#also remastered I suppose

[objectshow-enjoyer]

reupload ehe but I like this drawing so

>the sketch!<

[kirbyddd]

between Dread continuing from a game on GBA (and really every game prior to that too) and Prime 4 continuing from 2 games on GameCube and Original DS, Metroid has the longest narrative endurance of any multi-creator series I've ever seen. Threads left in stasis decades ago when the series was shelved picked right back up once development resumes—an entire generation of developers later—like nothing ever happened

[pillowparamedic]

ppl who hate black doom/black arms and shadow 2005 in general r so lame. shadow having guns and cussing r so cool and i hope he dual wields 2 pump action automatics and says more cuss words such as "crap" and "piss" in sonadow generations ❤

[istherewifiinhell]

were back to our (ir)regularly scheduled bullshit!

[ID: Splash page with the issue title and creative credits. Megatron is bound up in cables, some plugged into him, effecting repairs. He speaks: Remind me to thank you when i get down from here, Shockwave. Meanwhile, resumption of my command must begin now. Shockwave: You don't seem to understand. These autobots you see lying dead on the ground are there because I put them there. The Decepticons you see barely clinging to life are in that operating mode because of you. Until I intervened, Autobot victory over us was assured.* The evidence says your leadership was faulty, Megatron. Logic says I must assume command of the Decepticons. Editor's Note: *as seen in issue 8 END]

back to the USmarvel, The New Order, issue no. 5! (22-23 UK reckoning) from feb 1985!

Script: Bob Budiansky Art: Alan Kupperberg Letters: Rick Parker Colour: Nel Yomtov Editor: Jim Owsley EiC: James Shooter Digital Re-master by Digikore Studios Limited. Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon. Editorial notes and assistance by Mark. W. Bellomo

now... welcome back digital re-master. just in time for me to rip you a new on... bare with my folks...

so this issue opens with new king bitch in town, shockwave, conducting research into humans via television. so uh.., they put honeymooners in my transformers comic?

[ID: Both images of a Full page B&W illustration, two men stand behind a table, one asking "Whatsa matter Ralphie-boy?" Ralph, staring wide eyed, dead ahead, grips a chair saying "Homina-Homina-Homina!" A woman looks in through a window, with a scowl. 1. The illustration uses blocked inks, and half-tones for the characters, but the background and objects have mid and dark halftones added in an almost painterly fashion. 2. The art now with most of the tones and shading removed, everything left either black, midtone, or stark white. END]

surely. one of these images is higher definition. but which one looks BETTER? now its possible this is actually about which master copies they were working from. perhaps a rights issues? (the uk printing replaces this page with a different image) but i note here ALSO. they removed the artist, Kupperberg's, signature form the bottom left corner. a hateful affair all told.

though, this doesnt just piss me off to see an artist works edited, and made to SUCK! (tho boy does it...) my friends... comrades, fellow bloggers. lend me your eyes. DO they see this the way mine do? cause ill eat my fucking hat if that's not DUOSHADE paper. the infamous medium of many a B&W indie. not familiar? check out my previous blogging on the friendly neighbourhood martial reptiles. but i digress.

if this. this INSULT to my very being wasnt enough. they also recoloured shockwave from a perhaps accidentally stunning shade of magenta to a cool lavender... which i personally just found quite boring. well. most of the time

[ID: 1. UK printing, Shockwave seated on throne like seat, coloured very warm toned purple. He listen to a sports broadcast and says "These humans are even more primitive than I thought." 2. Digital remaster, Shockwave's profile visible, coloured red, as he watches a news reporter. END]

the very first image of this post has another, red shockwave, btw. I suppose, they could be printing or colouring errors, but they could also be lighting/compositional choices by Yomtov (its not uncommon for his foreground characters to be done in monotone, particularly, purple) either way they corrected for it. and to me, this instance just comes of that whatever work flow being used, doesnt even flag the second figure AS shockwave, so a redwave remains...

i stress. i never blame any individual who does this work. its to them, just a job, and why should it not be? my ire is with IDW, and why they enact these "restorations" anyway, and why the fuck people ought to pay new money for old art that has been given so little respect...

anyway reading the print version meant a lot of tabbing between the us and uk printings. which is why i noticed this

[ID: The crediting for the colourist, Nel Yomtov. In the US printing the say "Colors" and in the UK "Colour", the S removed, and a U added. END]

im just amused by the effort taken... surely the kids dont care that much? and yes apparently they do this every time.

JEEZE CREESY WHO CARES. LETS SEE SOME ROBOTS

[ID: Shockwave watching the news, off panel dialogue Reporter: Ms. Beller, you have been called a computer genius even though you're only a few years out of high school. What is your role in this? Beller: It's true I designed the secondary and tertiary oil recovery systems Reveal of Beller, a very young looking woman in a jacket and a hard hat. She continues: --the semi-automated defense system, the refinery's non-polluting digitized micro-scrubbers. But I consider it all just a part of my job. END]

shockwave learns the alarming news that a new female character is being introduced!

[ID: 2 page spread, the bodies of almost every single introduced Autobot are hanging from the ceiling, damaged and "bloodied". Shockwave scrolls under them, saying "Indeed" END]

also. check this shit out

anyway WHATS going on between shockwave and megs?

[ID: Shockwave pointing to the still bound Megatron: You will explain now how you permitted our position to deteriorate so drastically, Megatron. Megatron, mostly off panel: As… Commander… it is your right to demand anything of me. It is my privilege to oblige. END]

OH. its like that huh?

[ID: Shockwave offpanel "--Should logic so dictate." A close on Megatron, he thinks "Talk, Shockwave..." A close on his repairing hand twitching "...talk while you still can!" END]

well maybe not for long...

anyway... turns out the WAS a reason we saw ratchet helping those EMT's

[ID: Ratchet driving into the hospital parking lot. Buster calls out "Ratchet!!" who responds "Greetings, Buster Witwicky how nice to see your carbon-based face again!" Buster asks "Ratchet, where've you been?" END]

I hope your all ready to become extremely endeared by ratchet, or else just put up with it. cause...

[ID: Buster and Ratchet, still in alt mode, continue to speak, while EMTs are searching for the source of this mysterious voice. Buster: If they attacked the Autobots they should all be broken-down junk-heaps by now! Ratchet: Wonderful! I knew your father was a human we could trust EMT 1: I'll look behind the grill, Mel! EMT 2: I'll check under the seat cushion, Gus! Four people react in shock as Ratchet shouts: Do you organic creatures mind? I don't go poking around your mouths to see how you talk, do I? END

my beloved....

[ID: Ratchet on the road, stopped at a red light, as Buster rides inside. Ratchet: Listen, friend traffic signal, we're in a hurry, so if you could please turn green… Buster: It doesn't hear you, Ratchet, it's only a machine. Ratchet: I'm a machine, and I hear you, Buster! Buster: Yes, but you're different, you're-- Inside view as the light turns green. Ratchet: Ahh, he changed! Thank you, friend traffic signal. May the rest of the day find you in proper working order. You see, Buster, you have to learn how to talk to people. Buster: I… I'll try to keep that in mind, Ratchet. END]

this is so charming can we get corey burton and uh. well rest in peace don messick.., so just corey burton twice will do, to record his.

oh and anyone interest in timeline of when tf lore gets introduced (me... thats... mainly just me)

[ID: Shockwave points to Megatron: As always, you underestimate Optimus Prime, Megatron. No, he will not be cut up into wires and microchips. His value is far greater to us if we keep him functional, for it is logical to assume that an Autobot of his stature contains within him--The Creation Matrix! Megatron thinking: By the divine weld! The Creation Matrix is the computer program that allows its possessor to construct new transformer life! Its power is the stuff of legends! Shockwave continues: It is said once every ten millenia a new Autobot leader is chosen and encoded with The Matrix. END]

MATRIX MENTION? everyone have their lore bibles out? someone WRITE THAT DOWN.

[ID: Buster stumbling through the Ark in shock, "N-no… it can't be true! There must be some explanation! There must be! Wait a second… I didn't see Optimus in there…there's still optimus… there has to be--" He walks into a room with Optimus Prime's severed head, plugged into grand machinery. Buster yells "--Optimus!" Prime, weakly: Buster Witwicky… You must help me… you are… the Autobots… last hope…" End card-- Next: Oil Rig Assault! END]

OH MY GOD!

[honorary-fool]

hi 🫰 consider: robinhill lollipop chainsaw au. thank you carmelladansen have a good night 💫💫💫

I know little to nothing about Lollipop Chainsaw but going off the cover image and skimming through wikipedia... yeah that fucks /pos

also looks like a fun gae in general

[snizx]

In the discord chat begging (unsuccessfully because my friends are all chumps) that people play the Ghost Trick demo

[wherehog]

Playing sonic unleashed the way god intended (emulated on a macbook)

[happyfunf3tti]

[toastshark]

19 for the oc ask!

This is Marie/Marigold

I made her when I was a pre-teen as a friend to my very first "official" oc Tomato, who’s based on a tomato. She‘s also my first time of ever researching anything for oc stuff, in this case what plants are good companions for tomatoes. I liked how marigolds looked and it was more to work with than all the greens that were otherwise on the list, so I based her off marigolds. Her personality is "kind“

Also! This is a redesign I did for this and also the second redesign of her in total, as the only pictures of her I‘ve got looks like this:

Left is from 2019 and a digital version of a really old notebook doodle, the middle one‘s part of a 2021 oc lineup (which was also the first redesign). Pretty sure I even posted that lineup on here lol. Third one I‘m not sure how old it actually is…?

It’s on Sketchbook (amazing program for simulating more traditional work btw) which doesn’t let you view a creation date, but given that it’s on there to begin with it’s probably the oldest drawing of the three, but it also looks way more coherent so there’s a good chance I just forgot I had an updated version on there when drawing the oc lineup lol

…yeaaaaa. My skills weren’t exactly. The best. In 2019. Granted it’s a colored version of a doodle I made as a pre-teen but even so. It’s a nice way to be reminded of the progress I made in arting tho >v<

[bladeofthestars]

.

[wp100]

thriller40 was nice. just a shame we will probably never see a full version of that jackson5 concert, remastered... ever

unless, yknow, the estate actually bothers to do that. which they probably will. just give them another like 10 years 😭

[imsorrythatimweird101-blog]

HOW SHIFT USING THE GATEWAY TAPES (UPDATED)

Hey, I want start off to apologize. I'm so sorry for bringing awareness to the tapes and then not clarifying on what to do or how to start. I did try to answer every question I can. I did post a guide a while back but Im still remastering it

IMPORTANT VOCAB

F10- body asleep and mind awake

F12- having your consciousness in the universe and expanded

HOW TO START:

So first off you need click on drive. Once you open the drive you will see tapes.

Before staring the tapes you NEED read a MANUAL. So if you look at your bottom left corner. You will see a PDF and it will have a picture of a old man. He's name is Bob. The creator of the tapes. I love Bob.

Once you click on the tape. You scroll down and you see titles. These titles are the titles of the tape in the folders that your going to use. At the bottom of the titles, there going be a discription. These discription tell you what the tapes do but also how they work and what you need to do during those tapes. Once your done your ready to go

STEPS

Step 1: open the drive and you will see the folders of tapes. ‼️DO NOT USE ANY OTHER AUDIO EXPECTED THE DRIVE. YOUTUBE COMPRESS THEM AND MAKE THEM NOT WORK‼️

[GATEWAY TAPES DRIVE ](https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/mobile/folders/1vZJg5oJvfYVwWryJh05pfkZTV0cnd026)

Step 2: click the bottom far left corner. It's a Manuel and has a picture of a old guy smiling (bob)

Step 3: find the title of the tape your going to use. Read it carefully and know what's going happened and what to do

Step 4: go to discovery and play the first tape. Don't fall asleep! Be awake during the tapes!

Great! Keep doing these tapes for each tape. Each tape you must do it 3 times or more. So you can get familiar with it. BUT MOST IMPORTANT IF YOUR NOT READY TO MOVE ON OR YOU FEEL LIKE YOU NEED KEEP DOING. THAT'S OKAY, SHIFTING IS ALWAYS GOING BE HERE SO DONT RUSH

‼️PAY ATTENTION TO THIS PART‼️

Once you reach Tape 3- advanced F10. There's a trigger that YOU MUST MASTER. The whole point of discovery is to train your brain to be awake and body asleep.

Now continues the normal steps like the other but this time. You need keep doing it until your able do It without the tapes. This is very important because when your trying reach F12(the goal). You need to be in F10 first and master It already

After that, you NEED to do the other tapes like the normal steps. Because the 4 tape is to have fear go away and if you blockages. The 5 is for awareness while you sleep and 6- free flow- is to freestyle

‼️Make sure to let go any expectations of these tapes because this will hold you back! Put your expectations and your needs in the energy box!‼️

But you can go to F12 tape.

F12 tape is next to discovery. Know as Wave 2. A lot of people ask why only that tape and not the others. Well! If you do F12 tape and in beginning bobs explains that after F12 tape. Those tapes are TOOLS. Those tools involved with manefisting, remote viewing, answering questions etc (I recommend you to check it out)

So the thing you need to do is master F12 and then shift!

Tips and questions

Q: what are gateway tapes?

A: here's some recourses that explains it way more better then I ever could

[gateway tapes ](https://youtu.be/46E_FX-KxZ8?si=yV8dqgoBdcNJXclD)

[Gateway tapes CIA EXPLAINED ](https://youtu.be/HOFq3ruef7I?si=JbwpcgnZ9rrbGyyz)

Q: can I shift at F10?

A: yes you can. It's possible but it's not really meant for that. Its more of SATS approach if that's what you're looking for because F10 is mind awake and body asleep

Q: how many times do I listen to it

A: as many times you feel like. I personally listen to it 3-4 times a day but only because I'm in summer break. Whatever works in your schedule

Q: how do I know I'm in F10?

A: your body is heavy and your limbs are numb. Your body is supposed to be asleep. Many people reported that the hear themselves snore. Me personally, my breath is non-existent and my chest is numb in away. Or like barely there. Trust me you will know. Ofc this doesn't mean you can't move you body at all. You can move your body in F10 but need the WILL to move your body. It can be different from everyone

Q: I tried it couple of days, why is it working?

A: first off, you need patience. This is practice. It's like a baseball player wanting to be the best pitcher in the world but they throw the ball couple of times and then when it's not right. They run and cry in there room. You need take the tapes seriously not half ass it and be PATIENT. Don't rush things. That's the worse thing you can do because you will miss important cues and it's going be all bad.

Q: I keep falling asleep why is that

A: your brain and body is not used to it. Your brain isn't normal active. Its active but it's going through your sleep cycles. So having your brain be in vibration state of being awake and your body being sleep cycle. It's going get confused because it's not used to it. That's why the tapes train it.

Q: do I need earphones or headphones when listening to tape

A: yes, you need ones that aren't noise cancelling and make sure that you hear bob in your right ear. Only because there certain sounds that play in both your ears for your brain to sync.

Q: are these tapes actually going make me shift

A: yes, I believe it will. The only reason why I personally believe that anyone can 1000 percent shift because these gateway tapes were run by scientist and actually doctor in fields to perfect it. Not only that CIA agents use these and it's approved by the CIA. There actually evidence and research done. It isn't like some random teenagers made a method up in there room. These tapes are designed to open the human mind and Bob himself even talked to alter version of himself with these tapes.

‼️MOST IMPORTANT TAKE‼️

Now, you gotta have open mind and believe it too. You cant go in the tapes with a negative mindset and expect a beautiful outcome. This is in every method you used..not only the gateway tapes. If you believe it won't work because whatever the case then obviously it won't work because your mind is going block everything and not letting it's self In general. This is life In general.

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—��

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[jupiter-va]

Sorry, loves. I know I was supposed to start back being active and all, but I've been dealing with a lot of personal overwhelm with school/work. Not to mention its genuinely so hard to think about anything content related due to the actual genocide going on right now.

It baffles me how many people can see what's happening in real time and ignore it. I don't get how you can see images and videos of innocent people being murdered in their own home and not be absolutely fucking livid to the point where you want to do everything in your power to make it stop. If you are complacent or ignoring this in full then something is wrong with you.

This genocide didn't start on October 7th. It's been happening for years. And it's getting worse every day. I'm not quite sure when I'll get back to posting my regularly scheduled content, but for now I'd like to keep as much attention as I can on what's important right now which is making sure Palestinian voices are heard.

Also, fuck everyone I've seen on my feed that are shamelessly gushing over the remaster of TLOU2. I love that game with my whole heart but y'all were quick to forget that Neil is a Zionist. People are dying and you folded over new skins and lost levels? Pathetic is the nicest word I can think of.

[earlysunshines]

i fall in love too fast

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader (remastered) ; part two; fluff

summary: your niece needs to stop watching so many romance movies because what the hell she's five and sana... well sana thinks she's crushing on someone's mother.

wc: 3.9k

warnings: mentions of food ; not proofreaddd

a few customers held you up, you were supposed to be in your car earlier, supposed to be at hana’s school early – but of course, someone had to order six drinks during a rush, keeping you at work for a few more minutes than you’d like. 

once you make it to the car, you rush to startthe engine and get out your parking spot. tapping your finger on the steering wheel as you drive, you glance at the car's screen. the time reads '3:11 pm,' which means hana will be out in about four minutes. you make a guess that you'll arrive in a few minutes late. the worry that hana might be confused about where you are runs through your mind, but you convince yourself not to fret. after all, she's strong, and you know it – she’s your niece after all. 

somehow you manage to make it to the entrance just before hana is supposed to be out. fiddling with the collar of your white button-up shirt that you still have on from work, you anxiously await for when the bell will ring, anticipating the kids to start spilling out of the entrance doors to reunite with their families – eagerly waiting to see hana again.

you check your watch, reading the 3:15 pm, and seconds later – the bell rings.

it was only a minute later that you started to see groups of kids being led out by various teachers. you scanned the area for a bit, thankful that your height allowed you to see over some of the parents' heads. finally, you spot your little niece standing with a group of kids, holding each other by the little hook-like fabric on top of their bags to stay connected.

amidst the sea of parents and children, your eyes also locked onto sana, effortlessly standing out even in the crowd of chaos. her gentle hand held that of a child at the front of the group, a caring smile gracing her features.

you made your way over to where hana stood, her eager eyes scanning the crowd until they finally landed on you. without hesitation, she dashed towards you, her arms outstretched in anticipation of the hug she knew was coming. for a five-year-old, her determination was astonishing, and the way she almost knocked you off balance was comparable to a linebacker (well, close enough. maybe a linebacker on the youth team). as she crashed into you with surprising force, you couldn't help but marvel at her energy, laughing, and wonder if she should consider joining a football team someday. yeah, definitely her dad’s genes.

"y/n!" her grin widened as she approached, and you quickly knelt down to her level, wrapping her in a warm hug. "i missed you, y/n!"

“hey, hi,” you feel her squeezing you tighter as you hug her, kissing the side of her head as you do. “i missed you too!” you greet happily, voice muffled a bit. pulling away, you brush some of her hair out of her face, hair looking a little more ruffled than this morning. “seem’s like someone had a fun day at school.”

“so much fun! today ms. minatozaki let us paint and! and! she gave me more stickers for being good! they're sharks too!” the little girl beams, making you smile. “and then we had recess and i played a lot and ran a lot and– oh! ms. minatozaki said i was good today!”

you laugh. “is that so?”

“yes! does this mean we can go to the cafe? please? i was good i promise.” hana pleads, tugging at your rolled sleeve. 

huming as you think to yourself, you her teacher in the corner of your eye. “hmm, we’ll have to ask ms. minatozaki to make sure, won’t we?” you’re really just saying that as an excuse to talk to your niece's teacher again.

you steal a glance at sana, who is smiling and waving to a set of parents, the dad carrying their child on his shoulders. her eyes sparkle with surprise and delight as they meet yours, her cheeks gradually tinting a shade of pink. unaware of her reaction, you remain lost in admiration as you stare.

sana bids a final goodbye to the parents and the kid before you and your niece make your way over to her.

"hana, hello there, sweetie," sana greets your niece warmly. then, her gaze shifts to you, her smile widening even further. "it's wonderful to see you again, y/n," she adds, her words sending a warm flutter through your chest, your heart skipping a beat.

she still looks as beautiful as she did in the morning, maybe even prettier. that voice of hers is still soft and sweet when she greets you with joy; her face lights up the same way.

"it's wonderful to see you too," 

without thinking, you straighten your shirt and adjust your pleated pants to appear more presentable. a smile graces both your lips and sana's. a brief silence ensues as you lock eyes with each other, and you feel a warmth rising in your ears, gradually spreading to your cheeks like a small fire.

trying to clear the tension, you clear your throat and tug at your collar, then respond, “how was hana today?” 

hana looks up at her teacher with hopeful, puppy eyes, silently pleading for a positive response. sana chuckles softly to herself, amused by hana's adorable expression.

“she was great today, and really helpful too,” sana assures, earning a sigh of relief from hana.

“is that so?” you question – sana hums in response.

“she helped me put the paintbrushes back, as well as the markers. she’s a sweet girl, big help.” sana explains.

hana tugs at your hand, “i told you! i told you i was good! so can we go to the cafe? please?” 

chuckling again, you nod at the little girl, then bring your gaze back to the woman in front of you.

“i guess we should get going then…” you begin, your gaze tearing away from sana reluctantly to look back down at the girl beside you. “why don’t you say bye to your teacher, hana?” 

hana nods and you watch as sana crouches down to meet the girl's level, placing a hand on her head before sliding it down to the girls cheek. hana puts her smaller hand on sana’s before she hugs her, and for a moment you think to yourself: gosh, i wish that were me. 

sana parts from hana, standing back up and fixing loose hair that falls over her face. you steal another glance at the young teacher before hana goes back to you to hold your hand and tug you away. 

the last look you and sana share has this weird sense  of longing, there’s an unspoken desire to get to know each other more, to maybe get a few extra minutes to, well, maybe just stare at each other’s faces until someone decides to say something.

 but then, letting go, you finally wave to her with a smile, and she shoots you and your niece a toothy grin “goodbye.” 

-

"alright, time to head home," you announce, grabbing hana's tiny school bag and placing it in the front seat. after securing her in the car seat, you close the door and settle into the driver's seat. 

with a turn of the key, the engine roars to life, but before you can even back up, hana beams, “buckle up!”

“of course, i wouldn’t forget the most important step.” 

a jazz favorite from months ago begins to play after you hit shuffle on one of the playlists you made with your niece. adjusting the volume to create a soft background melody, you listen along as hana starts to hum along.

you pull into your regular spot by the side of the cafe and turn off the engine. grabbing hana's bag from the passenger seat, you step out of the car and hold the door to the backseats open for her to hop out. her eyes light up at the sight of the cafe's exterior, and she wastes no time in darting towards the entrance. 

“hana wait! be careful!” you call out, hurriedly shutting the door and fumbling with the keys to lock your car before running after the excited five-year-old.

entering the cafe, you're greeted by the familiar and inviting atmosphere. the air carries the aroma of freshly baked pastries mingled with the rich scent of espresso shots being pulled. the cozy ambiance of the cafe envelops you both, lifting both your spirits.

thankfully, it’s not too busy at the moment. you spot a few adults in their work clothing sitting and chatting at the table for four near the window, sipping on their drinks – looks like a couple of lattes and americanos. the dim corner to the right is lit up by a small lamp hanging from above, occupied by a few high school students laughing. they seem to be treating themselves to a small cake, a little candle is at the side – probably for someone's birthday.

you scan the area, shifting your look over to where the familiar baker and barista are. the baker notices you and stops what she’s doing to wave happily.

“ah, y/n! you’re back, did you miss me that much?” dahyun jokes, “oh, and you brought my favorite customer too.” she adds, redirecting her gaze to meet hana. hana gives the dark-haired woman a big, gummy, and toothy smile before going to hug the woman as she walks out from behind the counter.

“ms. dahyun! today was my first day of school! my teacher says i was great!” hana boasts, and dahyun laughs before ruffling her hair up a bit.

“wow, i’m impressed. hmm… maybe i should give you the special treat i prepared then.”

“please please please please please please-”

“alright, alright. a special treat for my favorite customer coming up! my favorite new student.” dahyun says cheerfully. the shorter woman heads behind the counter, and you lift hana onto the chair near the counter.

you make your way behind the counter as well, right over to where the taller barista works. he’s busy measuring the coffee grinds for an espresso shot, furrowing his brows as he takes a small portion of the ground coffee out from the portafilter.

“chaemin,”

he jumps a little and you laugh teasingly.

“my god! don’t do that!”

“oops.” you shrug. “can i steam some milk real quick? i need to make something for my niece.”

“you’re giving espresso to a five-year-old?” chaemin asks, visibly concerned. he turns his body to you fully, raises his brows, and looks down at you in disbelief.

“of course not, she’s already a handful without the caffeine. i’m just gonna make her a hot chocolate.”

“i see, okay. good.” he says before bringing his attention back to the portafilter and tamping the coffee grinds. “by the way, where’s johnny? i thought he would be the one taking hana to school – or picking her up – you know, since he's her dad and all.”

“he wanted to, but he had this last-minute business trip. the way he complained in person and over the phone was… rough – but he’ll be back in two days.”

“i see.”

you and chaemin continue to engage in some small talk about whether it was busy or anything while you were gone for those few minutes while you make the hot chocolate.

dahyun has already given the giddy five-year-old her cream-filled croissant with a variety of fruits inside, along with a drizzle of milk chocolate syrup on top. 

 dahyun pushes the plate toward the girl. “i made it just for you, i even added extra strawberries and chocolate since you like them so much.”

“ms. dahyun you’re the best! it looks really yummy! thank you thank you thank you!” she says excitedly, then dahyun pats her shoulder.

“anything for the young scholar.”

“you never make me anything like that.” you mumble as you make a design with the steamed milk and chocolate.

“you’re not a scholar, y/n. you lack a lot up there actually.” she jokes, poking you right in the forehead.

“ouch.” you respond, looking at her with a pout and setting down the hot chocolate with the heart design you made with the steamed milk. hana smiles, looking at the drink and pastry eagerly, but just as she is about to dig in–

“phone eats first.” you halt her actions, forcing her to pose and smile for the family group chat. she groans in response before dahyun encourages her to grin for the camera, giving her a thumbs up. 

you sit beside hana and watch her eat while you hold your head in your palm, smiling at her. dahyun goes back to rolling whatever dough she was working on before, and you scroll through the family group chat, texting your brother and mom.

“these are so good, thank you aunt y/n,” hana says with a mouth full of the croissant.

“you should thank dahyun for that, but i’m glad you like them. also, don’t talk while you have so much food in your mouth!” you scold playfully before taking a sip of the iced americano chaemin had made you. hana sticks her tongue out at you and you pinch her nose lightly, making the two of you laugh.

hana gulps down the bite she had just chewed up, then mumbles, “aunt y/n, can i ask you something?”

you raise a brow. “what is it?”

“do you… do you like my teacher?”

“oh, of course. she’s sweet and takes good care of you, i’m fond of her. she seems great.” you answer before taking another sip of your coffee.

“no, do you like like her? like in the movies? the lovey dovey ones where they kiss–” 

“w-what? why- where did this come from?” you question, sitting straight up. hana’s directness nearly makes you choke on your coffee. chaemin overhears the conversation and his eyes land on the two of you.

“you like your niece's teacher?” he says in disbelief, a hand on his hip and a brow raised. you look at your co-worker and then back to your niece, waving your hand to shut down these bold (but pretty reasonable) allegations.

“no, no – it’s not like that,” you start, trying to keep your voice and tone relaxed. chaemin and the little girl don’t seem to be fooled. “she’s just nice, we’re just friendly. she’s your teacher, of course i’m going to be friendly with her.”

“ok, then why did you look at her like that? you looked all lovey-dovey and your ears turned red!”

“oh? what is this i’m hearing?” dahyun interjects, which earns her a glare from you before you look back at your niece.

“i- no, it’s not like that! we just met hana, don’t be ridiculous.” you say defensively, and then hana’s smile grows, it makes you uneasy.

“your ears are turning red again, just like in those cartoons and movies!”

“what movies are you watching? you’re like, five! shouldn’t you be watching some normal cartoons? like something with mermaids or superheroes or something?” you groan, growing more defensive as dahyun and chaemin team up with hana to poke at you.

you roll your eyes at them, but the thought of sana tugs at your heartstrings.

you don't buy into the idea of love at first sight; it seems too simplistic, too much like something out of a disney movie. however, you can't deny the impact the woman who will be teaching your daughter every day has had on you. she’s shot an arrow through your heart just like cupid.

she’s undeniably beautiful, but it's more than just that. you find yourself thinking about her infectious smile, her contagious smile, and the way her nose scrunches up when she does both. the memory of her holding your hand when you greeted her lingers in your mind, even as you're teased and poked fun at by those around you. god, you’ve just met her.

you won’t admit it outloud, but this woman did have an effect on you, and you were scared that it would be harder to hide that the more you saw her.

“look, i just think she’s a nice person okay,” you shrug, and then you begin (or at least try) to change the topic. “anyways… how was your first day of school? what else did you do?”

dahyun laughs at your attempt to change the subject and decides to give you a break by returning to what she was doing. she shoots chaemin a cheeky look, which you ignore, choosing instead to focus all your attention on hana.

“it was great! you were right y/n, i made a friend! her name is jiyeong, she’s taller than me by this much,” hana shows you the height difference by pinching her fingers down, except there’s an inch of space in between. “also,” hana begins, “ms. minatozaki read us a story, she’s super nice. she smiled and laughed a lot, she smiles like a princess. she kind of looks like one." hana adds, and you certainly agree with that statement. hana thinks to herself a bit, then adds her final remark, "she also helped everyone with their paintings, she’s so cool! i like her a lot.”

you grin at the girl and take her empty plate, pushing it to the other side of the counter for chaemin to take.

 “i’m really glad you made a friend, i told you my genes were passed on to you!” you mess with her hair. “and i’m glad you like ms. minatozaki, it’s important that you have nice and caring teachers.”

“and pretty teachers too, right?” she teases, and you laugh, messing with her hair once more.

“alright smarty pants, finish up your hot chocolate so we can get going.” you sigh, rolling your eyes playfully before walking behind the counter to wash hana’s dish. 

-

“how was work?” jihyo asks.

she backs her car out of the parking spot in front of the school. sana has never been one to drive herself, always relying on the bus or getting a ride from a friend. however, this year she's in luck, since she'll likely be getting regular rides home from both her best friend and the mother of one of her students – one of the best drivers of the century.

sana sighs and smiles, then sets her head down against the headrest of the passenger seat. “it was really good, the students are all great. your daughter did well too.”

jihyo smiles upon hearing this. “i’m glad jiyeong was good,” then she looks at her daughter through the mirror. “jiyeong, sweetheart, how was school?” 

“good mom! i had lots of fun and ms. minatozaki is really nice! i made a new friend too.” the little girl in the backseat responds. “her name is hana, she’s cool and nice and funny and i like her a lot. we promised to be best friends this year!” 

sana tenses up at the mention of hana, and she thinks of the girl’s captivating mother–you. sana starts to zone out whilst jihyo talks with her daughter, and she really just thinks about you. she replays the memory of shaking your hand–big, soft, nice to hold, the small peak of ink under your wrist, the bracelets, and wow she is a mess from just the interaction–and about your cheery grin, as well as your caring nature. the look you had given her this morning replays in her head, the small dimple you had, how perfect your teeth were, and the sparkle of your eyes as you looked at sana.

she daydreams of you the whole way back to her place, pushing aside the fact that you’re a mother, probably not single considering how charming and cute you are.

her heart sinks a little at the thought of that, and she tells herself to compose herself, there are always others, right? other fish in the sea? 

(but none that were as cute as you.)

"alright, we're here. say bye to your teacher jiyeong." jihyo insists, adjusting the gear stick so the car is parked in front of the apartment complex. sana smiles at jihyo and steps out of the car, closing the door behind her. she waves at jihyo and her daughter through the window.

“thank you ms. minatozaki! see you tomorrow!”

“bye jiyeong, i hope you have a good night. you too, jihyo, thank you again.”

“it’s no problem, your place is on the way to our house anyway, have a good night sha.”

jihyo waves once more before rolling the passenger seat window up and driving away. sana clutches her work back and starts to walk towards her apartment.

the young teacher unlocks the apartment door and sets her bag on the hook to the right of the door. with a sigh, she kicks off her shoes, feeling the weight of the day starting to lift. as she moves into the kitchen, she finds herself drawn to the familiar routine of making a cup of tea. it's a comforting ritual, one that helps her unwind and transition from the demands of her day to the peace of her home. kids are amazing, wonderful, and adorable–but they’re also draining, very draining.

she leans against the counter in her work clothes, staring at the cup in her hand.

the thought of you reaches back, invading her mind, her. 

you’re cute, you’re effortlessly cute with everything you do. sana thinks of the first glance, remembering how bells started to ring and imaginary petals started to fall after she made eye contact and– god she needs to stop watching those stupid dramas jihyo keeps reccomending her because they’re starting to turn her into some hopeless romantic. this can’t be, it’s only been one day, hell, not even an hour of being in the same room of you.

sana feels her cheeks warming up, cursing herself mentally. 

you’re a mother, whether that be biologically or not, you’re a mother. it would (most likely–well, very_ unprofessional to pursue someones mother, especially if you have a husband or anything like that. she can’t pine over someone who’s taken, not again, she’s learned from her junior in high school already, she can’t possibly live through that again.

sana sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “i really have to talk to jihyo about this.” 

taking out her phone, she finds jihyo’s contact and pauses, letting out another small sigh. the thought of having to navigate through the year while constantly encountering your pretty face and charming personality fills her with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. there's a part of her that can't help but look forward to the interactions and moments shared even if you’re taken. 

(it’s not like she can’t control how she feels, so if she’s able to at least hide it–then that should be fine.

–

right?)

she clicks on the little phone icon, and after a few rings, it's answered by jihyo. the sound of her voice comes through the line, accompanied by the faint background noise of what seems like the opening of a door.

"sana? hello? what is it? everything okay?” 

"jihyo."

jihyo blinks, letting her daughter into the house before answering in a slightly concerned tone, "yes?"

“on a scale of one 1-10–and be honest–how wrong is it to have a crush on your students' mother?”

[dilfhos]

CORRECTIVE ACTION.

#!WHO; LEVI ACKERMAN

#!CC: fem!reader, power dynamic/abuse(?), fingering, o.sex (giving and receiving) use of “Sir” and “Captain” (duh!), humiliation, spanking, implied oral from Eren, SLIGHT reluctance, audible cucking(?), spanking and a jealously sassy Levi who wants you all to himself (um mix of mentioned arcs idk lol dnt hunt me)

also, since reader is racially ambiguous, i decided to do an experiment to see if blood rushes by spanking my thigh and legs. it does in fact leave a reddish tinge so for my black/darker toned readers—you’re welcome ;)

#!NETWORKS @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @planetonet

+remastered directly from my ao3! (feel free to read if you wish but fyi its a HAWT mess lmao).

“Repeat, ‘Eren was eating my cunt, Captain Levi.’”…

Knock knock knock.

There wasn’t an answer right away and you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking, even as your nails dug into your palms. In all of the times you had been apart of the Survey Corp, you were never called to the captain’s office this late. Something was different.

"State your name and business. " Levi's firm voice echoed through the door.

"Cadet…sir. You called me down." You gritted your teeth at how awfully timid you sounded. You couldn’t shake the feeling of your stomach rolling over as you awaited his reply.

"Enter." Opening and closing the door behind you stood in front of his desk, frozen in a sharp salute. He sat casually at his desk, leaned back as his feet were crossed precariously on the edge. A plethora of open folders and classified documents laid beside, neatly stacked. His icy gaze trailed over your body, sharp and unreadable as always until you gulped, nervous under his scrutinizing gaze.

"You wanted to see me, Captain." You stated, less of a question. He stood up, his dark eyes locked on yours. He nodded sharply as if to say 'at ease'.

You kept your hands at your sides now, stiff. Sure, your tough exterior was prominent, but you were practically shaking on the inside. Were you in trouble? Did you mess up in the training today? You recalled Levi’s scrutinizing eyes on you when you were pinned by Jean in practice close-combat. The humiliation from your peers as you completely ate dirt while he guffawed victoriously at finally defeating you.

Levi walked slowly around the desk, calling your focus away from your racing mind.

"Earlier today after the mess hall, where were you?"

You gulped. There were a couple possibilities. Outside the cabin whispering to Mikasa where you would be once Commander Pyxis walked out. There was that brief pause passing the latrines as you tried to convince Connie that nothing funny was going on. Then there was the final thing he could have been talking about. And he couldn't have known that, could he? You timed and worked your crude plan as thoroughly as possible, being discreet of your intention and whereabouts.

You weighed the options. You could come clean right then and there and risk his possible violent response or you could play dumb. Maybe he could come up with a less specific reason why you weren't where you were supposed to be at that time. Stupidly, you decided to go with the latter.

"Sir?" Your face grew hot.

He paused in front of you, eyebrow raised.

"Perhaps I can be a bit more specific,” He started. His tone was light yet firm, still conveying a strain which told you to tread carefully in how you should respond at this point. He began a slow, menacing pace in front of you. Not daring to move or even breath, your heart hammered as you stared straight ahead at the wall in front of you, eyes dancing over detailed maps and scribbled notes.

“At that time, what were you doing with Jaeger?"

Your mouth grew dry, lips parting and snapping shut with no sound. There it was. The final nail to the coffin of shame and embarrassment. What made it worse is that he knew that you knew that he knew what was going on. He chuckled dryly at your face, noting that even though he was as specific about it as possible, you tried to remain cool.

"Oh…Don't tell me you forgot Cadet." He said, an amusing lilt to his voice.

"I-Well sir..." The pits of your arms began to itch. Your throat tightened as your eyes slowly flickered to Levi’s who now stopped directly in front of you. Knowing the strict conduct before your superiors from years of condition, you fought the urge to jump back from the spot entirely from his proximity.

Of course you didn’t forget.

How could you forget the feel of Eren’s soft locks threaded through your fingers as his head was buried between your sticky thighs? You could suddenly feel the throb in your hand where you sunk your teeth to keep from screaming his name throughout the barracks. His glinting green eyes gazing up at you, twinkling in the light the nearby lanterns provided. The feel of his fingers as they pumped slowly in your wet pussy was unforgettable to say the least as his sneaky words were burned to memory; "Quiet down. Or else someone’ll get us in trouble."

You could laugh at the irony but your mind was flooded with the brutal lashing of his tongue on your clit as you smothered him, using his face to get off.

But now, as if shifting back into reality, to hell, to what you wish was an embarrassing and cautious dream was your Captain, growing more impatient as he awaited for what he already knew.

"I-I was with Eren.." You said softly. You grimaced expecting some sort of physical action. Slacking off was one thing, even showing signs of weakness. He expected this from his soldiers. They’re simply what the last defense against the Titans were—only Human.

However fraternization was an entirely different matter, seeing the severity of a more complex reality. Especially under the supervision of Commander Erwin and Captain Levi who were already under a lens, protecting Eren, the newly discovered Attack Titan. It was silent, the captain staring at you and you back at him.

"While he was eating your cunt. Correct?" He spat shamelessly and your eyes snapped up to meet his. Big mistake; he narrowed his gaze and you looked away, face ablaze in humiliation.

“Say it.”

“Say what, Sir?” You said slowly. This only pissed him off, urging his hand to shoot out and grip your jaw, yanking you to face him. This was unorthodox, wrong perhaps, but he was your superior and what made you any more innocent?

“Repeat, ‘Eren was eating my cunt, Captain Levi.’” He pulled you in and spun around with precision, making you hit the desk. You cried out at the wood digging into the small of your back as his face got closer to yours. His voice dripped with malice and you would be lying if you said it didn’t frighten you down to your core. You couldn't figure out where all of this was coming from. Was this about being caught or something else entirely?

“Eren was...he was eating my cunt,” You squeaked, words rushing out of you as if to get it over with. His brow raised and his thumb and finger dug deeper into your skin. Your eyes glanced at the twitch in his lip.

“Captain...” He started.

“Captain Levi.”

“Good girl,” He released you and stepped back.

“Wasn’t too difficult, you are one of my brightest after all.” He mumbled, taking in the confusion and fluster on your face.

“Now, remove every last piece of clothing from your body.”

“Sir?” A smirk played at his lips in the horrified expression you gave him.

“By the way you’re staring dumbly at me and the fact you responded provides evidence that you clearly heard what I said.” He deadpanned.

Damn, the authority in his tone shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did as he spoke in the same bark he would anyone else. It shouldn’t have, after all you were a cadet and he, your Captain. It was taboo to say the least. But beneath the glare he was giving you, it was only right to assume that you had no other choice.

Hesitantly, you obliged, slowly peeling off your uniform and revealing more and more of your skin. The captain wanted nothing more than to bite and bruise every inch of your body, marking and claiming you physically as property of the Survey Corp, his battalion. His. The notion that he was your superior wasn’t lost on him, in fact that only fact made it all the more desirable. Bonus, if he could get it in your mind that Eren was the last person you should be disappearing off with.

Once you were completely naked, his precise movement had you turned around and bent over his desk, knocking contents onto the floor. His eyes narrowed at the sight of his papers scattered around at his feet. A mess; God he just finished that paperwork.

"C-Captain ‘m sorry I...I dont-" You fumbled.

"I don't remember giving you permission to speak...Cadet." He sloppily kissed your shoulder as his hand circled to cup your pussy, massaging his thumb against your clit. You keened unintentionally at the friction, your body shivering slightly against his body. His other came down hard against the surface of your ass catching you by surprise. Tears pricked your vision at the stinging pain he left behind. Levi could only stare at the mark he left by his hand before another blow was delivered in the same spot, causing you to cry out again.

Despite how painful it was, Levi couldn’t help but notice how much wetter you grew. By the time he was through, you were shaking and practically dripping slick down your thighs. He retracted his wet fingers and turned you to face him, drinking up the glossy gaze you offered him. It caused his pants to tighten painfully at the groin.

“Get on your knees.”

While you were now looking up at the raven-haired male removing unbuttoning his slacks, you couldn’t help but rock side to side, smushing your thighs to alleviate the arising arousal. His cock finally sprung free from the clothed confines. He was an impressive size and you couldn’t help but ogle as it pulsed slight, nestled in a bed of neatly trimmed hair. He gripped the back of your head pulling you closer and without his verbal go-ahead, you gripped his cock enticing a hiss from him.

How eager to please, Levi thought darkly, trying to figure out if it was because you wanted to or out of guilt of being caught. He was about to say something when you eagerly took him into your mouth. He groaned watching more of his cock disappear past your lips and reappear again when you gagged. Refocusing and allowing you a single breath, he gripped the sides of your head and forced himself back down again, roughly snapping his his hips against your face. You could feel his cock twitching with each thrust, the disgusting slurping and gags reverberating off wood.

“You're gonna take...my cock like the depraved whore you are, ” He sighed, throwing his head back. Your vision blurred slightly as the tip repeatedly bumped the back of your throat, lips slurping around the spit that dribbled from the corners. “Sneaking off, neglecting duties. Fraternization. With the likes of that monstrosity.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, his words flying out as his nails gripped your scalp possessively.

Drool seeped from the sides of your mouth, creating lines that dripped to your breasts and to the floor. Levi took one look at your tear stricken face and almost busted on the spot. He pulled out, not wanting to do so just yet and you were back up against the desk.

"Tch." Levi gripped your throat for leverage, jerking you closer after hearing more contents hitting the floor. He slid two fingers into your mouth, at the same time his other hand slipped fingers into your pussy. You groaned when his fingers pressed to the back of your throat making you gag. Tears struck your vision, blurring the twisted grin that split Levi’s face.

"I didn't hear you Cadet...Was this what Jaeger was doing?" He asked, pumping his fingers slowly into your wetness. His fingers curled against your walls enticing an excited buck against his hand. Lines of drool fell from the sides of your mouth and dripped to your chest as you nodded frantically.

"My my. Another mess." He muttered. His fingers kept up its steady brutal pace, curling every now and then. He sped up cutting your words off purposely. He wanted to see you suffer. Levi was sadistic that way, enjoying the torment in your eyes as he got off to your shame and innately desires. A part of him was pleased at how so wet you were, knowing that boy Jaeger couldn’t come close to a woman’s pleasure.

Your mouth was set in an 'o' as you tried desperately to get the words out. Drunk off pleasure but still lucid enough to try and show your Captain respect. You were so close. So painfully close to giving in, if the quivering in your thighs were any indication. Your stomach heaved as you glanced down, watching the way his arm flexed like lightning as he pumped your walls. You began to squirm, your orgasm approaching quickly with the itching knot in your stomach. That was until he suddenly pulled out.

Lifted with ease, you were shoved further onto the desk, Levi’s face burying in between your legs. Hands shot to his hair instinctively, too gone in the way his tongue prodded your folds to realize he was your superior. He didn’t mind however, lips curving in your overt reaction.

His tongue darted in and out of your wet cunt, relishing in the way your gummy walls pulsed around his tongue. Your hips reared off the wood when his lips latched snugly on your clit, suckling the nub.

“C-Captain!” His finger lifted and pushed against your clit as you rolled your head back and bit your lip. You could feel yourself slowly building up again to that sweet moment of release. And you even surprised yourself when you began to grind yourself against his face selfishly in hopes of reaching it.

But he straightened up and kissed your on your mouth roughly. And you weren’t as reluctant in returning the kiss. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed against your cunt, slathering his leaking head with your juices.

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this." He muttered. “S’posed to be a punishment.”

"I can,” Your cheeks burned in your next choice of words. “I can pretend I’m not enjoying it, Captain.” It shouldn’t have, but your word’s flustered him, making his dick twitch for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was the breathless way you referred to him by title or your shameless suggestion, either way he’s too desperate to feel you.

“Unlikely.”

You bit your lip as he slowly slid the tip in then pulled out

"Uhnn."

"Tell me you want it." He slid in again and stilled.

"I want it...Captain." You whimpered before he shoved his dick in, full hilt, satisfied with your answer. His hand clamped hastily over your mouth as you let out a muffled squeal. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes from the rough intrusion, at the full girth as he stretched out your desperate cunt. Groaning at the sensation, your hands stilled on his shoulders as he pumped furiously. The sounds of moans, grunts, and skin against skin contact filled the space as he fucked brutally into you.

"From…this point on…you belong to me now." He mumbled against your ear. “Jaeger needs to keep his hands off or I’ll turn him in for reckless insubordination.”

Your pussy clenched at the baritone and seriousness in his voice. Hands soothed up his neck daringly, fingers lacing in the hair at the nape as you pulled him in for a kiss. His tongue lashed hungrily, sucking your lips and tongue as if he wouldn’t be able to anymore. His thrust became more erratic as the desk scooted along the floor.

"Mm..mm..mhm...!" You moaned as Levi pulled away to hear the full depravity of your noises.

"I want you to tell me who you belong to now." He snarled possessively. You stared at him in his steel, hard eyes.

He was dead serious.

"Y.." He snapped his hips, dick sitting fully in your snug walls. He didn’t move after that, drinking up the way you squirm in his grasp as you struggled to answer.

"Go on—say it." He rolled his hips purposely.

“You Captain!" You cried fingers digging into his arms. He grunted, your breathless cry sending shivers down his back as he canted forward, his strokes punishable.

"Louder."

"Le-vi. Cap’n Levi!" You cried as a particular stroke had your world erupting into euphoric bliss. You tried to bury your head into the crook of his neck but his hand was quicker, pinning you down by your neck as he oggled the fucked-out expression you gave him. Not at all the hard eyes and stoic features you wear in training or on the field. You gave in, shuddering around him, tightening your cunt around his cock as he let you go.

Your face was what had him tensing, his hands slamming on either side of your head as he shivered, his cock pulsating as he came.

Despite everything Levi had put you through, his arms embraced you and the two of you remained that way for a moment. It was uncharacteristic but you remained silent as he kissed the top of your head tenderly.

As the two of you laid against the desk, a sweaty and exhausted heap, Eren silently slid down the door, his cheeks adorning a furious blush. Jean told him you got caught and he wanted to defend you but it seemed it was… well handled. His teeth were gritted as he palmed shamefully at the growing tent in his pants.

dilfos. all right reserved. do not plagiarize any of my content. current or archival. i will find you.