too will be ruined by the front. They were always watching.

Curtis helps you in the bunk, looking at the crowd one more time, and getting a huge smile from Tanya, before he’s jumping in. Once he’s seated, you’re ready to pounce on him, but he holds you steady, “Wait.”

“Curtis, I’ve waited long enough. Who knows how long they’re going to allow,” his thick finger presses on your lips, shushing you softly.

He digs into your secret hiding spot for your necklace. Circling your neck, he puts it on. Those sinful hands drift down you, slowly. Leaning back to look at you, “Beautiful.”

“I don’t even know where it came from.”

“I was talking about you,” your hands slowly undo your dress, until you’re left trembling, nearly naked, “Aspen, what’s wrong?”

“I’m cold.”

“You won’t be for long,” holding out his hand for you, you crawl into his lap. His mouth kissing over your skin as you start undoing his buttons. Pulling off his shirt, and sighing when you make skin on skin contact.

Finally having a moment to admire his physique. Despite the squalor that you lived in, Curtis was strong. Chords of lean muscle line his skin. Your fingers trace the veins of your ‘husband’ when you notice something you hadn’t before, “How did you get this scar?”

“What?” he pants up at you. His hands grip tight to your hips; grinding you over his enticing bulge.

“The…it’s a snowflake,” he pushes you back slightly, looking at his scar, and chuckles. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a brand. It was my ticket onto the train. Shh, Aspen, your cunt is on fire, and you’re leaking through my pants. Can you not let me just,” his head tilts to the side, and he shakes his head, you were more than just a fucking. It sounded harsh to call this that. “Make love to my wife.”

His head sinks back down to your breast, and his tongue playfully licks around it, before diving in. His thick hand kneading the other one, while your body rocks over him. Your sweet sounds louder than normal, and he’s addicted. Loving the way you grab his head, and look down at him overtaking your body.

His hips jut forward, causing you to yelp, but he just lays you flat on the bed. Crawling over you, he starts kissing a line right down your front. Coming to your ruined panties, he kisses over the material, before his fingers hook around the elastic, pulling them down.

You watch him as he shimmies out of his pants. His wide body situates itself in between your thighs, and he can’t decide what he wants to focus on, your weeping cunt, or your breathless face. Curtis starts to move his hand to your entrance, but you shake your head no, “You’ve used your fingers enough.”

“Aspen…”

“I don’t care. That was the point of them being rowdy. Your wife wants you to claim her. I want to be leaking of your seed.”

He slaps your pussy, and you chirp. Eyes wide as you stare at him, “You need to quit getting sex advice from Cheryl,” her advice always paid off.

Snaking your hand down, you enter two fingers into your throbbing pussy, using them to fuck yourself. Pulling them out, Curtis stares at your drenched digits. “I want my husband to destroy me. Show me why you were the man for me.”

“Keep talking to Cheryl,” Curtis lines himself up, giving your sensitive bean a slap with his thick cock, and you nod your head at him. Eyes only on his bright blue ones when his blunt tip pushes through.

You cling to his forearms, brows furrowed, and you bite at your lip, “What was that you were saying, Aspen?” your words catch in your throat, that Diamond snowflake sliding off of your chest. “Just remember to breathe, baby. Let me do the rest. One day, I’m going to see that pretty necklace from a different angle, when I teach you how to ride my cock.”

“C-c-can I?” you hiccup up at him.

“Not yet. You get a bit deeper.”

“I like…I want you to be deeper.”

With that admission, Curtis slides in more. Your folds hugging onto his veiny girth, and he makes sure you feel every inch of him. Not stopping his journey until he bottoms out. Balls deep in your stretched cunt, and you can’t do anything but whimper up at him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he settles his body on you, and you had never felt more content, overwhelmed, but perfectly satisfied. His weight over top of you, and those fingers brush over your sweaty skin. “I love you.”

“I…too…I mean, I love you, too,” he chuckles at your struggle to speak. Stunned at how full you feel, but how warm. Crashing his lips into you, he slowly pulls himself out. “Curtis, no.”

“Hey, I’ve got you. This is how it works, we create friction. I promise, it feels amazing. You feel amazing,” you whine until he sinks back into the root, letting out a sigh of relief. “You already addicted to my cock?”

“It’s the only thing I can give you.”

“Not the only thing,” he moans, creating a languid pace as he thrusts into you. Your legs spread around him, and the sounds of your bodies connecting is the second best thing he’s heard. Your sweet and desperate mewls up at him, his ultimate favorite.

You wrap your arms around his back, going from softly running your fingers over his broad shoulders, to gripping him tightly. Your fingernails digging into him, and creating crescent moon shapes in his skin.

He picks up his pace lightly, and when you sob up his name, he slams his mouth into yours. Drowning in your sounds, when he begins a quick and deep rut into you. Had it not been for his mouth, the entire car would have heard your screams. Begging him to keep going.

Your virgin hole clenching down on him, and the both of you see stars. “Cur-Cur-Curtis! I…oh…Curtis,” his voice a mixture of deep growls and grunts, as that cock splits you in half. Your cunt molding perfectly to his length, and you see stars as lightning courses through your body.

Gripping him tightly as he fucks you even harder through your orgasm. His body aching for his release. Back arching off the bed, and you take him even deeper. Curtis unable to hold on anymore, let’s your fluttering walls milk him. His delectable cream painting your womb, and you whisper up his name.

“I know,” he pants as he rests his forehead on yours. “Gimme a minute.”

“Can we do that again, but…”

“Aspen, we’re doing that all night. All the ways you can thick of. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

There’s a moment of silence, before he reaches out of the bunk, gathering up any discarded clothes, and your bunk mates whoop out loud. Congratulating the two of you for finally letting him take you.

“You good?” he asks, laying flat on the bed, and pulling you into him.

“Perfect.”

“I hope you don’t mind being sore. I want that everyday.”

“It’s yours. I’m yours.”

He twists his head to look at you with a post sex dopey smile. His cheeks heated and pink. His breath still not evened out, “And I’m yours.”

“Wilfred?” Claude pokes her head into the engine, as he paces around. “It’s begun.”

“A bit late,” he almost growls at her. “I give him…she was on a fucking platter just for him.”

“How long should we allow them to celebrate?” he turns and looks at her oddly. “They had a ceremony. And the tail gave him and the girl some privacy to consummate the marriage.”

“Traditionalist,” he nods his head. “I’ve chosen wisely. Make sure they get their special bricks. We need him good and strong, and her preferably swollen. Let them have their fun a bit longer. Then we’ll see if he’s truly protective over his Aspen. Gilliam has done well with his fairy tales to the boy. Make sure he gets something special in his brick, too. I want her measurements in a few weeks.”

“Of course.”

“And she didn’t have on the necklace?”

She shakes her head no at the madman, “Gilliam said she has it. Curtis has desires for her to wear it when they…”

“I don’t need details, Claude. I need results. Eighteen years in the making. What’s the temperature outside?”

“It’s rising.”

“Very well. I’ll allow another hour. They better get used to people being around them.”

Masterlist

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#fresh fallen snow #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfiction #curtis everett fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans characters #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x you #curtis everett fic #curtis everett x fem!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #\

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 1 year

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Raillerie du sort — Mademoiselle de Robespierre

I found this (very long) anecdote regarding Charlotte Robespierre published on May 20 1849 in number 776 of the paper L’Écho de la Loire. Considering it gets so much right about Charlotte (her having a portrait of her older brother, her adress, her pseudonym, just her behaviour in general), I’m actually inclined to give it some credability.

—

Doctor H… Fr… gave us one evening the following story:

Around the middle of the summer of 1833, one rainy morning, I strode along one of the saddest streets that can be found in Paris — the Rue de la Fontaine-Saint-Marcel. I was in a hurry to without melancholy escape from this dark district of harsh poverty, and to sadden my mind as little as possible, I carefully kept my eyes lowered so as not to see these mud colored houses, at the windows of which never fail to appear a few heads of women with yellow faces wrapped in linens whose color keps hidden under the oily filth of uncleanliness. The ugliness, the rags of misery cause me at first a repugnance freed from any movement of charity; it is only after this first impression, that my thought probes, under the hideous livery, the depth of the evil, and brings forward the emotion of the heart.

I am a doctor, and to the dryness of the soul of my profession is added the barbarous selfishness of the artist. The ugly makes me mean. I sourly affect myself with the annoying faces of men or objects. If I pass by some old woman chanting a stupid song in a false voice, I find myself wishing that a tile would fall on her head. If chance takes me to a narrow, dark, characterless street with dirty, plain facades, I hope that a fire will destroy the houses and bury the architects and owners who built them under their rubble.

Like I said, I was following the rue de la Fontaine Saint-Marcel when behind me discordant cries arose; I turned around and saw a man stopping a carriage whose driver was talking very loudly and gesticulating a lot, at the same time as a group of a dozen people formed in the middle of the street. I approached the group, and my eyes, slipping between the heads of two ragpickers, were fixed on an old lady in a faint whom an athletic woman supported with her arms and knees; another woman squeezed some of the black water from the stream in her hand and threw it in the face of the old woman.

— I said beware! exclaimed the coachman; why didn't she withdraw?

— Perhaps she is deaf! said the colossal woman.

— Then why didn’t she say so? This coachman’s joke did not have great success.

— My good people, I said, let me approach, I beg you, I'm a doctor. They moved away, I entered the center of the circle.

— Coachman, I said, after looking at the patient, your carriage shall help me transport this lady to her home.

—Bah ! he replied, these old people never leave their lodgings. And as he insisted on slipping away, he took advantage of a moment when his horse was no longer restrained, to artistically lash the end of its ears with a whiplash; the intelligent animal did not have to be told twice and left, to the great detriment.

The coachman had spoken the truth. A fruiterer, standing in front of her lethal, pointed out to me, with a hand green and knotty like the bark of an oak tree, a house less puny in appearance than those which neighbored it. This is where Mademoiselle Delaroche lives, she said.

Mademoiselle Delaroche was very thin. A ragpicker took her in his arms, reached the house, climbed two flights of stairs, and deposited his burden in a small apartment which a servant came to open to us.

I found that Mademoiselle Delaroche was in no serious ailment, and after prescribing some minor medication, I recommended that, despite the slightness of the accident, they should not neglect to call a doctor.

— Mademoiselle, Delaroche since settling in this district, has never called a doctor, said the servant. I don't know where to find any in the neighborhood. If monsieur wanted to come back…

I live, like I said, on the rue du Faubourg Poissonnière; rue de la Fontaine-Saint Marcel was far from my house; moreover, it was very disagreeable to me; nevertheless I promised to return in the evening and went out. At nightfall I kept my word. The woman who had opened the door for us in the morning received me again. She made me sit down in a very hard old armchair, saying to me in a low voice:

— Mademoiselle Delaroche is finishing her prayers. She is there, in this cabinet; her accident had no unfortunate consequences.

While Mademoiselle Delaroche was praying to God, my eyes fell mechanically first on the shabby furniture of the room, then they stopped on an object which excited my curiosity. On one side of a rococo mirror hung a bad engraving representing an Ecce Homo; on the other side hung a painting covered with a black cape. Placed as a pendant to the image of Christ at the height of his sublime suffering, this frame was to have an emblematic meaning of great pain. It gave to the old woman's little room a character of gloomy mystery, and was to be the ever-precise memory of some great family event. This demoiselle Delaroche must be, I thought, of a robust character, since she feels in her isolation the need to always have before her eyes an object which brings her thoughts back to the pain which is the culminating point of her life.

I had my eye fixed on the covered portrait, when Mademoiselle Delaroche opened the door of the neighboring room. My attentive attitude seemed to make her reflect. She stopped after taking a step towards me, and although darkness was already creeping into the room, I saw her eyes come alive under her gray eyebrows.

I rose and greeted her with the thought that I probably had before my eyes the heroine of some bloody family drama.

— Monsieur, she said in a dry, biting, though weak, voice, you know who I am, don't you?

— I was told you were Mademoiselle Delaroche.

— Monsieur, you saw after the little accident this morning that my health had not been impaired, and I assure you that I no longer need a doctor. You have rendered me some care for which it is right that you should be paid.

Saying these words, she went and opened the writing desk and took out a five-franc pincer.

- Monsieur, she continued, I am not rich, please be satisfied with this and do not even ask me medical questions, because I feel good. I will not insist on the reasons which determined you to take advantage of the service you have rendered me to return this evening. She handed me the coin.

— Mademoiselle, I replied spitefully, the thanks you give me sound very much like reproaches. I don't accept them any more than your money. The reasons which have induced me to render to you the minimal aid I swear to you are simple reasons of humanity. I live in another end of Paris, and I have decided to come to this suburb, to this house, to a person whom I do not know, and towards whom I can only be attracted by this commiseration that one carries towards his fellows.

I bowed and walked towards the door, convinced that this woman was one of those touchy beings like Rousseau, who believe themselves to be persecuted as much by their services as by their opposites. I had my finger on the door knob, eager to leave this gloomy dwelling and not caring the least in the world about the secret which had a moment before so keenly excited my curiosity, when Mademoiselle who had followed me said to me:

— I was no doubt mistaken, monsieur; Alas! misfortune makes one suspicious and unjust; and I have been so often the object of the most hateful curiosity, that I must distrust anyone who crosses this poor threshold. Would you forgive me for the harsh words I addressed to you?

She spoke these words with a sincere expression of pain that touched me. At the same time, the thought of the covered portrait reappeared in my mind, and it was with a little selfishness and with the hope that Mademoiselle Delaroche would raise this mystery that I said to her:

— I am a doctor, Mademoiselle, I observe the ills of the body, but those of the mind I understand too. I have many moments of injustice, although I do not complain about the fate that has been fixed for me, and I must forgive others for the faults that I am the first to commit without having as excuses the causes that you have without a doubt.

— You have just assured me, she resumed, that you did not know who I was; I believe in your honor and your sincerity! My God, after all, I should be used to this scrutiny I am being subjected to, and I am sorry now for expressing my displeasure to you. If you knew my real name this morning, what harm would there really have been? One more person whose gaze would have sought on my wrinkled forehead to read things that are not there, what would that matter? I some times tell myself that I have too little time to live to worry about other people's attention; but most often the name I bear brings me the presence of hateful thoughts.

— I don't know your name, mademoiselle, as I didn't know this morning, if the one by which you were designated to me is not yours. I respect the reasons that made you adopt it, and despite what you have told me, I swear to you that I will not take any steps to become them.

— Would you be sure, she said with a certain delicacy of emphasis and a good-naturedness which contrasted with her first mood, would you be sure tomorrow of keeping your word? I see very well that I have told you too much for me to remain a mystery to you; besides, we will be strangers to each other, no relation can be established between us, and I would as much like to tell you myself before leaving you that I am Robespierre's sister.

Surprise silenced me. This name confusedly awakened so many ideas in me that I could not formulate the most banal phrase.

— You see, monsieur, said Mademoiselle Robespierre sadly, if I weren't used to it, the shock you feel would be very painful to me. My poor brother, grandiose enigma of which contemporaries, no more than relatives and posterity, have been able to discover the true meaning, you produce on those who meet his name the same rejection: that of stupefaction!

I took a few steps back into the apartment.

— I have never thought too much about your brother's frightful work, I said to her.

— If you haven't thought about it, she resumed, you must have adopted the idea one has settled on for this work. But the idea is horrible.

— In any case, Mademoiselle, your brother's enemies are not yours.

— I have endeavored to live with God; but, in spite of the greatest efforts, I could not believe myself detached from the cause of Maximilien, a cause, I repeat to you, which is more obscure for me than it is for you. I have tried, I have often succeeded in withdrawing myself into a corner, far from the public attention which the terrible name that I bear always keeps awake; it is for me above all that this word is important. Hide your life; but I have never been able, despite my fervor in God, not to feel the fibers of family and affection stir in me, when a word collected in passing or a few pages of a book show me how way the figure of Maximilian rose above posterity. In vain I closed my ears to the noise outside, I succeeded no more than in closing my soul to all the echoes of the past. But Alas! Isolation, even as severe as a poor old spinster can create for herself, was no defense against the role I so dreaded and which always fell on me.

While speaking, Mademoiselle Robespierre threw herself onto a chair beside the window. I approached, seeing with pleasure that her savagery had dissipated and that her mind was embarking, by a return familiar to old people, on a path that led her to a distant time, a time that she, despite what she’d just said, preoccupied herself with all living moments.

— I knew, she went on, when I was young and my brother was powerful, that the approval of others was a dangerous pleasure; but what harm is the imprecation of our neighbor? If the heart succumbs to flattery, it cannot resist the disdain of our fellow men either, and I believe that, in default of strength, habit cannot suffice. Having a taste for obscurity, not being able to bear a big name, and having been hounded by public curiosity, this has been my ordeal.

— I thought, mademoiselle, that your existence was only known to a few people.

— For a long time, monsieur, I have been dogged by the reprobation which attaches itself to the name I bear. This name detached me from everything. From the first years, what torments, miseries, deprivations this name caused me! I steeled myself against public judgment. I lived for a long time supported I don't know how and I don't know by who. Misfortune ends up making you indifferent to everything, and this indifference goes so far that we only accept with apathy any improvement that happens to us, like any worsening that your bad fortune brings you. The day when they came to tell me that Bonaparte had granted me a pension of 8600 francs gave me no more happiness than the day when it was reduced to me under the Restoration, and when it was suspended altogether. Another thing, I admit, bothered me, it was my name. I decided to leave it; and, changing my residence, I came to settle in the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, and live under the name of Mademoiselle Delaroche, in a house in the Rue Gracieuse. But this alias soon ceased to veil my real name, and I had to secretly flee from the intelligent curiosity which again surrounded me. Since I came to this sad retreat, rue de la Fontaine-Saint-Marcel, I have been a little calmer; I see only two old ladies whom a community of tastes have engaged to see me regularly. They know me by my false name: and although our intimacy dates back a long time, it would doubtless not resist disclosure. When I saw you, only a moment ago, your eyes so ardently fixed on the portrait of my brother, I felt my past uneasiness revive.

— Why, I continued, did you cover it with a cape?

The ending in the next number.

—

Unfortunately, it would appear like the following number hasn’t been digitalised, at least not by the BNF… Therefore, I can’t give you the rest of the anecdote. :(

#charlotte robespierre #robespierre #even at this old age she’s still charlotte #aka falling out with everyone she crosses path with and bitching about her hardships #that’s why we love her #frev

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lightthewaybackhome · 1 year

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Stargate-Atlantis S5: E15 Remnants

You have to understand that Inquisition had a much bigger impact on Sheppard than he admitted. His people, Atlantis, were on trial because of the choices he made. I think it brought to the surface a lot of the same feelings seen in Doppelganger. Sheppard struggles with feeling like he's the biggest threat to his people.

Rodney connects aloneness with Sheppard. Sad sigh.

Woolsey is lonely, Sheppard is alone, and Rodney is cut off from the praise of his peers by the confidentiality of his work. Woolsey is isolated in his leadership, Sheppard is isolated in his warriorness, and Rodney is isolated in his genius. They're each overcome by their own strengths and weaknesses. Woolesy is easily overcome by a friendly, kind woman because he wants a friend. Rodney is overcome by praise because he wants to be acknowledged. Sheppard is overcome by isolation and torture because he believes he's the source of danger for Atlantis. This episode is a weird reflection of Home in season one. Sheppard figured that out first because things were too good. He doesn't figure things out here because he believes they should be this bad.

Sheppard tells Kolya to go to hell, so Kolya takes him there. It's so hard bouncing between the three because Sheppard is enduring so much more than Woolsey and McKay. Woolsey and McKay 'demons' help them. Just. It just hurts how broken Sheppard is.

Kolya: You can tolerate more than any man I've ever known. Why is that?

Sheppard covers his fear with a snarky remark.

Kolya: You're here in the Pegasus Galaxy to protect your people, and half the time, you can't even do that. That's what drives you, your past failures.

Kolya tells Sheppard he can't protect his people, they're as good as dead. It doesn't matter if he holds out.

Kolya's monolog is basically our insight into Sheppard's own mind. He thinks nothing he's done, that there's nothing he can do to keep his people safe. That the bad guys will always find a way to hurt them, and they'll use him to do it.

When Radek compliments Rodney, I just started crying because Rodney's all beaming while Sheppard is tortured. And it just makes you realize people can be hurting, and even their closest friends don't know it.

My heart when Kolya chops off Sheppard's hand.

😭😭😭

What is Sheppard running away from? His empty life on earth?

Kolya accused Sheppard of being easy to break, but he didn't break. They had to cut his freaking hand off. This is just another echo in Sheppard's own mind that he's not being strong enough for his people. All this was to find out what kind of people they are and see if they can be trusted. They need to keep Sheppard busy while they worked, and this horror is what Sheppard subconsciously chose.

Kolya: You torture yourself every day, John. But, in this case, it was your mind manifesting your deepest fears. You are the architect of your own self-deception.

😭😭😭The aliens apologize for what happened to Sheppard earning one of his "gee thanks" faces.

I love how, just like Doppelganger, this ends with Sheppard surrounded by friends. In light of this episode, the last really painful Sheppard episode is Vegas, the solitary man. Before Atlantis, Sheppard was very alone. I think he fears being alone again, but he's not. Rodney knows him so well, even down to the gum he likes. Then you have the final episode where Sheppard does literally save all of his remaining people with their help, as always. I know it's subtle, but ending with Sheppard and Company saving earth in a final huge battle is healing Sheppard. Yes, I wish they could have done more. A whole season of healing is what this character needed, but I'll take what I can get.

This may also be why I feel the need to rewatch this whole stupid show as soon as I finish it. I want to see Sheppard healed. But you start it over, and he gets broken all over. Really, he comes to Atlantis broken. Those soul-fractures get healed, and he gets broken in whole new ways. Why am I addicted to breaking characters???

#stargate atlantis #john sheppard #sga #rodney mckay #sga s5 #Remnants #or maybe just remnants of Sheppard's soul #richard woolsey #episodes that break my heart #radek zelenka #one of the hard ones #this episode Home and Doppelganger are just so important #and Sadeta #Sheppard whump #my heart hurts so much in going to be useless the rest of the day #not really #being dramatic #but i am sad

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thislovintime · 1 year

Video

Clips from 1997 and 2006.

Q: “Why did you get into the music business?” Peter Tork: “Approval. Respect. Love. Girls.” - Beachwood Confidential, 1995 (x)

* * *

"What I was working towards was to be in a group. When the Beatles hit, where were all the folkies going to go? But I also wanted to be a folk music performer. A lot of what I did was hanging out, feeling for the first time that I was part of the scene, walking down the street and seeing people I knew, doing a little flirting." - Peter Tork, Bringing It All Back Home: 25 Years of American Music at Folk City (1986) (x)

* * *

"Dear Peter, I hope this doesn’t sound stupid. It’s something I’ve always wanted to know. Why do rock stars get all the women? I figured you would know. Even my sister likes you a lot and she doesn’t really like anyone very much. She says hi, btw. I was thinking of becoming an architect but that doesn’t seem to get the girls excited. Should I learn to play guitar? Thanks bro, Jon L."

"Dear Jon, Thanks for asking. I’ve never wondered the same thing; I’ve been too busy trying to get the women by being a pop star so I’ve never had time to stop and tell on the roses, as it were. But since it all came up lo, these many years ago, I’ve actually given the matter some thought. Here’s some of what I’ve come up with: For one thing, those of us who got into show business did so IN ORDER to get attention. This is sometimes an outgrowth of a conviction in childhood that people didn’t much care about us, or even notice us. We determined that if we could get the millions (or, say, dozens) to love us, then it wouldn’t matter that we weren’t much regarded on an individual basis in our youth. For some of us, it worked. Unfortunately, it has its drawbacks. You don’t get to know these ahead of time, so I’m going to tell you. One of them is, that the girls we do get mostly want us for the show we put on. By that, I don’t mean only the stuff that goes on onstage, but the way we present ourselves when we meet someone. I have a ready stock of funny stories and sly ways to hook a girl in, but in the end, that’s what she goes for, and when it comes time for me to be myself, she’s always kind of shocked. […] Check it out: architecture is a deeply satisfying career and you’re going to find a relationship that suits you if you’ll only let it happen and what you do for a living will be only one measure of your true value in the eyes of a worthy, intelligent, supportive woman. Good luck, Peter” - Ask Peter Tork, The Daily Panic, 2008 (x)

* * *

"In spite of all his clowning, Peter was a rather serious chap. […] Peter was a loud, powerful singer (I used to call him a romp’em, stomp’em type of singer), while I was a soft ballad singer. He had enormous stage presence and I had very little. He played the banjo, I played the guitar. […] He was restless and intense, while I was calm. He loved to be with a lot of people all of the time, whereas I liked to be completely alone some of the time. And last, but not least, Peter Tork had quite a way with the girls." - Bruce Farwell, 16’s The Monkees: Here We Are (1967) (x)

* * *

“Next to his music, girls interested Peter Tork more than anything else in the whole wide world. He loved them all — and most of them loved him. Peter wasn’t tall, dark or handsome, but he made up for his liabilities with his great warmth, enthusiasm and sense of humor. He was also basically a very kind and giving person. He just had a way of making people happy even when he was broke, freezing cold and there were no prospects for work in the future. That Pied Piper-ish quality Peter had attracted girls of all shapes and sizes. He had many brief romances and a couple of very serious ones, and even today Peter is still good friends with almost every girl he knew, dated, or fell in love with during his Greenwich Village days.” - Lance Wakely, 16, March 1967

* * *

“Peter was great for the chicks of the village… they queued up to see him and talk to him. But eventually he had an offer to join the Phoenix Singers, who were short of a guy to play banjo AND guitar. And if you still have any doubts about whether he really does play, and play well, then the thing to do is ask the management behind the Phoenix Singers. Even without the Monkees, there is little doubt that the amiable Peter would have mae the grade in the music business. When, eventually, Peter went to the West Coast, to California, he wasn’t kept waiting long for fame. Within two months he was auditioned and accepted for the Monkees. Behind him was a mass of previous girlfriends but, unlike many blokes, Peter has the knack of staying on very friendly terms with girls even after he’s stopped going out with them.” - Record Mirror, February 25, 1967

* * *

“...Inside his dressing room, he towels the sweat from [his] head, takes out a guitar, pulls up a chair and starts singing ME a song. [...] He DIPS me, yes, like a dance dip, asks me permission and then kisses ME chastely on my cheek!... [...] Months later, when I returned back to earth, I received a three page letter from Peter Tork (remember, he asked me for my address before the dip) which was just beautiful, poetry mixed with kindness, which is how I choose to this day to describe him as a human.”:

“I heard this on the radio!

‘TODAY at 4pm, THE MONKEES will be appearing at RECORD WORLD!’

I looked at a map to see where Record World was located (yes, I had a map in my glove compartment) and plotted and within seconds, turned the car in the opposite direction of Georgetown and hightailed to some mall in Virginia. The line to meet the Monkees was surprisingly huge. It wrapped all the way around the mall twice. Anxious to make it back to campus for the first night of my senior year, which we all know is the BEST night of the year, I became anxious the line was too long and The Monkees would leave before they got to me. I needed to come up with a plan, stepping off the line, I found myself moments later in Sharper Image, purchasing a small tape recorder.

With tape recorder in hand, I marched myself up to the security guard outside the RECORD WORLD where all four of the Monkees were signing records.

‘I’m here from the Georgetown University newspaper, The Hoya. I wasn’t even sure if that was the title of our school newspaper…a lucky guess.

‘I’m hoping to get a quick interview with the guys.’

‘Sure, right this way.’

WOW! That was easy.

They let me cut the line and stand RIGHT behind the Monkees while they continued to sign records. Me looking out at a sea of other Monkee lunatics, just like me!

OMG!!! I had NO questions, I had no way of handling being this close to the four guys that I spent my entire pubescent life fantasizing about marrying, dancing or at least camping!

‘Hello.’ Micky Dolenz says to me!!! and I go numb. I got nothing.

I look over to Peter Tork, who asks me my name and when I say Mary, Davy Jones chimes in and says, ‘Ah, Mary Mary.’

 WHAT!!!!???? Smelling salts please?? (Actually, true story, Lara did really pass out once when she met Davy Jones at a book signing!)

I stumbled my way through the interview, holding up the tiny tape recorder every time I asked a question. Thankfully they never caught on that the tape recorder didn’t even have batteries in it or that I had not actually pushed any of the buttons to start or stop recording. I just moved it from my mouth to their face, like a child playing make-believe.

I kindly say thank you and tear up. The security guard ushers me away from the table but right before I was about to steal a tuft of [Micky]’s hair, Peter Tork looks at me and said, ‘write your phone number down here.’

In a Monkees haze, I write it and then, I’m quickly whisked away by security.

I cried the entire 3-hour car ride back to DC, happy tears, and this was before cell phones, so I had no one to call and scream the news. Just me, alone, reliving how I had just pulled off a Monkees miracle.

When I arrived back to my senior year house, all my pals were wondering why I was so late and informed me I had thirty minutes to get dressed because we were all heading out for the BIG first night back at school. The night you waited all summer long for, so you could show off how great you looked to your biggest crush.

I threw down my bag, jumped in the shower and was interupted by my roommate telling me that I had a phone call.

Wet from the shower, I grabbed the call.

‘Hi. This is the Monkees Tour Manager. Peter Tork asked me to leave two tickets for you at the Will Call for tonight’s show. It starts at 8pm.’

I looked at the clock…it was 6pm….the concert was two hours away, back to where I had just left the scene of my delicious deception.

I HAD TO GO!

I started down my list of roommates to come with me, one at a time, rejection, followed with ‘YOU’RE NUTS!!’

Finally, I bribed my most beautiful and most fun pal Emily to join me. I think the bribe was, I’ll pay all your bar tabs the entire first semester if you drive to Virginia with me. If you saw how we drank back then, this was a generous offer.

She agreed to join me, but made me promise we could be back by midnight as to not miss out on the first night back to school.

‘Done!’

And there we were, back in my car, heading two hours south, right back to where I just come from.

We arrived at the concert hall and Emily (my personal timekeeper) reminded me. ‘You have two hours…that’s it.’

We had great seats and a bunch of songs in, a roadie came and plucked us from our seats to go backstage. WHAT!

There was an intermission or maybe it was the moment between the last song and the encore, but all I remember what that it was fast and there was a lot of scrambling.

This was the first ‘backstage’ I had ever seen. A minute in, Peter Tork comes over to ME!? Says, ‘I’m so glad you made it’ and invites ME!? into his dressing room.

I look at Emily, who somehow understands just how big a deal this was to me and grants me, sternly, ‘10 minutes!!’

Inside his dressing room, he towels the sweat from [his] head, takes out a guitar, pulls up a chair and starts singing ME a song.

The 13-year old girl in me dreamt about this moment for years and now it was right in front of me. My very own little concert with Peter.

‘2 minutes!’ An announcement comes up on a loud speaker, but the perfect amount of time for him to put down his guitar, change his shirt, tell me that I was a very special person (something about my aura), asks me to write down my address in a small book AND then………

He DIPS me, yes, like a dance dip, asks me permission and then kisses ME chastely on my cheek!

The door opens, Emily is now [tapping] her feet and thwarting off flirtatious talk by Davy Jones (with something I remember as subtle as ‘FUCK OFF!’)

‘You’re done!’ She tells me sternly.

I was, forever. Forever change, just like Marcia Brady was when Davy Jones kissed her on her cheek.

The whole ride home we laughed at the idea that we were ‘groupies’ and I tried to downplay to her how UNBELIEVABLE and SUREAL the whole moment was. Like I had manifested a dream.

Later that night, back with other people my own age, back to what we all deemed very important…shots and dancing, I was still reliving every moment of what happened that magical day, wishing I had a phone to call Lara (she’d never believe it) or that that there was a special Monkees hotline that I could call to discuss ‘my feelings.’

‘What is that!?’ My friend Chudney asked me mid dance to Franki Valli’s Oh What A Night, pointing to a small foam ball peeking perfectly outside the middle of my bra. I looked down, reached in and just started laughing.

Peter’s microphone fob (or whatever the furry thing is at the tip of the microphone) must have fallen into my shirt during our torrid dip.

This was sure to go into the Smithsonian of my life.

Months later, when I returned back to earth, I received a three page letter from Peter Tork (remember, he asked me for my address before the dip) which was just beautiful, poetry mixed with kindness, which is how I choose to this day to describe him as a human.

Yes I was 22 and he was 52, yes this moment would be fully frowned upon today, but it was my moment, willingly and open heartedly. I willed myself backstage and into that dressing room and I’m grateful for that his real sweetness and this (I’m hoping you find benign and funny) story.

Yesterday when I heard of Peter’s passing, I danced with my daughter (even dipped her a few times) and then expressed gratitude to Peter and The Monkees for keeping me innocent, for keeping me weird and for keeping me alive with possibilities of real love – the kind you get from a song, or a glance or a sweet cheek kiss.” - Mary Giuliani, thriveglobal dot com, February 2019

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somebirdortheother · 8 months

Note

Hello my beloved Birdy. I have returned. I've considered not sending you any other message because, well… I thought I was getting on your nerves, quite frankly. But tonight, as I was watching episode 8, I realised that if you weren't madly in love with my commentaries, you would simply delete them and block me! So here we are again, in the pit of madness.

I want to point out right off the gates that I'm still very crossed with you. Hari is still done for, and now they took Salvor as well. This isn't what I signed up for.

Demerzel? Pulling the strings in the shadows? Who would have thought?! But seriously, I find it incredibly funny that Dominion can restore memories. What CAN'T they do?

Mother Magic is an absolute bitch. Sorry. I've said the word. And Gaal is really disappointing me so far. She's smarter than that. She should know better. The moment she knew that Hari was dead, she should've ran for the hills with Salvor.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Hober Mallow is such a King for this. The lack of respect. This is so funny. They really didn't see that one coming, did they?! Also Cleon should've stayed under Demerzel. Honestly, if i'm under Demerzel… I'm staying there.

BEKI WAS SUCH A GOOD GIRL SHE DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE. I'm getting really tired of having my heart be broken. There's nothing much left of it.

What I love so much about Day, every Day, is how stupidly dumb they can be sometimes. Going to Terminus… Right… This is such a brilliant plan my dude. Not at all completely stupid. And of course, if the woman whose entirely family you had assassinated (and who KNOWS about it) is encouraging you to go, of course you should.

Day: keep my bride-to-be safe Dawn: don't ya worry buddy. I'll keep her safe and warm in my bed.

Alright, Salvor is alive. I'm forgiving you a little bit.

You know, I wonder how the Haris would interact with each other. Vault!Hari is very cold, hard and detached. He feels like a program. He reminds me of the Architect in Matrix Reloaded, actually. Drown!Hari feels far more human, Would they see each other as brothers, or would they fatally end up hating each other, for wanting to claim sole ownership of OG!Hari's heritage. At least Vault!Hari took pretty well the fact that he was the left hand lol

Poly and Empire are both wrong. Demerzel, too, saw both of Seldon's crises.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. My brain isn't built to endure slightly off chronology without at least a bit of a warning. I'm being mindfucked and they're not even giving me a head's up beforehand. How unkind. Speaking of, Constant is just... super horny. I get it, being close to death can be an aphrodisiac. But good grief, pick your moment!

I CALLED IT!!! I CALLED IT!!!!!!!! I KNEW IT! I'm so freaking brilliant. I'm so stupid but also so smart!!!!!!! Mother Magic is a goddamn nutjob. She's bloody insane. BUT I CALLED IT.

Goddamn it. I called it too. Demerzel was in charge the whole time. Psychohistory is for suckers, I should start my own cult.

6/10 : some parts dragged on, and it felt like a filler episode at times, but I love to be vindicted. Also, even though my heart is still broken in a billion pieces due to Hari's, and now Beki's death, I'm very fond of you, so consider your debt forgiven.

FNG

Hello, dear FNG! Your Foundation watches and episode reviews always delight me!

Before I go any further, I do want to point to this post of mine - I took several hours today to rewatch episodes 5-8 ONLY for the Ignis (drown!Hari, Gaal, Salvor) timeline to pick it apart.

Anywho - that’s the timeline I’ll pick first, since - as you may know, it’s really the only one I care for. To your comment to Gaal being disappointing - I’m with you on that BUT if you read the post I link above, my running hypothesis is that the majority of things we “see” on that planet hasn’t actually happened and occurs as a result of mental manipulation either by Tellem or by Gaal. To go a bit further, I happen to think that the timeline becomes “mostly sketchy” after Tellem approaches Gaal aboard the Beggar in Episode 6.

Re: Drown!Hari - honestly - I think the drowner has at least a trick up his soggy sleeve.

Salvor is always the one with the brain cells.

I liked vault!Hari here, and particularly amused that he ditched his commitment to math and his plan in SECONDS after Salvor mentioned that Gaal needs him. Oh, Hari, you old, lovely fool 😌

Day… every Day - yeah he’s clearly hopped up on idiocy, steroids, and terrible sex with Demerzel - he deserves to go to Terminus and die from tripping over his pants. Or from tetanus.

Demerzel RUNNING THINGS? Quelle surprise!!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Yeah I was also really upset by Beki’s death. You just don’t kill the pet on a tv show what the fuck 😩

Constant… Hober - I know other Foundation fans will hate me for this but - they have zero chemistry and I find Constant’s awkwardness off putting but to each their own.

MOVING ON TO YOUR FINAL SCORING:

Oh, I’d actually rate this one higher than 6, but possibly because I’m a sucker for “connecting the timelines” using that “vault!Hari scribbles Hober Mallow on the wall because he’s copying Gaal’s homework” trick. It amused me enough to automatically bump up the score to 8.

Nevertheless, I respect your honest review, as always 🫡🫡🫡🫡

Bonne nuit!

P.S. drown!Hari is bloody hilarious. I call him meat!Hari and Rat!Hari. Adding this one to the list.

#fng foundation watch #foundation spoilers #foundation #foundation season 2 #Hari seldon #Gaal dornick #salvor Hardin

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dreaming-of-mossballs · 10 months

Text

Bamboo for a Bashful Captain - (Gepard x Reader) - Chapter 3

Summary: Gepard gives you a tour of the city (although it’s more like you’re dragging him along.)

▸ Genre(s): Fluff, a sprinkling of angst

▸ Word Count: 15k in total, 2.9k for this Chapter

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: Food mention, possible ooc, reader is shorter than Gepard and slightly fem coded, explicit pronouns aren’t used but Serval calls you a doll,

A/N: I took most of my rules for writing dialogue from some random Wings Of Fire I had on my desk. It’s been so many years since I’ve read it.

MASTERLIST (also link to series)

The sun was high in the sky the next day when you met Gepard in front of the Everwinter Monument.

He was hard to miss, really. The light reflected off every possible inch of his uniform. When you turned to face him, you had to shield your eyes with a gasp.

Oh, this man was too brilliant for everyday life.

“I hope you weren't waiting too long,” he said gently, blonde strands of hair waving in the breeze.

“Not at all! I was just taking my time admiring the monument.” You gazed back up at the incredible sculpture. “That’s not real ice… is it? I feel stupid for asking,” You murmured.

“Not exactly. It does look remarkably realistic, though. It was made as a tribute to Plamya, one of the many great architects of this city,”

“What did she do?” You looked at him, feeling intrigued but slightly uneducated.

“She's the one who led the charge in constructing the citadel in order to protect the city from the eternal freeze,” he responded, gazing up at the structure.

“I can't believe one woman spearheaded that entire operation!” you commented. “You sure know a lot about the history of Belobog, Gepard,”

“You could say that. Now, why don't we get going? There’s a lot to see in Belobog’s administrative district,”

———

To say there was “a lot to see” in the Administrative District was the understatement of the century.

It was everything you had imagined it to be, pieced together from stories told by your upperclassmen, and more. Your first decision was to stop at various newspaper stands, ecstatically flipping through half of the available merchandise.

There was so much to read up here! In the Underworld, the same 30 books were cycled between people over and over again. Most of them were medical records kept by Natasha, too.

Gepard made sure to point out important buildings and historic facts to you as you walked. You had no idea there was so much history to the place! You started bouncing down the street so excitedly, he had to pull you out of the way of an oncoming street car.

Next, you made sure to peer through the windows of all of the shops. At one particular clothing store, you bent down to get a closer look at the stitchwork on the pieces. There was not a seam to be found. Your guide noticed you staring particularly hard at a certain item of clothing.

“Is there anything that piqued your interest?” Gepard inquired. You sighed, scrunching your face up.

“Well, yes, but I'd rather not spend recklessly right now. I don't want to look like an upstart,” you scoffed. You stared at the article a little longer before turning away and standing up.

“That’s understandable.” He folded his arms and nodded. He took a step back to get a better look at the display window that belonged to the boutique you were so curious about.

After successfully making every shop owner in a 3-block radius uncomfortable, you decided to check out the famous theater in the area. The building was more elegant than anything you had ever seen in your life, with square columns were detailed down to the centimeter. You figured a single chunk would fetch a pretty decent price. You did still have your old mining pickaxe—,

You squished your face with your hands suddenly to dispel your unholy thoughts. A confused expression flickered across Gepard’s face, but he thought nothing of it. He merely wasn’t accustomed to seeing people this excited, especially when he was present.

You decided to write down a reminder to buy tickets for your next day off.

By noon, you were ridiculously parched from scurrying around the city. You spotted your savior, a friendly vending machine, resting by the stone wall of the lower level of the city. You enthusiastically punched in the numbers for a Jim Roger Bread Soda, asking Gepard if he would like one too.

“Soda? I’ve only had the pleasure of trying it once,” he responded,

“Ah, I see. We used to drink it a lot when the water wasn't safe,” you reminisced, meeting his gaze. “I wasn't sure if you guys indulged in that type of thing up here,”

“It wouldn't hurt to expand my view on beverages, I suppose.” He rested a hand on his chin thoughtfully.

You fed some more coins into the machine, and out popped a differently shaped bottle. It was rather small, especially for someone with hands like Gepard’s.

“The carbonation in this one is a little weaker, so maybe you'll like it better. Who knows?” You said with a grin, handing it to him.

When he inspected the label, it read, “Strawberry Svarog”, complete with a curly straw and a cartoon of a laughing child. He deduced it must have been a children’s soda, popping the cap off and tilting his head back, but you stopped him before the bottle reached his lips.

“Nuh uh,” you shook your head disapprovingly. “You’ve gotta use the straw, or else you won't get the full experience!”

He looked at you quizzically. “Do I really have to?”

You pursed your lips at him. He sighed, tearing open the straw and taking a sip. You had to admit, he did look a little silly, with a serious look on his face and his nose all scrunched up. Stifling a giggle, you screwed the cap off your own soda.

“How is it?” You asked. “I don't think I've ever had that flavor before— Strawberry Svarog? I wonder what he would think if he found out he was being used as a marketing gimmick,” you snickered.

What on Jarilo-VI is a strawberry? Gepard wondered.

“Not too shabby. Here, try some.” He held it out to you, but instead of taking it in your hands to drink, you leaned forward and took a sip while he was still holding it.

The background chatter around you seemed to cease slightly.

“I agree! A little on the lukewarm side, but—,”

Mortified, you realized what you had done.

“Shoot—! I'm s-sorry. Must be gardener’s reflexes or something! I guess I thought I still had dirt on my hands or something… hahaha,” you trailed off.

Your face felt like it was burning as you flailed your arms about, so you spun around quickly to prevent him from seeing your frazzled expression.

And it was a good thing you did, too, or else you would have seen his.

The soldier next to you resembled more so a “strawberry” than a man. His eyes darted around wildly as he turned the other way to give you some privacy, his hands falling to his side.

“W-well, no matter.” He coughed. “Why don't we stop and get something to eat as well? You must be famished,”

“Yeah… definitely,”

———

Gepard took you to the cafe by Serval’s workshop, where she and Molly would often stop by on their lunch breaks. You grabbed a croquette sandwich, and him, a muffin. You sat down at the metal tables outside and began to enjoy your food.

The guard made a noticeable clanking noise as he sat down. He was almost a head taller than you. It was a little embarrassing, frankly.

“So, Gepard, do you always wear your uniform when you're out and about?” You questioned.

“I do, yes.” He nodded.

“It has to be comfortable if you wear it all the time, then,”

Gepard hummed thoughtfully. “Not exactly. But it is required of me, after all.” He took a bite of his muffin.

You reached across the table and grasped the arm with the gauntlet, examining it closely.

“Whoa! It’s really warm!” You exclaimed, turning his hand over so his palm faced upwards. You curled each of his fingers almost instinctively. “This thing makes you look really tough, you know?” You added.

Gepard could have died right then and there, and he would have been happy.

“R-really? You think so?” He closed his eyes bashfully.

You hummed in response, still focused on his handguard.

Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen anyone around here that looks remotely close to him, you wondered. I figured there would be more, since he's a soldier and all,

You took a bite of your food, determined to remain unbothered. Gepard finished his muffin quickly, so you offered him half your sandwich in your usual generous fashion.

As you finished up, a commotion coming from the center of the plaza drew your attention. A crowd of around forty people had gathered by the monument, clapping their hands to a steady beat. They seemed to be arranged in a circle surrounding someone.

Your face lit up as you heard the tones of an instrument beneath the chatter of people. The metal chair, which you had been sitting in previously, was pushed away with a screech as you got up.

Gepard reached out a hand to you as you sprinted towards the throes of people, but faltered and let out a defeated sigh. He gave in and rose to join you instead.

When you reached the center of the square, you spotted the musician you often saw practicing outside the shop, strumming her guitar as people smiled around her. (Although the only reason you knew of her was because Vaska had a huge crush on her and would NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT IT. “Ooh, (Y/N), do you think she likes reading? Do you think she likes Tale of the Winterlands???” It was actually kind of sweet, though.)

According to your sheepish co-worker, it was “just a passing fancy”. This “passing fancy” had been going on for about two months.

I wonder if I should take a video to send to her, you wondered with an amused smile.

You began to tap your foot in sync with the downbeats of the song. You were taken aback by just how quickly the music ensnared you in its hold. It filled you with energy that coursed through your veins.

And it seemed like you weren't the only one, either. Several people in the crowd began to dance, children and couples alike twirling hand-in-hand. You feel a grin start to form on your face, and decided that now would be a great time to join the fray.

You leapt into the center, right next to the musician, who gave you a wink. You swayed on your feet with the strums of the guitar, your dress whirling. You kicked your legs into the air, mirroring the person across from you with a giggle.

Meanwhile, Gepard was politely making his way towards the front of the crowd.

“Excuse me, apologies, coming through,” he muttered while tapping on people’s shoulders. The crowd parted when they spotted him coming.

He strained his neck to look into the mass of dancers, spotting you at the center, dipping your arms and spinning on your feet with another girl your age.

You caught a glimpse of Gepard’s iconic uniform in your line of sight, and immediately waltzed over to him in a rather dramatic fashion.

You ran your fingers down his forearms lightly, and then interlaced your hands with his, yanking him backwards with all your might into the dancers. He yelped as he stumbled into your arms. For someone built like a tank, he sure came unbalanced easily.

“Wait— ah, h-hold on, I don't know how to dance—,” Gepard stammered, glancing down at you.

“That's fine, just hold on to me!” You winked at him, pulling him closer so he couldn't back out. You rested a hand on his shoulder, and wrapped the other around his gauntlet. You shuffled him into a silly looking box step, something that would resemble a dance a family might have in the kitchen.

Gepard’s breath was much heavier than usual, especially because he was in such close proximity to you. Your chests were pressed together, in order to take up the least amount of space as other people spun past you.

His eyes were wide with surprise as you raised his arm and twirled under it. It took all of his concentration to keep his hands from shaking. He was worried about gripping you too tightly or too loosely, as one wrong move from a guard like him could squish you.

He tried to dispel his worries, and instead focused on you. You were as radiant as the sun, with a smile brighter than the Belobog snow.

You two wove through the crowd, stepping rowdily with the upbeat music, and he tried his best to keep up. Gepard felt his cheeks warming while you stared into his eyes, an elated expression paining your features. Unfortunately, it was cut short though. You stepped on your own foot and sent you both tumbling onto the pavement, the clatter of his armor dimming the laughter of children for a split second.

The crowd stepped out of the way as you rolled on the stone ground, limbs tangling together.

You burst into raucous laughter as you sat up, holding your stomach because it hurt so much and wiping tears from your eyes. Gepard was engaged in breathy laughter of his own. He looked just like a prince when he was happy, you realized.

“Wow, that was… incredible,” He coughed.

“I know right? I have the grace and beauty of a warp trotter.” You got up and curtseyed, flaring your jacket for extra impact and offering a hand to him.

“I don't see why that matters as long as you're having fun,” He took your hand and you pulled him up with a grunt.

You noticed the crowd was giving you some strange glances, some of them looking directly at you as they whispered under their breath. You clenched your jaw slightly.

“I guess you're right. On the other hand, you got pretty into it too!” You turned your attention back to him, teasing him with a grin. He wiped his cheek with a distracted look.

Heading out of the crowd, you leaned on his shoulder like a wounded soldier. When you finally escaped, you realized the sun was setting with a start.

“My gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for it to take this long,” you spoke, embarrassed. “I just got super caught up in the moment, s’all,”

“No worries,” He said as he gestured reassuringly. “I enjoyed it. I can't remember the last time I spent some quality time in the city,”

“I guess there's always some fun to be had, even if you've lived here your whole life,” you commented. “Wait! I almost forgot— I wanted to get a picture in front of the monument,” you fished your phone out from your bag.

“Of course,” he said courteously, holding his hand out towards you. You looked at him, puzzled.

“Of us, I mean,”

“Oh, um… sure,” He swallowed a lump in his throat.

“It’s all right if you'd rather not,” you yammered, your face beginning to heat up. “It’s just that it's my first time on an outing with a friend! I wanted something to remember it by,”

“It's fine, it’s not an inconvenience or anything,” he blurted out.

You motioned for him to stand in front of the monument next to you and raised your phone up. No matter how hard you tried though, you could never catch more than half of his face in the frame, even on your tippy toes. You grumbled as you kept trying to adjust your position.

He took the phone from you gently, holding it up so it caught you both from above. The shutter clicked and he handed it back to you, and you raised your arms above your head with a cheer.

“It looks great! Thank you so, so much. I’ll send it to you once I get the chance,” you beamed.

“I would enjoy that,” he responded with a soft smile. Fortunately for him, the sunset hid the blush on his face that stubbornly refused to go away.

He walked you back to the florists, shoulder to shoulder. The streets were now quieter, with the trams having stopped for the day, and all that remained outside the shop was a group of kids and their caretakers.

You stopped at the stairs, bowing your head when you turned around.

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” you said gently, rocking from the balls of your feet to your heels.

“My pleasure,” Gepard replied. He placed a hand on his chest and nodded back, just like a gentleman would.

As corny as it seemed, your heart fluttered in your ribcage. Resting a hand on your hip, you used the other one to flick him in the forehead, sending a few strands of golden hair flying. You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

His eyes sprung open, his hand going to his forehead in surprise.

“It’s best you get going,” you said. “Soldiers need their beauty rest, after all. Get home safely!”

He nodded with a silent smile before turning away and starting off towards the direction of Qlipoth Fort. While he was walking, he felt a vibration in his pocket.

His phone had one new notification, which was from you. Gepard opened up the messaging app to see the photo you had taken. You were wearing a goofy grin, and he was bent down with his lips pressed together sheepishly.

Gepard felt something akin to happiness bubbling up from his chest. He looked up into the sky, allowing himself a single second to loosen up, and pumped his fists into his chest. He sauntered towards the estate, humming one of his sister’s songs as he went.

Meanwhile, the kids playing nearby were dumbfounded. A little red-haired girl stopped and pointed at him.

“Mommy, what's that man doing?”

2023 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

#BFABC #Mossball_Writing

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ejacutastic · 1 year

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A Texas man, Marcus Silva, is suing three of his ex-wife’s friends for $1 million each, claiming that by helping her obtain an abortion medication, they engaged in a wrongful death conspiracy. Silva is being represented by Jonathan Mitchell, one of the architects of the SB 8 anti-abortion “bounty hunter” bill.

Text messages revealed from the lawsuit, showing that the woman was afraid Silva would use the pregnancy to force her back into a relationship, seem to confirm activists’ warnings that abortion bans will enable widespread domestic abuse.

The lawsuit describes a nightmare scenario faced by women across the country. The woman in question legally divorced Silva in February 2022. In July, she discovered she was pregnant with a child conceived with Silva. She reached out to friends via text for help.

Text messages from the lawsuit show that the woman was struggling with a crisis. If she kept the baby, her ex-husband would use it to force her back into the relationship she had just escaped. “I know either way he will use it against me,” she wrote.

“If I told him before, which I’m not, he would use it [to] try to stay with me. And after the fact, I know he will try to act like he has some right to the decision. At that point, at least it won’t matter though.”

Her friends texted, “Mistakes happen … You can’t spiral. Hopefully this is the slap in the body that you need to remove yourself from him.”

Further texts seem to indicate that the friends helped her obtain an abortion medication, for which she expressed her gratitude: “[Y]our help means the world to me … I[‘]m so lucky to have y’all. Really … I was stupid to be doing it all. I didn’t think this would happen since it hasn’t in 7 f—— years either. But it’s still on me. I know I f—– up. Not letting that s— happen again.”

Silva and his lawyer, Mitchell, did in fact “use it against” his ex as she feared by suing the friends for obscene amounts of money and claiming that they committed murder.

Under Texas’ extreme and layered anti-abortion laws, domestic abusers, anti-abortion activists and even complete strangers have a full legal arsenal at their disposal to attack abortion rights. People who perform abortion face potential felony charges of up to life in prison and civil penalties of at least $100,000. In addition, SB 8, the “bounty hunter” bill, enables anyone to sue someone for a minimum of $10,000 for performing or facilitating an abortion.

In Silva’s case, he is pursuing a different legal attack, claiming that the abortion is a murder and pursuing wrongful death civil penalties. Silva also intends to add the manufacturer of the medication to the lawsuit, a similar strategy to the lawsuit that may lead to the banning of abortion pills nationwide.

The government of Texas and anti-abortion groups are throwing every possible legal challenge at abortion, hoping to use these cases as testing grounds to unroll new mechanisms for stopping abortion across the country. At the same time, they are exporting their successful anti-abortion strategies — such as “bounty bills” — to be used against drag shows and LGBTQ people.

But activists across the state are not allowing this to go unchallenged.

Dora Orjel, of the San Antonio-based Mujeres Marcharán Coalition, exposed the dangerous ramifications for domestic abuse: “I am trying to wrap my head around where he finds justice in suing those who assisted his wife in getting the means to self-abort. This just shows how much control he had and continues to have over her.”

Rachell Tucker, an organizer with the Party for Socialism and Liberation, spoke out against the decades-long attack and the complacency of the Democrats, and named working-class self-organization as the way to fight back.

The rightwing has been launching an offensive on women for decades, but what’s worse is the Democrats have used our rights to abortion as a bargaining chip. They have refused to defend us. They have refused to codify and have continued to say they have our backs, but have abandoned us at the most crucial moment. They have left us to fend for ourselves. We must get organized, unify and fight — and that’s what we are doing.

For International Women’s Day on March 8, Mujeres Marcharán held a march that drew hundreds into the street to demand an expansion of abortion rights and LGBTQ rights, in addition to safe housing for all and public transportation, issues that affect all working women. In Houston, the PSL organized a women’s self-defense class; and in Dallas, PSL organizers held an event featuring poetry, speeches, live music, vendors and food. The event celebrated women and culture, but sharply connected the political struggles for women’s and LGBTQ liberation.

There is still a difficult struggle ahead, but the entire weight of Texas’ oppressive political and legal system has failed to stop the full range of rage, love, study and self-organization of grassroots, working-class feminists. All across Texas, la lucha sigue (the struggle continues)!

#this shit is horrifying and nauseating but we CAN make it out #and we fucking will #abortion #abuse #domestic abuse #pregnancy

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lez-exclude-men · 1 year

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Hello. So this is a question i'm going to send to multiple radfem blogs. What would you say is a crucially important role women have in society that isn't childbirther/care taker? I've asked this on other sites and it has so far stunned everyone, and i hate the idea that my existence is only valued because i can be used as a broodmare. So i'm looking for any answers other than that. How would society crumble without women?

Uh women are people? We build and create, we're smart and resourceful.

This question is so weird like.

"a crucially important role" - what do you consider "crucially important"? Women are engineers and architects, biologists and artists, craftspeople and artisans. Women can build bridges and dams, create councils and grow food, test soil samples and track the migration of geese. We're capable of performing every crucial role in society.

"Women" - why are you asking this question singling out women? What crucially important role do MEN play in society that can't be done by a woman? Why do we as women need to justify our existence?

"in society" - what is your definition of society? Because, at least in my interpretation of your question, you're conflating advanced modern society with evolutionary "purpose".

You say you hate the idea that your existence is only valued because you can be used as a broodmare. Here's my suggestion: get a gun, then go shoot whoever told you that. Then pursue whichever career or hobby interest you, travel, taste new foods, talk to different people, explore new areas. Your purpose in life is what you want it to be. We have approximately 60-80 years to spend on this earth. Breathe. Drink water. Touch grass. Plant grass. Plant different grass. Maybe plant some flowers. Watch the bees and butterflies pollinate them. Hear the thunder and witness the lightning as a storm waters the grass. Feel the rain on your skin. Marvel in the simple wonders of the world, and take pride in knowing you helped something flourish. Or don't. Do something else, something that has meaning to you, something that inspires you, something that makes you laugh, makes you cry, teaches you something. Ride a horse, write a letter, draft plans for an art museum (ik I've used several engineering examples, I'm just literally in an architectural engineering studio keeping my best friend company while she figures out how to put air ducts in an art museum. Lol)

Society is one of those words that means something slightly different to almost everybody. According to Google one definition is "the aggregate of people living together in a more or less ordered community". I like this one. People just living together, doing things together. You are people, I am people. The amount of structure and order in how we live together can vary, but what matters is that we're together. We love each other, hate each other, feel ambivalent about each other. But we're all here, at the same time. Isn't that marvelous?

Which brings me to how you mentioned the "caretaker" role. Humans are social creatures, we thrive in taking care of each other. I think it is stupid to consider this a gendered thing. Everyone interacts with someone, everyone can take care of someone. Many radfems get angry because men to take care of only other men, while women tend to take care of everyone. And sometimes we don't want men to take care of other men because we think some men don't deserve it. We struggle with how society is currently structured, forcing women into a lower class. Most radfems I know combat this in their daily life by uplifting other women, making sure their needs are met. We want to see each other succeed and be healthy and enjoying life. But ultimately, when there are people existing together, no matter if they're men or women, there will be society, and someone will be taking care of someone else. Men are caretakers too. Humans are caretakers, because that's what being a social creature is.

On that note, what does your community directly around you need? What struggles and issues are your neighbors facing? If you're struggling for purpose, this is another good place to start. How can you make life better not just for yourself, but for your neighbors too? Talk to people outside of the internet, get to know their struggles and passions, needs and wants. Share your own. Find out what matters to you and your neighbors, and what you can do towards that goal or issue.

"How would society crumble without women?" How would society crumble without men? Would society crumble without men? Does it matter?

We can spend hours coming up with imaginary situations and philosophizing. And perhaps there is some value in that. But right now, my best friend wants my opinion on which floorplan incorporates air ducts in the most tasteful way without disrupting the utility of the museum's main room. So I'm going to go participate in society by offering her my opinion, and I hope you find some purpose, however big or small, in your part of society as well.

#lezpost #radfem #answered #ask #anon #feminism

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warbarbie · 2 years

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Well Rivamika fam, I'm finally taking the plunge and posting one of my rivamika fics. Please be gentle, this is the first time I've ever put anything I've written out into the world >.<

@a-slut-for-smut, here it is!

Lock Step

"It wasn't that the argument had been particularly vicious; they had had far worse ones early in their relationship. It was that it had happened at all."

Rated E

Modern AU/ Established Couple/ Sexual Content

It wasn't that the argument had been particularly vicious; they had had far worse ones early in their relationship. It was that it had happened at all.

Five years together, four of them married, had led to Levi having a firm understanding of his wife; her wants and needs, likes and dislikes. When he had asked her out the first time, he had vowed to do everything in his power to make her happy, and had set out with a single mind to fulfill that promise.

He learned everything he could about her in their first year, from her favorite foods to how she best liked to relax after a long day. When he learned she had been touch starved most of her life, he strove everyday to remedy that, communicating to her his love and devotion through gentle touches and idle caresses. He held her hand when they drove somewhere or placed his hand on her lower back when they found themselves in large crowds that she detested so much. After four years of marriage, he knew her, inside and out.

He also worked hard to give her anything she could possibly want. Only the finest clothes filled her closet, the highest end workout clothing and intimates filled her dresser drawers. When she had asked him for a new rice maker, he bought her the best model, with no regard for the price tag. When she had asked him for a new car, he got her the one she had always dreamed of, complete with all the add-ons she wanted. When she had asked him to support her new business, a private gym, he had sat for hours with their banker to make it happen.

So when he had heard her grumbling about the lack of counter space as they had made dinner together one night, he had pulled her to him, his arms tight around her waist as he pushed his nose into the soft strands of her raven hair and whisper in her ear, “Let's remodel the kitchen.”

Mikasa had been delighted. She happily chatted away about all the things she would fix and the stupidity of the former owner of their house in placing the sink so close to the stove, but so far from the refrigerator, and a myriad of other issues that Levi had never noticed. He had listened intently, though to a third party it looked as though he wasn’t listening at all, and had basked in her happiness as the stupid primal part of his brain praised him on making his woman happy and being a good provider.

The sex that night had been more vigorous then usual.

So Levi set out to make the whole process as easy for Mikasa as he could. He found a highly regarded architect to help them design the space, and lined up the best contractor to do the work. Things had started without a hitch, the first meeting with the architect had been productive, though in the follow up design reveal he had immediately picked up on Mikasa’s silent displeasure with certain liberty's the architect took. It was an easy fix, and as Levi pointed out the first obvious thing he knew she didn’t like, she found her own voice and took over. On the car ride home, he made sure to reassure her that if she didn’t like the architect, they would find another. It ultimately proved to be unnecessary, as the third meeting produced a plan she loved, the addition of a large walk-in pantry and a breakfast nook with a picture window that looked out on her garden in the backyard surprised and delighted her. Levi happily signed the check.

Plans in hand, they started with picking out the new appliances, and as usual, they were in complete lock step with one another. They had similar tastes and one swipe of his credit card later, they were off to dinner, Mikasa positively glowing with happiness, Levi silently preening at his accomplishment.

The first sign that they weren't as completely in sync as he thought came when they went to pick out the new cabinets. Levi was positive Mikasa would have the same vision as he did and go with a clean, modern, flat front in gray..

He was spectacularly wrong.

She had immediately picked cherry wood cabinets. Levi protested in his usual blunt way, saying that it would make the kitchen too dark and she needed to pick something else, and that was his first mistake. Mikasa’s eyes had narrowed, her shoulders going rigid, and Levi immediately recognized the storm he had summoned. He had no time to amend his choice of words and tone before Mikasa’s stubbornness set in and she refused to budge. He had ultimately given in after trying in vain to restate his concerns, and though she left the victor, the drive home was silent, as was most of dinner. As he slid into bed next to her that night, he had whispered an apology that she acknowledged with a short hum, before rolling to the far side of the bed and refusing his touch.

Levi slept worse than usual that night. He made her favorite breakfast the next morning, to attempt to communicate his remorse, and though she accepted and no longer gave him the silent treatment, there was a strange energy between them that hadn't been there in years. It took Levi a day to place it, but it was the same feeling that they had encountered early in their military years, before they began their courtship, when they had been learning to read each other, and arguments had broken out frequently. Mikasa could be as non-verbal with her needs as he could and when she was angry with him, but unwilling to articulate it, she opted to give him the cold shoulder. It was a bad habit she had worked on in their years together, but one she still fell back on when she was particularly upset. That knowledge set Levi on edge.

Then they made the trip to the stone yard to pick their countertops, and it was like they were complete strangers. Levi picked a cream toned quartz. Mikasa picked a black granite. Grasping for a middle ground Levi suggested a bluish slate for the backsplash. Mikasa wanted travertine. She attempted to bridge the divide by suggesting the slate for the floor. Levi said he wanted hardwood.

It was like they didn’t know each other at all, and it knocked Levi’s feet out from under him. Then he made his second mistake; he had said that they should pick his countertop because she won with the cabinets. A fatal choice of words, because now it was a competition. Levi against Mikasa, instead of Levi and Mikasa against the world. Her eyes had clouded over, her whole expression growing stormy.

Then she left.

Levi stood, his heart in shreds, mind whirling, absolutely kicking himself as he watched her back retreating. The attendant with them nodded in sympathy, stating this always happened when couples came. Levi’s glare could have withered an oak tree. Because this may happen with other couples, but not him and Mikasa. They were solid. Or so he thought.

He found her waiting by the car. She refused to look at him, her voice low and devoid of emotion as she told him to take her to the house. Not take her home, but to “the house”. Her choice of words was not lost on Levi.

On the ride back, he tried to take her hand. She pulled away, pressing herself against her door. Levi’s heart ripped. The silence in the car was deafening.

It was nearing dinner time when they arrived home, but Mikasa retreated to their home gym, and the rhythmic cadence of her feet on the treadmill was the only sound in the house. At a loss of what to do, Levi started cleaning. He started in the living room; dusting, disinfecting, vacuuming, trying to work through what was happening between them. He moved to the laundry room, reorganizing the shelf that held the cleaning supplies, cleaning out the washer and mopping. As he was emptying the dirty mop water in the utility sink, he heard Mikasa come out of the gym. She was breathing heavily, and he instantly knew she had pushed herself too hard for too long.

He moved to intercept her in the kitchen, but stopped just outside the laundry room; What if he said the wrong thing again? He was always shit with words, what if he inadvertently pushed her further away, instead of fixing what was happening? Five years and he suddenly felt like he was living with a stranger, not the woman who held his heart so tenderly, who understood him like no other. Indecision kept him rooted in place as he listened to her shuffle through the fridge and their small pantry. She eventually sighed and left the kitchen, and as she passed the hall Levi stood in, unaware or uncaring of his presence, he saw she was empty handed. And that was something he could fix.

He waited till he heard their bedroom door close before springing to action. He knew her, despite whatever this hiccup was, and knew she would draw herself a bath, soaking away her muscle fatigue and tangled emotions. That gave him exactly thirty five minutes until she was out of the bath. He sprinted to his car, pulling out of their driveway at a breakneck speed as he called her favorite ramen restaurant and ordered her favorite for take out.

He made it there and back in record speed. Food always mellowed her out. Eight times out of ten, when she was upset, it’s because she was hungry. Her high metabolism burned through everything she ate and she was terrible about feeding herself, so Levi reasoned with some food in her, she’d be more amicable. He arranged the food on a tray and carried it up to the bedroom. She was still in the bathroom when he entered, though he heard the bathwater sloshing, heralding her imminent entrance. Levi placed the tray at the foot of the bed and retreated back to the living room.

He knew her. He knew she needed space.

Levi threw himself into cleaning. Wiping away any doubts he had along with any dirt. He knew her. He knew her and she knew him. This was a minor bump, nothing more.

It was after midnight when he was finally satisfied. He found the tray of food he left in the hall outside their bedroom door, the bowl thankfully empty. Satisfied that he had fulfilled this one facet of his responsibility, Levi quickly returned the tray to the kitchen, throwing out the takeout bowl, before pausing in the entryway as he made to exit.

When they had bought the house, Levi knew they would eventually redo the kitchen, as it didn’t fit either of their needs or tastes. Tastes Levi thought he knew, until this week. But as he gazed around, he could see the end result and something swelled inside him. He could see the cherry wood cabinets with the black granite tops and how good it would look, the natural light from the windows and the new picture window keeping the space well lit and creating a warming effect, not the dark one he was worried about. He could see how the slate backsplash would compliment the granite and how the red tones in the cabinets would bring out the golden tones in the hardwood floors. And he could see how it would be a perfect blending of their personalities, Mikasa's brashness tempered by Levi’s steadiness, his coldness melted by her warmth, and their quiet comfort in each other on display for all who cared to look.

They had always been two sides of the same coin, always moving together in a rhythm that others couldn’t comprehend, but were deeply jealous of. She had seen all his flaws, all his failures and missteps, his shitty way of expressing himself, and she loved him deeply in spite of it. He saw through the veil of her composure, saw the lost and hurting woman beneath who lashed out in fury at the cruelty of the world. The little girl that lost and found a family, but would always be deeply insecure about her place in it, and he loved her, asked her to be his family, to stay with him. And she had.

Overwhelmed by the sudden epiphany, Levi felt like a fool for letting something as small as who picked what, ever cause him to doubt his understanding of his wife. She had picked him, across time and space, every action and reaction in their lives bringing them together in a way that could only be described as fate. Levi briefly remembered a game night they had hosted with all their former comrades and close family, and the gentle smile on Mikasa’s face when Armin had talked about the theory of alternate timelines. She had asked him later, as they layed in bed, her head on his chest, if he thought they would ever meet and fall in love in a different timeline. Levi hadn't know how to answer her then, so he quietly pressed a kiss to her forehead and that was enough for her. But he knew the answer now: Yes they would. In every time, they would find each other.

Breathless in his revelation, Levi left the kitchen, returning quietly to the bedroom. Inside it was dark, a shadowed lump on Mikasa’s side of the bed telling him she was asleep already. He quietly slipped into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before returning to the bed and slipping beneath the sheets. He gently pulled Mikasa’s back to his chest, and in her sleep she didn’t resist. He brushed her hair back from her face, and neck before placing a line of feather light kisses from her temple, down her cheek to her jaw, before traversing the sensitive skin of her throat to her collarbones. Mikasa stirred slightly as he pressed another line of kisses back up her neck to the tender spot at the corner of her jaw, just beneath her ear. Ghosting his lips over the shell of her ear, he whispered the only words that needed to be spoken, words he didn’t say to her often enough, “I love you.” He would apologize and reinforce his words with his touch, as he was always better at expressing himself through action.

Mikasa gave a quiet sigh of contentment, now half awake as he continued to do what he did best, and worship her body. From her jaw, he worked his way slowly down her neck once more, taking his time with each press of his lips. His left hand slid slowly up and down her arm as his right arm supported his weight as well as her neck. Once his lips reached the base of her neck, he continued upward toward her shoulder, before pulling back slightly to trace a path back along her shoulder blades and upper back till he reached the nape of her neck, drawing sleepy sighs and satisfied hums from the woman beneath him. She shifted slightly, pressing her shoulder into his chest and opening more of her chest to him. Levi smiled at the invitation, slowly dragging his hand from her elbow to tease a path across her lower abs before sliding under her shirt and slowly working his way upward, teasing and tickling as he went, savoring each jump and clench of her defined abs, his lips never ceasing their wandering across the smooth contours of her neck and shoulder.

After what felt like hours but was likely a handful of seconds, his hand finally reached its destination, and he felt as much as he heard the low moan he pulled from Mikasa as he gently cupped her heavy breast. She arced against him, pressing her ample breast further into his hand as she ground her ass against his growing erection. Levi worked the supple flesh, squeezing lightly before pinching and rolling her nipple between his thumb and first finger. Mikasa moaned, her head tipping back, giving Levi more of an opening, which he took full advantage of, grazing his teeth along the sensitive flesh at the junction of her neck and shoulder, before sinking his teeth in and applying a firm suction. He maintained that suction, even as Mikasa gasped and rocked her ass against him, her warm breast and hard nipple still caught in his hand. He pinched harder, tugging on her nipple and increasing the pressure from his teeth and tongue, drawing her taught between the two points of pressure until she let out a low whine at the stimulation. He released her with a quiet pop, silently admiring the deep purple mark he left behind on her neck, before pressing a kiss to her jaw, and lightening the pressure used on her nipple.

Sliding out from behind her, Levi re-positioned so he was hovering over her, his hips between her thighs, his cock pressing against her clothed slit. Mikasa, still half asleep, ran her hands down his toned torso, her nails leaving a light trail, until she reached his hips. He smiled as she briefly groped around, eyes still shut, before a lazy smile spread across her face at her discovery that he was completely naked. He shifted forward, pressing a heated kiss to her jaw, that shifted to another brushing bit as she wrapped her hand around his cock. Levi hissed through his teeth, indulging in the warmth of her grip and allowed himself to rock against her palm, his teeth sinking into her neck to mark her again, groaning when she tightened her hold on him in response.

He would gladly continue this, slowly working himself against her hand until he painted her defined abs with his cum, but he had other plans for tonight, plans that included slowly taking her apart until she screamed his name in the throes of an intense orgasm. He gently pulled away, his hands running down her arms to circle her wrists, drawing her hands over her head and pressing them firmly against her pillow in a clear message he knew she would understand: These stay here. Mikasa moaned, shifting her hips to rock against him, but kept her hands above her head, crossed at the wrist. He pressed another heated kiss to the thus far neglected side of her neck, sucking gently as his hands moved to her hips once more, thumbs circling her jutting hip bones in praise, his actions telling her what a good girl you are. Mikasa preened, rocking her hips against him again, and pulling her plump lower lip between her teeth in the alluring way she knew he liked, her eyes finally cracking open to meet him.

In the low light filtering into the room, Levi could just make out in her eyes the trust she had in him, as she willingly surrendered. Levi's breath caught as an intense wave of love for her, coupled with the euphoria he had experienced earlier swept through him, and he knew, as surely as he did the day he realized he was in love with her, he would do absolutely anything for her. Outside it began to rain, the gentle sound a soothing backdrop to the silence in their room. Levi smiled as Mikasa hummed in pleasure; she loved the rain.

Levi slowly ran his hands up her sides, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her tank top, his thumbs catching the hem, and guided it up her body, as she arched her back, then rolled her shoulders forward, her abs flexing in the most delicious way, to help him remove it completely. He paused when he reached her wrists, cocking his head as he considered using her shirt to tie her wrists to the headboard. Mikasa blushed heavily at the implication, and though it was far from the wildest thing they’d done in the bedroom, she still tended to get shy when she was completely at his mercy. Levi heavily suspected it was because of the one time he tied her up then recorded her as he had his way with her. The thought of that video, safely hidden behind a password protected and heavily encrypted file on his personal computer, made his cock jump with anticipation. Mikasa noticed and swallowed heavily, the sudden tension and apprehension in her body confirming his suspicions.

Levi smiled at her, leaning down to press a soft kiss of reassurance to her forehead as he finished pulling her shirt free. Maybe some other night he might revisit that scenario, but tonight he was more intent on reaffirming their connection and apologizing in the only way he was good at. He began to kiss his way down her face and neck once more and all the tension in her body melted away. When he reached her collarbones, he nipped and teased the skin here, his hands dancing along her ribs, making her jump and squirm, a low whine leaving her as she tried to move her ticklish sides away from him while trying to force his hands where she wanted them, still obediently keeping her wrists above her head.

Levi was a fair man; he believed in rewarding good behavior, and Mikasa was being unusually obedient tonight. Normally she would fight him for control or dominate him, and when she was submissive, she was a brat, all but forcing him to hold her down when he fucked her. But she was pliant in his hands tonight, perhaps wanting just as much as he did to reconnect and re-establish their partnership. His mind briefly flicked back to the stone yard and his insinuation that they were in against each other that had obviously wounded her, and he frowned. He pulled back, hands stilling, and looked at her in those beautiful gray eyes that so easily disarmed him years ago, before he kissed her fully, their lips taking up the familiar dance with one another. Levi poured all his frustration, confusion, fear, love and remorse into the kiss, and as Mikasa opened her mouth for him and swept her tongue to meet his, he tasted all of her confusion, apprehension, longing, and fear. He should have known that this sudden loss of footing would affect her far more than she showed. If there was one thing that Levi had learned early in their relationship, it was that Mikasa’s emotions ran far deeper than she revealed.

Intent on brushing aside the feeling of drifting they both felt the last few days, Levi snaked his arms around her waist, and pressed his nose to her neck, pulling her into a fierce hug that she returned with just as much force, arms tight around his neck. He breathed in her familiar scent, jasmine, lavender, vanilla, and something else, something that was distinctly her, that he could pick out anywhere, but could only describe as Mikasa, and felt his soul center, his previously bruised heart heal and he didn’t try to stop the tears that leaked from the corner of his eye, because she was his everything, his better half, and he was here with her, safe. He held her as she shuddered in relief, her own tears damping his skin as the rain fell steadily and for a brief moment their prior fire cooled. Then Mikasa shifted, unintentionally rubbing her hips against his still hard erection, and the heat roared back to life.

Levi gently dislodged her arms from his neck and guided her wrists back above her head, squeezing them to remind her, before he lowered his head to her neck, nipping at her collarbone, before he trailed his lips lower, sucking a light mark into the top of her right breast, before he took her hardened nipple into his mouth. His right hand gripped her left breast, teasing, tugging and rolling her other nipple, as Mikasa arched off the bed with a loud gasp that faded into a moan. The room was filled with the sound of his wife’s pleasured moans, with the increasing rainfall filling the silence in between. Mikasa rocked her hips against him again, the cloth of her shorts dragging tauntingly against the underside of his cock, but Levi refused to give into her bait. He intended to make sure she knew how sorry he was, and that they were as in sync as they always had been. He switched breasts, lavishing attention on the neglected one, as his hands switched to insure she didn't feel bereft of his attention. He began to use his teeth, lightly grazing at first, before moving on to more forceful nips, her gasping and increasing moans the sweetest symphony to his ears. As he switched sides again, Mikasa’s hands dropped to the back of his head, pushing his mouth more firmly against her, and Levi reacted immediately, biting down on her nipple just shy of pain, as he caught her wrists once more and firmly pressed them into the pillow over her head. She gasped, rocking her hips against him, obviously enjoying the rougher treatment and Levi intended to deliver. He held her wrists down, his free hand alternating between her breast to tug and pinch hard on her straining nipples, denying her his mouth as he watched her writhe and arc against his hold.

He continued his rough treatment until he saw her starting to shy from his touch, her nipples getting overly sensitive from the abuse. Then he squeezed her wrists hard, reminding her of their place before releasing them so he could use both hands to pull her shorts and panties off. She lifted her hips to accommodate, and Levi was hit with the sticky sweet scent of her arousal. One glance at her soaked through panties told him he was doing an excellent job. He leaned forward, careful to avoid brushing his straining cock against her, lest he lose himself and ravage her like a beast, and showed her her soaked panties, making sure to rub the crotch together so she could see how absolutely dripping she was. Mikasa moaned, blushing red, but the lust in her eyes, and cocky smirk she gave him told him she wasn’t ashamed of the mess she made and if he wasn’t already turned on, that would have done it.

He wasted no time, tossing her underwear to the floor and repositioning. He was going to make her cum on his fingers before she came on his tongue. Only then would he let her cum on his cock. Knowing she was likely close already, he easily slid two fingers into her dripping wet slit, his thumb finding her clit as his other hand resumed his rough treatment of her reddened nipples. Mikasa keened, her back arching at the triple stimulation and Levi heard the all too familiar sound of tearing fabric and she viciously fisted her pillow, straining to keep her hands where they were supposed to be. After five years of bringing her to her climax, Levi knew when she was close, and looking down at her shaking thighs, taught abs, and eyes screwed shut, he knew exactly how to push her over the edge.

“Such a good girl. Now soak my fingers.”

He punctuated his praise with a hard twist on her nipple, and firm rub of the pad of his thumb on her clit, and Mikasa wailed his name as the tension snapped, her inner walls clamping hard around his fingers. He worked her through her high, his cock throbbing impatiently at being denied her welcoming heat, but he pushed his needs to the side; He wasn’t finished with her yet. When she winced at his circling thumb, he pulled his fingers gently from her and pressed a kiss to her sweat-dampened brow, before repositioning himself between her thighs. He took a moment to admire his wife, blissed out and boneless by his hands, stroking himself a few times, before he laid down before her parted thighs, and licked with the flat of his tongue from her entrance to her clit, earning himself a surprised cry. He repeated the action, getting a strangled moan, before setting to work lapping at her clit, alternating between the tip and flat of his tongue. Mikasa sang beautifully for him, as she always did, her chorus of moans and cries harmonizing with the rain and the lewd slurping sounds he made as he worked her towards another mind shattering orgasm.

As he feasted, her right hand drifted down again to the back of his head, her grip tight as she attempted to guide his mouth, and again Levi retaliated, pulling away to bite the inside of her thigh in a warning. She jerked, hissing in pain, but didn’t remove her hand, so Levi moved to pull back, but her grip tightened exponentially and she held him in place. He glanced up to find her looking down at him, one eyebrow arched imperiously and his cock throbbed. This was the woman he loved, not afraid to take what she wanted, when she wanted it. Levi smirked before diving back in with a fervor, moving his tongue as she dictated until her grip slacked and her thighs began to tremble. Levi shifted, bringing his hand under her thigh and slid his first three fingers as deep into her as he could and curled them to tap against that secret spot, savoring her keening moan. He increased the pace and pressure of his tongue, intent on finishing her and hearing her cry out his name again. It didn't take long, the onslaught of his tongue and the pressure of three of his fingers stretching her drove her over the edge and she keened his name to the heavens as he eagerly drank her.

As she floated down from her high, Levi took a moment to wipe his chin on the sheets and recenter himself. His heart was pounding and his thoughts were getting muddled, and after feeling and tasting Mikasa's tight wet heat, his body was screaming for him to bury himself deep in her and rut mindlessly until he came. Mikasa shifted, lifting her torso and reaching for him, and Levi met her halfway, crashing into her arms. He groaned when the underside of his cock rubbed against her dripping slit, and pushed his face into her neck, breathing in her scent once more to try and regain his composure. Mikasa chuckled softly before easily rolling him to his back and straddling him, her wetness leaving a trail down his cock as she shifted against him. Levi’s hands shot to her hips, intent on lifting her so he could slam her down on his cock, but she swatted his hands away, tuting at him like he was a bad child. She took his wrists and pushed them over his head, squeezing them in the same fashion he had with her and now it was his turn to whine as she denied him the opportunity to touch her while she rode him.

Gripping the headboard, Mikasa slowly dragged her sopping wet slit up and down the underside of his cock in a mirroring of the teasing he had subjected her to. Levi was panting, his fists shaking with the effort it took for him to hold himself back. Mikasa continued her torture, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched him strain. She ran her nails teasingly across his sweat slick abs and down his chest. She leaned forward, trapping his cock between them and shamelessly ground her clit against him, causing Levi to moan at the sensation that was more, but not nearly enough. Her hair fell forward to curtain their faces and Levi couldn’t help himself; he pushed up and kissed her, pouring all his love into it. Mikasa responded in kind, her tongue meeting his and working in tandem, and as they kissed each other senseless, she shifted forward just enough to line the head of his cock up perfectly, before sinking down his length.

Levi moaned shamelessly into her mouth as her tight heat enveloped him, her own moan at his familiar intrusion lost in his mouth. He was shaking with the effort of holding himself back, his heart pounding so hard he was sure she could feel it hammering against her chest. Mikasa broke the kiss to sit up, completely hilting him for a moment before she began to move, drawing him almost completely out, before sinking back down at an agonizingly slow pace that had him panting. She continued to toy with him and though he thought of protesting, he had been tortuously slow with her and turn around was fair play. He instead lost himself in watching her as she rode him, admiring how her body shifted and flexed, how the sweat ran down her chest, and how utterly goddess-like she looked, the faint light in the room ringing her head in a halo as the now heavy rainfall perfectly accompanied her movements. He knew her own needs began to overtake her desire to pay him back, when she shifted forward, resting her hands on his chest as she picked up her pace, her breasts jumping in a way that made his hands itch to touch them. He felt the growing pressure at the base of his spine that heralded his release and bit the inside of his cheek hard in an attempt to hold off. He could tell from the tightening of her walls and the increasingly bruising pace she was setting that she was getting close. Her breasts heaved deliciously in front of his face and he had to grip his own wrist to a punishing degree to keep his hands above his head.

Then Mikasa caved to her body's mindless desire for completion, reaching for his shoulders and gasping for him to touch her, and Levi never moved so fast in his life. Pulling her chest flush against his, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist and rutted up into her as she buried her face in his neck. The friction was enough to drive her to her third orgasm, and she cried out his name as her walls squeezed him in a vice. Levi bit down on her shoulder to stifle his own cry as he followed her over the edge, his cock pumping an obscene amount of cum into her.

As they lay there in the aftermath, hearts slowing, breath evening out, that stupid primal part of Levi’s brain crowed with the knowledge that if she wasn’t on birth control, he absolutely would have impregnated her tonight. Levi ignored it, opting to check on the boneless woman on top of him. He ran his right hand up her back, his left coming up to tangle in her hair and tipped his head to press a tender kiss to her sweaty forehead. She stirred slightly, and quietly hummed letting him know that she was still recovering. He continued to run his hand up and down her back, his other hand massaging her nape gently. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with content and slightly muffled by how her lips pressed against his neck.

“Your eyes.”

He hummed in questioning, not sure what about his eyes she was referring too.

“The slate you picked is the same color as your eyes. I like it.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her head once more.

“The granite you picked is the same color as your hair. I like it.” To anyone else, it was an agreement, a settling of an argument. But Levi knew it for what it really was; their own private way of saying “I love you”

For the first time in months, Levi slept through the night.

#rivamika #levimika #rivamika fanfiction #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #power couple

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the-foolish-scholar · 1 year

Text

The Death Card

The Death card is the 13th card in the Major Arcana of the tarot. It shows the Messenger of Death – a skeleton dressed in black armor, riding a white horse. The skeleton represents the part of the body which survives long after life has left it; the armor symbolizes invincibility and that death will come no matter what. Its dark color is that of mourning and the mysterious, while the horse is the color of purity and acts as a symbol of strength and power. Death carries a black flag decorated with a white, five-petal rose, reflecting beauty, purification, and immortality with the five petals representing change. Together, these symbols reveal that death isn’t just about life ending. Death is about endings and beginnings, birth and rebirth, change and transformation. There is beauty in death, and it is an inherent part of being alive. A royal figure appears to be dead on the ground, while a young woman, child and bishop plead with the skeletal figure to spare them. But, as we all know, death spares no one. In the background, a boat floats down the river, akin to the mythological boats escorting the dead to the afterlife. On the horizon, the sun sets between two towers (which also appear in The Moon Tarot card), in a sense dying each night and being reborn every morning.

I am having a hard time right now. But I am okay, and I know that I’ll be better sooner rather than later. Life has been hectic and for that I have not written recently. I moved. I’m in the process of furnishing my own apartment. When I signed the lease for this place, I kept beaming over how beautiful the terrace would be to sit out on and do work. It is one of the most beautiful views that I have ever had the pleasure of seeing in my entire life, and I am honored to wake up to this every morning:

Living in the “in between stage” has been stressful. I need patio furniture, among many other things. I am grateful to have begun this next chapter and taken this next step but boy, change, even when it is welcomed, really fucking sucks. It will all be worth it in the end. I will have a home, instead of just a place to stay.

I’ve also had to reconsider the way I live my life. I deeply desire connection and community with others, but I have had to remind myself that we are not supposed to connect and be in community with everyone. I hate that. It’s such bullshit that that’s the way we need to live. But that’s the only way to stay alive, or stay alive longer at least.

The primary motivation I have to stay alive is to make change, which is ironic considering that I just said how much change sucks. But really, I don’t see the point in living if it’s not spent living trying to change other’s lives for the better.

Where I live now, I don’t have hot water or air conditioning. Not having hot water hasn’t been that bad considering the temperature has been in the high nineties these past few weeks. It’s only cold before dawn, after the sun has been up for a few hours, it’s rather warm. Not having air conditioning has sucked, but I think it’s better, homeostasis wise, to not have air conditioning; or at least that’s what I’m telling myself to cope with not having air conditioning. I feel stupid even writing about this, as if I deserve some medal or badge of honor for living like the majority of the world lives. Hot water and air conditioning are privileges, and living without them, is just living like how most people live, there is nothing valorous about it. Also, did you know, that when the colonizers came and slaughtered all the natives, we lost knowledge of the architecture required to naturally cool homes in the Americas? So the next time when your AC quits running, and your house gets unbearably hot, and you sweat, and you get annoyed, you can curse the Spaniards and the British for killing the architects that would’ve allowed you to have a cool home, without the Consumers bill!

Anyway, my point is, it has been good to live like this. My rent is significantly cheaper, allowing me to have more spending power and better stimulate the local economy, giving more hard-working Salvadorans a share of the wealth that the US government hoards. Living without the luxury that I grew accustomed to in my youth, not only makes me more thankful for having had it in the first place, but it also reminds me of why I must fight for change and live my life in a strategic manner to try and make that luxury more accessible to others, or to at least try and make sure others can have their basic needs met.

The mangos are so good right now. Also the jocotes. And of course the bananas. I feel such bliss whenever I bite into a piece of fruit, the supermarkets and even the farmers markets back home cannot even begin to compare to what can be found down here. There is so much more that I need to try, I just need to keep eating with the seasons. I’m so excited for annona season, annona tastes like strawberry cheesecake! And the jewelry that I’ve been able to buy from local artisans, it’s so beautiful. It feels so much more special to wear knowing that it was made with intention and by the hands of the person that I’ve bought it from. I wish that I could buy more jewelry but I need to watch myself and not carelessly splurge all the time.

I’ve also been easing back into my routine post move and everything. I went to the beach for my birthday and I had an amazing time! It’s been good to be back in the gym after being away from it for a bit. I really love getting to plug my headphones in and just sweat. And to get to wrap up my workout by swimming laps? I feel like a royal! I’ve also really enjoyed the class that I’m taking at the UES. It’s been quite the challenge, but rewarding at the same time. The faculty and my classmates have been a delight to work with! And the material we’re covering, it’s so fascinating! I made the collage below to express what I couldn't in Spanish:

Things with Tizziana at the UCA are slowly but surely progressing. I need to hunker down in the library and get back to some more spiritual oriented readings; I’ve been dedicating so much reading time to my class at the UES, and I’ve been indulging myself with books by Nicholas Sparks and Emily Henry… The research itself is going really well. I’m in a very good place with the project. Allowing myself to drift from the original proposal was scary, but I am content with its evolution. I’m also thinking of next steps! I know I want to stay down in El Salvador for the foreseeable future, but I intend to apply to a few different graduate programs, around the world. I’m extremely excited to see where my studies will take me!

But yeah, life is good. Wouldn’t have it any other way. I am living every moment consciously, trying to learn from everything life tries to teach me, trying to change, for the better, while trying to create change, for the better.

youtube

#Youtube

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