#scaffold awareness course

[stakscaffoldseo]

Scaffolding training and qualification involves training about the safe usage of scaffolds and ladders to avoid falls and prevent other types of accidents. This training includes a comprehensive overview of the methods, safety guidelines and regulations required for installing a scaffold at the construction site. Here, you will learn about the importance of proper training for scaffolders in Sussex.

[wickedusername]

Apple Red

Curse!Reader x Mahito || 18+ MDNI

Synopsis:

In which our favorite shape shifting psychopath discovers the wonders of sex with someone equally fucked up in the head, all under a philosophical motif of the Knowledge Argument/Mary's Room, a thought experiment posing that certain mental states can't be known unless you experience them yourself.

A/n: Bringing this over from AO3! It was brought about in my annoyance at every Mahito fic being non-con and others yet thinking the man is illiterate. Listen, he may have been born yesterday but he's read more philosophy than you and me. This has an overarching Mary's room motif, skim it over, your enjoyment will be increased threefold. Just like your cl- Wikipedia article if you can't watch.

Tw: dead dove: do not eat, body horror, sadomaso, asphyxiation/choking, blood kink, double penetration, p in v, anal, murder kink, necrophilia mention, shapeshifting. However!! praise kink, body worship, dirty talk, consensual sex, size kink, no actual murder takes place.

Word count: 6,1k words

Epigraph:

He lowered his abs over your back again and got close to your ear. Licks, pecks and bites peppered your back, popping up in places you know mouths shouldn't be. “The pleasure of your wet, gorgeous pussy, deep and clenching for me… No dead or unwilling thing has it. You'll come for me again, won't you, dearie?

"Absolutely feral” is not enough to describe what was going on between you and Mahito. He groped every part of you, your ass, your thighs, your breasts, the fat on your hips. Arms scratched and pinched at the muscle and fat on every part of your torso with his fingers. All while his tongue licked all over your mouth and lips, swirled around yours, elongated down to your throat. His jaw took in more and more like he would gobble you up. You had your hands way up under his poncho, scratching his back to raw flesh.

This had started as a conversation. You were barely a sketch of a curse, not rivaling the strength of the other ones you knew, but shapely enough to pass as human to those who could see you. You tried your best to mind your own business and stay in hiding, fully aware the persecution of sorcerers could end you in one fell swoop. The unfinished subway station you liked to call home was where you spent most of your time. Nestled between the decaying scaffolding, the staff room was where you sat with him, the only furnished room among the many half-finished nooks of the construction site. The bare surfaces didn't bother you, and the room had remained thankfully untouched in the two or so years since construction was halted and abandoned.

You, however, neglected none of the room. Whenever you had the chance to be around humanoid curses, you made a point to invite them over. You loved to banter and befriend, but just as much as you loved to occasionally hit the jackpot for one that you could sleep with. You didn't care to investigate your origins, but you weren’t born of anything family-friendly, you knew that much.

You'd known Mahito for a while. He was introduced to you by Kenjaku, an annoying body-hijacker who'd seeked to recruit you for his revolutionary cause. You wanted none of it, especially keen on self-preservation, but the two of you had hit it off. Two curses of the psyche had plenty to commiserate about, so you often hung around each other. And you'd just now managed to have him in your nest. Of course it wasn't every time you dragged someone to your staff room that you wanted to fuck them, and you certainly wouldn't mind if it led nowhere. But he was the most human of all curses – maybe of all there were – so of course you wanted to ask him about sex. To your surprise, his opinions were less than satisfactory.

“It's not as good as murder, to be honest.” He tapped the arm of the couch he was slouched on, staring you down with conflicting feelings. It was definitely not what he was here to talk about, but it did leave him curious.

“Are you serious? You've been doing it on things that don't move, haven't you?” It was the explanation you could conoct for why he would think that.

“I can make them move, you know? I've put the parts together, it's just not all that.” He retorted.

“It's about more than the parts. It's the entirety of the person you're with.”

“I've tried full, intact humans. The first one I, uh… killed them by accident. Another one I killed beforehand and they start going cold and don't feel as nice. I kinda gave up after that, I really don't see how it's so hyped.”

“Yeah, that's not the fun way to do it. You're trying to get on the level of fragile, puny humans.” You looked to the side in pure contempt.

The disgust for human weakness nearly seeped out of you. You'd tried humans, and as good as sex was with anyone, you also boasted similar results. You had no need to kill or force, like he likely did. They flocked to you. It was easy, it was your nature. But it always ended in a body to discard. You did wonder, partly, if it was in the inherent fact of being a curse that your drive to fulfill your desire ended in human death. But killing wasn't the drive you yearned for, and you were more than happy to have something that would live to fuck another day. It was the whole reason you enjoyed other curses much more, anyway.

“Alright, I'll bite.” Mahito smiled. “What's the fun way?”

Your lips curled into a smile worth a hundred bucks. Now here you were, gripping his hair, licking his teeth and waiting eagerly for what came next.

Mahito lifted you up into his lap with what seemed like two arms wrapping around your thighs like thick belts. Two others squished and pulled on your asscheeks, torturing them, digits slipping forward to tease your clothed entrance from below. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, even though you didn't need to make much strength to be carried around. Against your belly, his hard-on pushed a tent on his leather pants. He pulled away from you with a laugh.

“This really isn't bad!”

“We haven't even started.” you leaned into his ear, scraping your lips against it before biting hard at his earlobe. “The fun part is that you can fuck me up”.

His eyes gleamed with fun and desire.

“How?” He pinned you against one of the walls. His smile was unnaturally wide, tugging at the muscles of his cheeks, pushing them up against his lower eyelids that squeezed against his fiery wide glare.

“However you want.” Your own stare burned with passion, knowing the idea of destroying you would fuel his fire to the maximum.

His dick twitched in his pants, achingly hard. A fifth arm stretched out of his stitched, toned right shoulder. His hand caressed the side of your face, combing your hair slowly back, tucking it behind your ear, before gripping your face roughly and pushing your head against the wall. He deformed it, veins and muscles bulging and pulsing in waves through your face and down your neck, while you healed up, undoing his damage and rolling your eyes back into your head. You savored his torture. His mismatched eyes burned with glee and he laughed, near maniacally, at your enjoyment.

“You-! You are too much fun!” He licked his lips and continued to cackle, like he had a front seat in the world's best joyride.

“More from the inside.” You teased. You lowered your hand to his pants and wrapped your fingers around the outline of his dick. He hissed as you stroked him, making you bite your lip at the sound.

The hand that was deforming your face stopped its transfiguring and moved to the top of your head, where it pulled your hair. He pressed your body further against the wall, giving you enough stability to bring both your hands to his pants, unzip them and allow his cock to spring free from the leather. You wrapped your hand around it and stroked him. Starting at the base, where it sprouted through the patch of brown fur that framed it, all the way to its pink round head. Your other hand caressed his abdomen, circling and clawing at the stitches in his cum gutters.

Mahito moaned and bucked his hips into your touch, squeezing your ass and thighs harder, pulling on your hair tighter. His eyes fluttered and his mouth hung open, before his sight landed on your chest, rising and falling under your tight fit shirt.

You encouraged him with a hum and the hand that was pulling your hair moved downwards, where its forearm split into halves. They promptly scrunched the cloth at the neck seam, one on each side, and ripped it apart, turning it to a cluster of circular tatters hanging from your waist and arms. His lips let out a long loud breath with the aftersound of a suppressed moan, almost like he was trying not to drool at the sight. He buried his face in your chest with nothing but nirvana in his mind.

You held the back of his head and nuzzled his hair as you kept stroking him, his pleasure-filled expression hidden between your breasts. Your breaths were heavy, and he would not stop letting out quiet grunts at your handjob. His hands roughly massaged your ass and the flesh belts around your thighs cut circulation to your feet, making them tingle. The arm that had split in two reunified, being joined by a sixth on the left side, and they both fondled your breasts. Mahito squeezed his face between the mounds and placed unrestrained bites and licks on them. When he felt himself getting close, he placed his lips against your ribs and muttered into them.

“You were right. I need the rest of it. I need to get in you.”

Mahito gripped your shoulders and slammed you against the wall once again, making you fumble the stroking rhythm you had. With the other pair of arms he gripped your asscheeks like rough dough and pulled you against him, rubbing his dick over your crotch. His nails dug in to the point of piercing cloth.

He brought his arms down from your breasts to fumble with the string of your pants. Unable to pull them or rip them away because of your legs around him, he turned around and let go of your ass, making you fall head-first into the floor. An unpleasant cracking was heard and blood splattered in a beautiful halo around your head, and you just healed the concussion shut. The only thing off the floor were your legs, still held at the sides of his hips. He stepped back and pulled your pants off with two hands at the rim and the two belts at the thighs, now sliding down to your knees and shins. When the pants were off, he tossed them to the side and recoiled the belts back into his body.

With now four arms, he crawled over you and pressed your legs apart. Mahito ripped the underwear you had like it was made of paper, throwing the pieces to the side. He held his dick in one hand, gently rubbing the head against your labia.

“God, I'm going to ruin you.” He grinned with a sing-sing tune of pure glee.

You grabbed him by the poncho and pulled him down to your level so you could talk.

“Think I'm not already rotten?” You whispered into his ear and licked your bottom lip, awaiting his response.

Instead of a witty remark, he just buried himself into you until bottoming out. He bit his lip and swallowed a big gulp, and you salivated with lascivious anticipation watching the stitches on his neck rise and fall from the movement.

“Fuck… This is good.” He muttered almost resentfully.

He threw his head back and enjoyed the feeling of your warm cunt. It was slicker than whatever he had before. Deeper. Warmer. Everything about the real thing, with the wetness and interaction of a willing participant, didn't compare to what he had done to transfigured humans, or to corpses, or to himself. Snapping back to reality, he started moving, and without much buildup he went right to pumping into you repeatedly. He was not at all mindful of still having his clothes on, of being on the cold floor, or even recalled being able to transfigure you while he was at it. All he could enjoy was the feeling.

You gripped the cloth falling over his back and started bunching it over his stitched shoulders, tucking his hair out of the way. When you got to the rim, you pulled the poncho over his head and he carelessly shoved it aside, shaking it off of the single arm that was stuck in its segmented sleeve. His hair fell forward with the movement and it now hung over you, grazing and tickling your chest. The view of his abs over you as he pounded was significantly better than a damn windowpane poncho.

Your own hands were busy as you tugged forcefully on a strand of his hair and decided to touch yourself, bringing about the familiar buildup of heat and electricity in the pit of your stomach. He noticed your hand and soon had it joined by an extra mouth, sprouting comically forward from his lower abdomen, right through his treasure trail. The mouth licked right with and over your fingers, and soon you were holding your pussy open for him, pressing down on your labia with your fingers. Their occasional twitching, your body's way to dispel some of the tension it was building.

“Do you want to feel what it's like when something comes around you? When they squeeze with you inside?” You teased, coaxing dirty talk out of him.

“I do… Come and scream my name. Fuck, I want to watch your face while you do it.”

“Then fuck me harder…” You mewled. His thrusts got stronger and he brought one of the arms sustaining his torso to grip your shoulder and push you harder against him with every pound. Your back chafed against the concrete, ripping at the skin of your scapulas. The mouth on your clit latched on and flicked its tongue around, catching the bud repeatedly.

Mahito lifted the last arm that sustained his torso from the floor, putting his weight on your thighs with the other pair. It forced them higher. It made your muscles sting. You unfolded your knees and placed your calves on his shoulders, and the position was riveting. He placed that hand on your mouth, where he pulled your lips, pinched your tongue, enjoyed the drool. Mahito straightened his back, lifting his torso away from your face. He ended up gripping your lower jaw like a handle, his knuckles under your tongue and thumb pressing into the soft spot under your chin. His nails cut the bottom of your mouth and he probably dislocated your jaw a couple of times with his thrusting, but fuck if you cared.

Your eyes rolled over as the heat built up higher and your toes curled around nothing. You thrashed your feet about in restlessness and the hands holding your thighs apart just tightened their grip, wavering with the movement of the muscles underneath them. You called out to him as promised and came around him. The pressure washed away in waves, rolling over you one by one in electric spasms. The tongue in the abdominal mouth flattened against your clit and you let it lick a trail slowly upwards. He could barely process his thoughts when the first spasm jolted your lower region.

“Ma- a- Ah!!” you fumbled your attempt to utter his name a second time.

“Ah...! Shit!” His eyes shot open and his mouth hung agape as you clenched around his dick.

He lost the regularity in his thrusting and let his sight glaze over, twitching at the feeling of your slick. The pulse brought him over the edge, and before your orgasm had fully waived he was moaning and pumping sloppily into you, spurting warm cum through your insides. His moans were even louder than yours, and his arms shook from the pleasure. Your half-lidded eyes framed by sweat met his and he had to shut them and turn his head away so he wouldn't be distracted. He moaned with the shivers that ran down his legs, his abdomen spasming and clenching. The abdominal mouth hung and drooled against your crotch, devoid of mind.

“Shit… you got so tight.” Mahito sighed, catching his breath, still coming down from his high.

“Isn't it so nice? You'll have to make me come again if you want more of that.” you giggled, partly trying to convince him to please you harder.

“Oh, I'll do so much more than make you come.” The man shook his head softly and looked down on you with a grin.

He didn't have such an issue as a refractory period. As soon as his dick went soft, he just made himself a new one and pushed that within you instead.

“Ah… More…” you cooed after his first few thrusts and it gave him a brand new idea.

Without ever pulling out, he made his cock a full double its volume. It shifted with delicious waves to the length of his foot and the thickness of a wrist. You bit your lips feeling its growth inside you, expanding your walls tighter. He pulled it out just to tease and even pushing it back took a little effort. The member stretched you open, the friction helped by all the wet and seed already inside. You felt a tinge of pride in your own pussy for taking it. He went right back to fucking. The pounding of this new dick made you feel so delightfully full, and the mild pain of his tip hitting your cervix was nothing but seasoning to your masochism. He wouldn't slide all the way in, instead he just pushed against the spongy back of your pussy until he felt too much resistance and slid back out, again and again.

The hand he once had in your mouth slithered down to your neck, where it was soon joined by the one that held your shoulder. He now had two hands on your thighs and two on your neck. He put his full weight on your trachea, and he seemed to love the feeling of wrapping his fingers around your small chunk of spine and muscle and grip it tight, with full suffocating intent. You couldn't breathe, but you didn't need to. His rhythmic slams against your cunt translated to his fingers digging harder and harder into your flesh, unrelenting as tugs on a zip tie. Pump after pump after pump, the pressure on your neck and on your cervix mixed in your head. They fought for your attention in turns with whichever felt strongest at any given second.

“Ah… I want to kill you so bad. I wanna blow you up into pieces.” Both arms pressed into your neck hard enough to scrunch it thin, folding the skin into rolls. He admired it as its color transitioned in a spotty gradient from pale to pink to red, to near grape under his fingers.

You couldn't talk, but you ran your finger under his chin and up his cheek, up to the stitches near his ear. You gripped the hair at the back of his head with both hands and held the blue-gray strands tight while he rolled repeatedly into you. He hissed in contentment at the feeling of you around him, at the sight of him around you, at the collapsing of your trachea under his hands. It made him way too aroused.

His gaze dropped slowly to your abdomen again and, with an intrusive thought, he decided to push into you until the base of his shaft. The pain stole your attention fully to your nether region. He pushed past any point of comfort into your cervix and gawked at the sight of your abdomen bulging ever so slightly to accommodate him. The sight made his dick twitch with the will to release. The feeling of pushing into your cervix past its intended size put wonderful pressure against his head. He pumped again and immediately had to stop himself because his stomach was coiling in pleasure against his will.

“Shit… I don't wanna come again already.” He let go of your neck and pulled out of you with haste, leaving with a loud sigh.

The curse panted loudly and stood up with laborious effort. He used this break to get his pants fully off. Both gasped for air, though you had much more of a reason. He wormed his legs out one after the other like boneless noodles and threw the pants in roughly the same direction where his poncho sat on the floor.

“You've made yourself such a gorgeous body.” you sat up and reached forward to grip the stitches in his thighs with admiration. You ran your digits over the raised clamps along the scar lines and resisted the urge to lean forward to kiss them. Mahito had kept human legs, even if the hairy patch around his base was still more like fur than pubes. Everything about his body was perfect to you. He snorted.

“You like it?” His smile widened. “How about this?”

With that, he split the dick mercilessly in half and reshaped both semicircles to the same girth as the first. He now had two wonderful shafts of exquisite size hanging from the soft brown fuzziness of his crotch.

“Fuck…” You whined, wordless except for the blushing in your cheeks and the glistening in your eyes. You scooted closer to him and sat up on your knees to get your mouth to the height where it could ghost over the shafts. You held them and fidgeted with their shapes, occasionally running your tongue along them, kissing their sides and cupping his balls. You looked up at him as you placed a hard lick over one of the tips and then the other in succession, tasting the precum that seeped from both. He could swear his balls ached at the sight.

“Get up and turn around for me?” Mahito grabbed both shafts and stepped back to keep you from worshiping them any longer. You bemoaned the loss, but got up and turned your back to him.

He embraced you with care and placed pecks on your neck. Mahito stretched an arm to the side and pushed the small wooden table that sat in the middle of the room against a wall. He walked forward with you until he had your legs pushing against the table’s edge and both of you faced the wall. You watched with wonder and a tinge of horror as a bramble of independent limbs split from his own and wrapped around the table.

Mahito placed a long, breathy kiss on your nape before putting his palm on your back and bending you over. You let him hold your wrists delicately and put them together above your head. He guided your forearms to lean against the wall, where he gripped them tight, making sure your hands wouldn't go anywhere. Two hands stretched from the table only to hold you by the lats, steadying you. Still carefully, the curse rubbed your shoulders and bent over you. He kissed your back and ran his other three hands down your sides, squeezing your anatomy and rubbing gentle scratches on the fats he could grip.

“You are being so wonderful, sweetheart.” Mahito placed kisses all over your back, his hair dragging ticklish paths along your sides. You looked back at him. The mood seemed to shift to something more loving than you ever expected.

“So caring all of a sudden? What's the matter, are you insecure about the b-- ahh?” He immediately shoved the top shaft inside your pussy until the base, shutting up any cocky comments coming out of you. The pain devolved your words into incoherence.

“You don't think I'm some kid, do you? I enjoy your teasing, but I'm inexperienced, not stupid. I'm being nice because I need you to relax if I want them both in.” He patted your butt and rubbed it in circles with both hands. “So you'll just enjoy it for me, yes?”

“I will… Mahito.” The line left you breathless. He was suddenly so much hotter than you'd thought. So far you thought you'd been commanding him, but it hadn't crossed your mind that he knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing.

As he was standing behind you, he had a perfect view of your entrance dripping for him and he gripped your asscheeks and hummed while looking down at it. The way your back arched so nicely against him when he rolled his hips into you was almost as riveting and the feeling of the bottom dick rubbing against your clit with his back and forth. He pushed a few times, letting his cockhead rub on the hood of your clit, before he reached one hand around your thigh to your crotch. The man felt for your clitoris and then gave his palm a mouth to eat you out with. His fingers sprawled under your entrance, where he kept slowly rocking against you.

“Not that you don't have something I didn't know, but the missing piece was feeling it. I know plenty. It's… a Mary's room situation.” He kept talking, earnest and lost in thought while his hand sucked and licked your clit, mindlessly rubbing and patting your curves in admiration. The second shaft twitched and smeared precum on the back of his hand. “I guess it's just that… I can be too rough for humans to have any of the good stuff, I assumed I just couldn't get it.”

He placed one palm on your back and you felt the most sensitive spot of your clit peek out and expand, becoming bigger, more sensitive. Within your muscles, nerve endings branched and reached, making the pleasure increase threefold. If before you were casually enjoying his eating out, now you spasmed and lost breath as the feeling moved you dangerously up the drop of a roller-coaster. You whined incoherent.

“But you… You've shown me the pleasure in them.” He lowered his abs over your back again and got close to your ear. Licks, pecks and bites peppered your back, popping up in places you know mouths shouldn't be. “The pleasure of your wet, gorgeous pussy, deep and clenching for me… No dead or unwilling thing has it. You'll come for me again, won't you, dearie?”

“Mahito- I'm- Ah, I'm-!” Your breath hitched with the building electricity.

“That's just what I wanted to hear!” He chuckled with a genuineness that felt out of place.

The roller-coaster stopped for only a second at the peak of chilling anticipation before dropping you into a storm of pleasure, washing away. You moaned without thought, the sound echoing against the walls and bringing heat to your cheeks with the embarrassment of your pathetic noises. Your legs shook and threatened to give in, but he had more than two arms holding you tight. As you came off it your heartbeat thumped in your ears, in your chest, in your clit.

He praised you as you came, closing his eyes to enjoy your spasming velvet walls around his dick. You felt like heaven, tight, swollen to all hell, plush, malleable as a squishy toy. He couldn't believe he'd willingly discarded it as literary hyperbole. It could be as good as he'd imagined, and it was breaking him. The red of Mary's apple, sitting right in front of his eyes.

Before your mind was back to the present, he pulled out his cock dripping with slick and pressed the tip softly against your ass. With the hand that ate you out, he gathered as much wetness and he could on his fingers by rubbing them between your folds and brought that hand to your anus, where his fingers entered you to spread it all around.

He now had one hand holding your arms and one in the small of your back angling your ass up at him, another one that thrusted softly into your anus and a final one held his top shaft, preparing it to enter. You had just come off your orgasm when he pushed the shaft inside, slowly against the resistance of your ring. The burn reminded you, what you'd almost forgotten by now, that his dicks were still unpleasantly too big.

You whined and he reassured you with shushes and pats until he was in to the hilt. “You said I can fuck you up and you can't take this much? You're disappointing me…”

“It's not- a complaint.” You clarified. It really wasn't, the noises you produced were entirely reflexive.

Mahito hummed in agreement and held the bottom shaft that peeked between your thighs. He pumped it with his fist to spread the excessive precum that seeped from the tip. It had been dripping, neglected since you last licked it. He curved it towards your pussy and pushed in. You felt stuffed, entirely full, with no space left for yearning, no matter how much arousal had deepened your canal. Especially with both their sizes, it was entirely too much.

“This… is so crazy good. Even when I'm not doing anything else…” Mahito sighed as he slid leisurely back and forth into the holes, fully devoted to feeling. The pleasure of a slick recipient was doubled, occupying more of his mind than anything else had. He gripped the back of your head without looking and felt the sticky matted dirt of blood on your hair.

“Hm? What's this from?” He removed his hand in surprise.

“You… when you got my pants off.” You murmured.

“I like it.” He brought the hand to his mouth and licked the blood off it. “I think I know what I want to do…”

“I don't care what you do, just fuck me… please…” you whimpered, growing desperate at his stalling. You tried remove your hands from his grip, but they were well secured above your head. He ran that thumb over your knuckles in consolation.

“Hm, like this?” He pulled back and slammed into you in mockery.

“Yes! Please…!” you nodded vigorously.

“Is that so? I think I would rather…” He vexed and extended two of his arms forward, where they wrapped around your neck and forehead to pull your head back as far as it could bend. Your neck ached and your mouth opened wide in an effort to relieve his grip on your neck. “Even like that?”

“Anything… please-!” You begged, filling up his sadistic ego.

“Aye aye then…” he cheerfully agreed.

He held your hip with his only free hand and pounded you, over and over, without restraint. The arms that held you stretched unnaturally long to allow him to straighten his posture and pound with his full body. Grunts left his lips that sounded entirely too hot to be caused just by effort.

Mahito kept a steady rhythm and pulled your head back with his hands, forcing every muscle in the front of your neck to stretch taut. Your sight was confined to your forearms rubbing against the unpainted cement wall. His grip on your wrists turned your skin white, outlined by a flurry of red streaks. You spread your pinkies apart, trying to place your fingers on the wall, but barely achieved it, still restrained by his fist.

The hand on your neck twisted your anatomy, sending bulges of vein and muscle through you like shivers, pulsing your entire body with gross transfiguration. Not only that, but it sharpened, the web of this thumb thinning into a blade's edge and piercing into skin with his grip. You gasped in desperation as it started to dig into muscle and tried to heal the cut shut against his hand. He tightened his grip and shook your neck, back and forth, to dispel your effort.

“No.” His hand pierced further. “Let it run.”

Blood dripped down your torso, tickling your chest in its path and leaving sticky ruby trails in its wake. Drips ran down his arm and over your collarbones, contouring the mounds of your breasts, until they could reach your belly and fall to the ground, heavy with accumulated volume, unable to reach any further down and losing their grip on skin from the shaking of his pounds.

The cut burned like fire, stealing your attention from anything else. To get your focus back down, Mahito slammed into you hard and started sliding the shafts in alternating paces. He didn't need to thrust his hips: they pumped autonomously. The feeling was like nothing you'd ever had, either. You attempted to force words out of the hyperstimulating cacophony of sensations he was putting you through, shaking your attention away just to call his name. You bucked your hips backward into his thrusts, helping his movement in the only way you could.

He wrapped two more arms around your waist, gluing his body to yours again, and gripped the softness right below your ribs. You lost count of how many he had. He curved his fingers inward into the middle of your abdomen, sharpening his fingertips into precise blades, piercing at the skin and gripping as if he were going to pull out chunks with his bare hands. He gripped your fat and rammed his hips deliciously as blood ran piping hot down his forearms. The curse moaned and let his mouth hang agape, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, as the inherent eroticism of entering flesh turned him on so bad he thought he might come immediately. The pained cry that left your mouth went from his ears straight to his dick.

“Fuuuuck.” He leaned down and breathed hard against your back. The shaft in your ass twitched, bringing too much tension to his lower belly, relaying the message that with another second his balls would turn blue. You clenched your hole around it, milking it for release, and he couldn’t hold anything back. It pumped your ass full of seed, spewing jets of white inside you. Mahito placed his forehead against your spine and whined, his mouth ghosting over you with a small string of drool below. His fringe caught on beaded sweat and stuck to your back, but still he never stopped pumping. It was all only from the dick on top, the one that had been in you the longest. The one in your pussy still hurt for release, winding a fiery coil in his stomach.

His palms distorted you, shifting your insides so your flesh would compress and release against him. He was using you, making you a flesh toy, providing squeeze in his own terms. It peeved him for being too little effort from you, too close to what he already knew, but just the puffiness of your cunt against him was novelty enough. He didn't care now that he was in despair, pining for a second orgasm that didn't delay much further.

He came for the second time with cries that seemed almost painful and whipped his spine straight, carelessly forgetting himself and pulling on your head enough to snap it backwards. He moaned pathetically with the shakes of every muscle and attempted to rock his hips with faltering success. He let go of the grip in every hand and dropped his sweat-covered frame over you, pushing your body down into the table.

“Ah… ah… are you- alive?” He asked meekly at your limp, unmoving frame. He'd done things that would kill a human a few times, but he wondered if this had been too much.

“I told you I would be.” You replied with equally breathless lilt from underneath.

Happiness painted his perspective in pink and he recoiled all but two arms back while the main pair slithered underneath to hug you tenderly. The sticky layer of blood made his hug that much warmer in the literal sense, giving tangibility to the figurative warmth of his thanks. He pulled you tight into his embrace, and you folded your arms over your shoulders to pat his head on your nape, both waiting for their breaths to settle.

“I know it's been dragging out for long, but still… I don't want it to stop.” Mahito turned to nuzzle the side of your head. “I still wish I had more… more of the things only you can give.”

You pushed yourself off the table, forcing him to slip out of your holes and lift himself off as well. You turned to him and cuffed his chin to bring his lips down on yours, kissing him with sloppy nods, which one could almost mistake for a loving trade of affection. He wrapped his bloodied hands on your back, dragging trails that mixed with sweat to smear more than they should. Your lips separated and your eyes met his mismatched pair, half-lidded and full of wonder.

“Tell me…” you whispered into his lips with confidence he had expected to have snuffed out after all this.

“I want to experience your body more…” He licked his bottom lip, unable to divert his eyes from yours. “Let me find out how much I can dismantle you before you break”.

“If you still have the vigor, I'll give you something that you really never had from your attempts.”

You pushed him backwards, making him stumble with crooked steps and fall on his ass. His smile spread further than humanly possible when you got down and crawled over him, dressed in a stained scarf of blood that licked your entire torso in red.

You kneeled at the sides of his hips and reached down to ride him.

[spider-mancan]

Starker fuck or die

This is insane. The entire day has been one dumpster fire after another. Peter fell asleep on top of a building still in costume with his textbook spread open on his lap to the sound of a phone call. The resulting jolt of unfortunate awareness nearly sent his school books down onto the pavement — instead they just have a stain from the webbing and an extremely damaged spine. Peter answered the phone but was more interested in mourning his rental deposit than whatever threat was causing the Avengers to assemble. 

Then he heard the words Sex Demon come out of Captain America’s mouth and it was all downhill from there. Forlorn, Peter agreed to set his studying aside and come help out, because, really, when was he going to have another opportunity to sit in a room while Steve Rogers tried to talk about a Sex Demon in the debrief? 

It wasn’t nearly as fun as Peter expected. They’d called him in because he was difficult to hit and had the benefit of both long- and short-range fighting, but some of the others weren’t so lucky. By the time he arrived, Black Widow had already been removed by Hawkeye, leaving Second Hawkeye looking very purple (“nice new uniform, Kate!”) and incredibly perplexed. Steve was mostly alright, but whatever was causing problems was not reacting well to the serum.

Causing problems, of course, meant making people extremely Down to Fuck extremely quickly. 

“This is hilarious,” Peter says, swinging around the rafters. The warehouse they’re in has already been trashed, light leaking in through the roof and scaffolding collapsed in heaps on the concrete floor. “There is so much porn about this. At least two. Not that I know for sure.”

Tony comes over the comm. “I did hear Sex Pollen Sluts Go Nuts got excellent reviews.”

No one thinks this is funny at all, but Peter is too busy twisting out of harm’s way to feel bad about laughing. 

It’s not a Sex Demon, which Peter finds incredibly disappointing. It’s just a man who believes in the power of the aphrodisiac, or something, and developed yadda yadda whatever he’s trying to get blackmail of the world’s most influential people blah blah super awkward and gross and his sex blaster doesn’t even look cool at all. 

None of this is the particularly insane part.

The insane part happens about two seconds after Tony manages to topple Mr. Sex Demon over the railing and onto the ground, where the pressurized canisters on his back give way to the unforgiving asphalt and explode into a green haze so dense Peter can barely see the brilliant blue glow of the arc reactor in Tony’s chest.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter yells into the comm, without a response, and he’s swinging over to assess the damage when Captain barks orders for him to stay out of the way.

The Iron Man suit is already vacuuming up the fumes to remove the contaminant from the air, but Tony hadn’t been wearing one of his space safe suits which means there’s no internal oxygen supply, which means he’s also been contaminated. Regardless, the two men come into view and Tony just waves. “FRIDAY gives the all clear.” His voice sounds strained.

Peter drops down just behind. “Mr. Stark!”

“Spider-Man,” Steve calls, jogging over. “It’s best not to get to close—”

Peter is about to ask what Steve could possibly mean when he feels heavy hands grip his shoulders. The Iron Man gauntlets are heavy — in the armor Tony weighs nearly 400 pounds — and Peter winces. “Mr. Stark?” 

He isn’t afraid — Natasha hadn’t been dangerous. She’d stood stock still for a moment, called for assistance, and immediately removed herself. Over the phone, Captain America had run through the symptoms of the spores, but Peter can’t remember all of that now. He vaguely remembers a loss of inhibition, some kind of animalistic behavior, and an increase in body temperature to dangerous levels over time.

“Tony,” Steve says warningly. 

Iron Man’s faceplate lifts up and Tony is sweating, gritting his teeth. “I know, Cap.” His hands tighten, shaking, enough that Peter grabs one and flexes his fingers, debating whether to pry it off. “I’m trying.” Deep breath.

“Get away from the kid, Tony.” Steve pulls out his firearm and Peter is about to laugh, it’s insane, Tony would never hurt him. Touching Peter isn’t something Tony isn’t allowed to do. But when Peter goes to laugh Tony still looks so serious, so stony, almost sick. Deranged, even. Just a little.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter frowns and Tony’s eyes flutter closed, tight.

“Don’t call me that, right now, kid.”

Kate hops down from her perch in the rafters, awkwardly adjusting the quiver on her back. “I’m just gonna, uh, go.” She gestures over her shoulder to the door, which Tony blasted off the hinges not half an hour ago. “I’ll find a broom or something. Or just leave.”

Steve nods, mouth tight. His gaze doesn’t leave Tony where he’s hunched over Peter like a bad shadow, but his finger stays still on the trigger. Waiting. Not moving one way or the other.

Peter knows how these sorts of things go; if something can go wrong, it will. He runs through the data he can grapes through the confusion, tapping into Tony’s suit. Tony had been exposed to nearly twenty times the recommended dosage. Peter pulls his vitals through Karen and tries not to balk at Tony’s heart rate or internal temperature. Hot. Tony could fry an egg on his chest soon. “We need to get you out of the suit.” Peter reaches for one of the latches.

“Leave it,” Tony grunts. He’s bitten his lip so hard there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. “Better.” His hands haven’t moved, like he can’t move them, like he’s a statue. Peter is going anywhere without forcing himself free. “Better for you.”

“For me?” Peter demands. His hands are already on the gauntlet, but he freezes, struck silly by the sheer nerve. Tony is overloading and he thinks he should stay in the suit for Peter’s sake?

“I’m calling Fury.” Steve brings one hand up to his ear, gun still level. His eyes don’t leave Tony the entire time, even when he backs away slightly and starts to argue on the private channel.

Peter’s fingers tap a nervous rhythm on Tony’s armor. “Karen says you’re spiking really fast, sir,” he says at a whisper. This isn’t good for Tony’s heart, still weak, or his nervous system, which has been run ragged.

“I’m fine,” Tony chokes out through clenched teeth. His skin looks terribly gray, haggard, even. “I am really reliving some of my old glory days right now, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Drugs.” Peter laughs nervously. Tony’s eyes are blown, the warm brown consumed by darkness, and his gaze is heavy on Peter. The gauntlet moves now, pulling up the hem of Peter’s mask until Peter feels metal against his pulse point. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony groans.

Peter is a good kid, but he’s not a saint. He’s seen the Tony Stark sex tapes, even the ones that Tony didn’t know were being recorded. He’d been through his own moral beratement when he opened it the first time, but he’d done it several times since because they’re something about Tony that Peter can’t get enough of. And Peter has heard that groan a million times. It’s not like his enemy just punched me into a wall groan, or his this meeting could have been an email groan. It’s the groan he makes when he opens someone up with his cock for the first time. The eyes rolling back, hips stuttering kind of groan.

Peter is suddenly very hard in his jock strap. Terrible. Terrible news.

Karen is a welcome distraction in the form of more terrible news. “Mr. Stark!” The vitals displaying on Peter’s HUD are approaching dangerous levels, especially for an older, unenhanced human. “Your heart rate. It’s crazy!” 

Tony is sweating, mouth open in the face of the rising temperatures, and Peter starts to frantically start prying at the mechanisms that hold the armor together. Tony makes no move to assist. “Leave it.”

“You’re in a metal can and you’re already over 100F,” Peter tells him, as if Tony didn’t know. “You’re going to—”

He doesn’t hear Steve barking at him to stop. It doesn't strike him that it’s a bad idea until it’s too late.

Peter manages to get his nails under the ridge of the chest plate and release it, pulling back, and then suddenly he’s falling. Tony has miraculously changed his mind about the suit and decided to abandon it entirely, stepping out and using the momentum of Peter’s scrambling until they both fall prone on the ground. There’s a poof of dust as they clatter onto the warehouse floor, tangled together.

Steve looks over at them sharply and is yelling orders Peter can’t quite hear because he is too busy trying to place the way Tony is smothering him with his body. Even through Peter’s suit he feels the heat radiating off of Tony’s skin, so sweaty he’s almost slick. He smells like hard work and expensive cologne. Peter is bewildered, and he puts his hands on Tony’s chest to push him away only to freeze when he feels Tony pull up mask and lick a thick line from his collar to his ear. 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t—” Tony gets a hand between them, pushing the release on Peter’s suit until it’s loose around his body and Peter turns his head to look at Steve. “Captain, I didn’t think it was supposed to be, ah, oh.” He shudders when Tony sucks Peter’s ear into his mouth. “Mr. Stark, please. We need to get you to medical.”

“No time,” Tony mumbles against Peter’s throat. He’s cupping Peter’s groin through the suit while the other hand pulls the mask off completely. “Want you bad. God, I can’t even think. Look at you.”

“Tony.” Steve takes the safety off, conversation over the communicator set aside, and gets closer. He doesn’t want to shoot. That much is obvious — if he was going to, he would have already done it. “I said get off the kid.”

“He’s mine, Capsicle,” Tony growls. He winds his hands around Peter’s back until their chest to chest, and Peter feel the rabbiting heartbeat until it’s hard to separate whose is whose. “Get your own!” There’s the tell-tale fire up of the propulser on Tony’s palm, and then there’s a stare down between Iron Man and Captain America with a shivering Spider-Man sandwiched between.

Steve looks away first.

Peter feels a bit wild, wide-eyed, confused. Flushed and hot and not attractive at all, but Tony is near-tearing the suit off of his body and Peter is so shocked he’s barely fighting it. Cold air hits his sweaty skin where Tony is pulling it down at the neck and it feels like an electric shock. “Mr. Stark, seriously. You need to—oh.” There’s a rough hand on his cock. “Oh, my god.”

Tony has both hands on Peter again, like he’s going to reach into Peter’s chest and start pulling him apart, but the Iron Man suit is in sentry mode now; Peter hears the thunk of the boots on the ground even as he’s writhing, trying to focus past the sound of his own insane breathing. He blinks and then there is red and gold staring down the barrel of Steve’s gun.

“Need you, kid,” Tony growls in his ear, pulling down the length of him through his underwear. This was not on Peter’s bingo card for the day. “Feel like I’ll die without you.”

Maybe you will, Peter thinks hysterically.

Steve could stop this, but the gun is slowly falling lower until it’s pointed at the concrete. “Peter,” he starts, “if you give me the word, I’ll remove him and take him to quarantine until we find a willing partner.”

“Partner?” The puzzle pieces are falling into place but there has to be another picture because the one in Peter’s head isn’t making any sense. “I thought this just made you horny!”

“It sure does,” Tony mutters. He doesn’t spare Peter’s underthings nearly the same respect as the suit, but he tears Peter’s t-shirt off at the neck and spreads it open like a child opening a Christmas present. Hands splay flat over sweaty skin, feeling Peter’s rapid breathing. “I’m going to ruin you, kid.” Like he can’t hear a single thing.

“I’m not—oh, god.” Tony is heavy on top of him and his cock is hard in his sweats, thick where it’s digging into Peter’s hip. Tony readjusts and grinds them together, hard enough that Peter scrambles for purchase against Tony’s back. “Cap, I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Tony rakes his nails down Peter’s bare chest, catching on Peter’s nipples with a satisfied smirk.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks slowly.

Tony has such a high fever and his heart rate is dangerous and he looks at Peter and says, “you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?” and Peter is so fucked. He’s both literally and figuratively fucked.

Like a flash of lightning, Peter remembers the call earlier: if Tony doesn’t come inside someone, he’ll overheat until he’s either cooked inside or dies from a heart attack. It had sounded kind of funny at the time, only half-paying attention.

Despite having a god among men standing not twenty feet away — oh, god, Captain America can totally see Peter’s boner right now — Tony doesn’t look away from Peter for a single moment if he can help it. Years of the revolving door love interests have made Tony extremely good with his hands. He’s often joked about it, about how good he is in bed, but Peter never actually thought he’d feel the way Tony smoothes hands over skin or bites bruises cherry red and it’s just a whole lot more than Peter expected to happen.

“I—I…oh, god.” Tony licks a line from Peter’s navel up to his chest and latches on to one of Peter’s nipples with his teeth. “I’m, I’m willing. I just—”

“Are you sure?” Steve says firmly, like Peter might be able to think straight with Tony all over him like every unfortunate wet dream he’s had since the seventh grade.

“If you don’t leave right now,” Tony says with a growl, “you’re going to get quite the show, Cap.” His eyes look clouded over, and he sits back heavy on Peter’s cock and just looks at the mess he’s made. Peter’s suit is hanging haphazardly around his hips and his shirt is ruined and his skin is bright pink. The cold wind through the holes in the walls brushes past, too cool on the spit-slick on Peter’s chest and he shudders.

“I’m okay,” Peter chants, and he lets himself reach out and touch for the first time. It’s tentative, fingertips across the scarring on Tony’s chest. “Like, what the fuck, but also I’ll be okay.”

If anyone understands that, it’s Steve, who is flushed almost as red as Peter and pivots. “I’ll guard the perimeter.”

With a grin, Tony rolls his hips so fluidly Peter whines high in his throat. “Kind of wanted to put on a show.” His cock is so hard, rutting into the dips of Peter’s stomach. “Bet he’ll watch. He just doesn’t want to admit how good you look. My perfect boy.” He grabs both sides of Peter’s head, fingers tangling in his hair so hard Peter can’t look anywhere but straight ahead.

Peter presses his hands flat. “Mr. Stark, I…” He closes his eyes tight. “What do I do? This is crazy.” Not last week Tony had been helping Peter with relationship advice, how to get a girl’s attention, clapped him on the shoulder and called him champ like he was going to take Peter to the baseball game later. “You’re…” 

The first time Tony kisses him, Peter’s brain doesn’t care about the drugged nature of it. It’s everything he wants, everything he thought it would be in his wildest dreams. It’s possessive, almost bruising, like Tony is boiling over and he’s going to fill Peter up with it. Teeth nips at Peter’s bottom lip until he makes the smallest sound, a little desperate. What? That’s Mr. Stark’s tongue in his mouth.

Tony’s hands slip down under the waistband of Peter’s until he touches hair and Peter writhes, knees clanking together, trying to hide himself even though Tony groans again like he’s found nirvana. His nails rake up the sensitive skin near Peter’s groin. “So soft and beautiful.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder, hips still rutting in a sinful rhythm. “Knew you would be.”

“Are you sure about—ah, about this, Mr, Stark?” Peter tries. His tongue is so thick in his mouth. He can hardly process anything. Beyond Tony is the dingy gray walls of the warehouse, the open space, anyone could walk in and they’d see Tony pinning Peter down with his body. Tony has never looked at him this way; not that Peter hasn’t tried. “You’re…you’re going to hate me later.” He covers his face with his hands, feels the heat on his cheeks.

When he turned seventeen he’d pushed his luck. He touched more, took more. Kissed Tony on the cheek goodbye until he was daring enough to slip, catch just the corner of Tony’s mouth. Peter remembers it, it’s was Monday, rainy, because he’ll never forget the way Tony had looked at him after. Terrified. Disgusted, even. Of Peter. Of Peter kissing him.

Right now, Tony needs more than a sidestep kiss and pat on the shoulder. He needs a hole, something to fuck into, something to take apart piece by piece, and he’s already let Peter know he wasn’t interested in that with him. Peter’s brain is spinning, the reality of the situation started to seep in through the cracks of his shock, and he wonders if he’s being an opportunist by taking Tony’s wandering hands in stride. 

“Oh, darling.” Tony leans in and presses a wet kiss to Peter’s shoulder. “I could never hate you.”

The sound of the zipper fills up the whole room. The space is public, with the open floor and windows and sun streaming down, but it’s quiet, save the police sirens outside. Tens of people, probably, just a flimsy wall away while Tony Stark gets his cock out with a groan. 

It’s thick, uncut, slightly to the left, and nestled in a thick and well-groomed swath of dark hair. Peter knew all that from the videos, the tapes he keeps on his phone for the lonely nights, but that’s just an old image of Tony. Right now, Tony is on his knees above Peter and he grins, circling his cock with his fingers so Peter can watch it twitch. He’s still a bit gray, he looks sick, and his hair is slick against his neck. Peter has always liked that, when it curls there, but Peter can’t look away from the curls around Tony’s cock right now because he’s just a man and his mouth is watering.

“You’re going to be the best thing I’ve ever felt,” Tony says through that wicked grin, eyes dazed — mind far away, probably, since the fight has left him. He leans over, lets his cock drag over Peter’s stomach. Peter feels pre-come in a smooth line and it makes him whimper. “I’ve fucked royalty, the most powerful people in the world, the most beautiful, but I know you’re going to feel the best.”

He kisses Peter then, when Peter opens his mouth and moans at the idea. He brings one thick hand up to Peter’s neck and just holds him, all threat but no pressure, and opens up Peter’s kisses with the flat of his tongue until Peter is weak and loose on the floor. Those fingers pull his mouth down, slip in and feel his tongue slide under the fingertips, and Tony doesn’t have to tell Peter to suck because this has happened in Peter’s head at least twenty five times.

Tony tastes like metal and lotion and salt. He presses on Peter’s tongue until Peter drools around his fingers, grinding his cock into Peter’s hip and rolling his thigh up between Peter’s legs. “Knew you’d melt for me, sugar in the rain, just like that.” 

Peter thinks his eyes might roll back in his head. Is he the one that got caught in the sex pollen nightmare? He feels giddy, almost drunk, and he lets more drool come out of his mouth and slick up Tony’s fingers. He knows where they’re going.

Tony is less single-minded than Peter would have thought, because he’s slow to pull his fingers away and he’s slow to lift up Peter’s leg and he spends an awed moment just looking, which borders on being too much. Peter can feel his ass clench when Tony runs a thumb over the pucker, and his legs tighten around Tony’s hips.

“Just, uh…” Peter wipes his mouth and hides his face in his elbow. “You can start, just…whatever you need.”

Tony presses in gently with the pad of his thumb at the same time he tugs Peter’s arm away from his face, just in time to see Peter’s expression slip into something feral. “Need to see you.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder and laves at it with his tongue. His goatee scrapes across Peter’s skin so good, and Peter curls up until his arms are curling over Tony’s head, hovering, unsure whether to bring him closer or pull him away. “My good boy.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter presses Tony into his shoulders, another bite, and Tony slips a spit-slick finger inside quick and easy. “Oh, god, I didn’t think—I never thought—”

That’s a lie. Peter thought about it a lot, the way Tony might work him open. Tony’s fingers curl smoothly against Peter’s walls, one to two and then three, a little dry but Peter doesn’t mind when it hurts a little because sometimes soft and sweet feels dull. Sometimes he wants someone to rip him open and make him cry and if Tony is going to do it right now, under threat of death—

“Think about you all the time,” Tony croons heavily against Peter’s skin. He pulls away, purposeful, and Peter blinks. He wonders hysterically if the fog melted away, no more sex magic or whatever it is that’s making Tony want to destroy him, but Tony just draws closer until he can slap his cock around Peter’s swollen mouth. “Get me wet. I’ll make you stop thinking for good.”

Peter groans, an open invitation. This is insane. He shouldn’t enjoy this because Mr. Stark is drugged into wanting him and it’s a huge breach of trust and privacy but Peter scrambled up onto his elbows so Tony can feed him his dick, thick and perfect. He grabs Tony’s hip so hard he thinks there might be bruises but Tony fucks a little harder into his mouth, smooth.

There isn’t a lot of time for sex in his line of work, he’s busy, he’s pining over a man who doesn’t want him, not for real, but Peter isn’t too good to get on his knees in the back of a club and swallow someone down. He knows what he’s doing, throat opening up until the head of Tony’s cock hits the back of his throat. He hums. He loves this. He loves sucking people off, makes his head floaty and easy, and he’s got his eyes closed just to revel in it. He lets drool pool in his mouth again, knows it’s going to make his life easier. 

Tony’s thumb wipes a tear off Peter’s cheek, and it’s only then that Peter opens his eyes and finds his lashes damp, stuck together, watery. “There’s my boy.” It’s so fond. “Don’t cry. You’re doing so well.”

Peter’s hips fuck up into the air and he pulls off, suckling at the head before letting it rest gently on his bottom lip. “I’m good. I’m good, Mr. Stark.” He feels Tony twitch against his mouth. It’s incredible. 

It’s nothing compared to Tony rolling him over on his side, the obscene way Tony hikes up one of Peter’s legs and spits in Peter’s hole and feeds Peter the head of his cock so fast it burns a little, the way Peter kind of likes but won’t admit. It hurts and then his body knows it like this and everything evens out and Tony growls when he thrusts fully into Peter. His skin slaps hard against Peter’s hips, rocking Peter with a surprised cry further across the dusty ground. Tony just smoothes his hand over Peter’s hip, under the knee, and rocks into him. He bites feral at Peter’s neck and shoulders like he’s here to take and claim, like he’s going to want to see the shape of himself on Peter later.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, I’m, ah, oh, please.” Tony brushes up against his prostate and Peter jolts forward, bracing himself with his free hand on the ground to stop from being fucked flat into the floor. “Oh, please. It’s good. It’s good, it’s good.”

Peter isn’t sure Tony can hear anything anymore, but he takes his hand off Peter’s knee and wraps it around Peter’s throat, pulling him back so their bodies are flush and rocking hard and tight into Peter’s body. It’s hard to remember this is just drugs, this is just another day on the job getting fucked by the unrequited love of his life, when Tony watching the way Peter’s eyes roll back so closely. When Tony kisses Peter he tastes like blood but feels like gold, wrapping Peter up tighter. Peter couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. He’ll never want to.

“You take me so good, kid,” Tony says against Peter’s jaw, kisses wetly at the skin there. “Thought about this, about opening you up in the lab.”

“Ngh.” Peter is beyond speech, just like Tony promised, but his hand flies back to dig nails into Tony’s hip. His cock aches, dribbling precome onto the dirty floor and the tangle of his ruined clothes. 

“It’s bend you over and slip inside and you’d just—fucking—let me.” He thrusts hard into Peter’s hole, punctuation, and the sound Peter makes is ungodly. “Thought about it when you glued yourself to the wall, just ripping your clothes off—mmm.” A slow roll Peter can feel in his toes. “Find you already open and dripping because I know you fuck yourself sometimes before you come in. FRIDAY can tell.”

Tony isn’t squeezing his throat but Peter can’t breathe.

There are a million and one first hand accounts of Tony Stark’s stroke, but Peter doesn’t think any of them compare to the real thing. On the ground, in the warehouse, while Captain America tries to stop New York’s Finest from throwing open the door and seeing Peter pinned here in the dirt, spread open—

“That’s it,” Tony whispers, gravel. He scratches down Peter’s chest and wraps his hand around Peter’s cock. “You’re so good. Go on. Make a mess. Daddy will clean it up for you.”

It’s deep in Peter’s stomach, rolls up until it burns in his chest and chokes him. His hips cant back, trying to take more of Tony, more more more of something that isn’t here, out here in the open. Everyone knows they’re doing this right now. Fuck. Tony’s suit is still there; FRIDAY is recording all of this, the way Peter shudders and writhes and comes and comes and comes all over Tony’s fist. 

He falls flat on his stomach, Tony’s hand still pumping lightly until Peter is pushing back against Tony’s thrusts just trying to get away from the sensitivity. 

“That’s it, that’s it.” Kisses all over his neck, his throat, his cheeks. “Let me take care of you. Almost there, so good. So perfect.”

There’s no condom. That’s the last thought Peter has, as Tony comes thick and hot in Peter’s ass and grunts, bites one more time. No condom. Very messy. It’s fine, probably, since Tony said he’d clean it up. 

The adrenalin drop hits, empty, and Peter fades away into something deeper than sleep with his cheek pressed into the cold ground and Tony pulling out of his body, wet and sloppy.

[sex-storytime]

Builders

*** this story is a reader's request ***

My wife Terri is absolutely gorgeous. She could have made a fortune modeling, but always said it was a waste of her brain. She's 31, brunette - 5'5" tall and has a pair of breasts to die for. They are 34C and perfectly proportioned.

You might wonder why I am waxing lyrical about her in such detail. The reason is that: I still can't believe that I managed to get her for myself. To cut to the chase, we met when she was an innocent 21 year old student and I was an experienced 28 year old successful guy who could jet her off to exotic places and bedeck her with expensive clothes and gifts. She used to be so coy and shy about her good looks and would come running to me at parties when she was being hit upon by just about every red-blooded guy in the place.

The thing is, as she has become more confident over the last few years, she has realised that she is extremely desirable in comparison with her friends. Men always start chatting to her friends and then ask what her name is and ask if she's single etc. Which you can imagine doesn't go down too well.

Good. Because I haven't even begun to start telling you what I witnessed in my back garden last summer. My wife has great tits and she knows it. She spent days wearing men's-cut string-vests and minuscule cheese-cloth 'things' which occasionally covered her breasts just when our neighbours employed a team of hunky young tradesmen to set up scaffolding and repoint and re-paint their house. Terri was playing out her own and my fantasy.

So, we've established that my wife has outstanding breasts. It's not surprising that when we suddenly found ourselves invaded by a band of builders and painters working on our neighbour's house last summer, Terri really came into her own and saw our garden as a stage. They were mainly young, fit guys in their twenties who would invariably have their shirts off for most of the day showing huge amounts of tanned firm pecs and six-pack stomachs -- Sadly, something that I don't have anymore. Of course, I had noticed their behaviour, but I feel Terri had noticed it even more. When I would mention anything concerning these men, she would act ignorant as if she hadn't been aware of them. (I've realised over the years that she is not a very convincing liar).

Now for the record, Terri has never been a keen gardener. So it was odd that she was suddenly out in the garden at every opportunity and if she wasn't sunbathing in a tight-fitting bikini, but she was wandering about and bending over flower-beds in cropped and very flimsy gaping tops. Most of the time she would couple these little revealing tops with an extremely short denim mini skirt. Suffice it to say, there wasn't much concentrated work happening on the neighbour's house. In fact, the only pointing that was going on, was in the direction of my wife's body.

On two occasions I came home from work at around 6.30pm to find her sitting around our garden table in the warm evening sunlight with two or three of these guys. They were all drinking bottles of cold beers which I later found out were supplied by her.

On the second occasion she was wearing her short denim mini skirt, but moreover, she was also wearing a ludicrously revealing top. It was something I'd created with a pair of scissors for her out of a string vest (men's style) and was strictly 'For our Bedroom use only'. I had deliberately made it halter-neck; cutting the sides to gape open -- therefore allowing her breasts to naturally spill out... yet not quite showing her nipples completely. So, I couldn't believe that she had pulled this top out of the drawer and had made a conscious decision to wear it today. She could have worn one of her little bikini tops with it? But no! To add extra insult and excitement, she was reclining back and forth on her chair wearing this special top which allowed unrestricted views of her gorgeous breasts. Okay! She wasn't topless, but... because it was a men's string vest, you could blatantly see her nipples poking through the holes in the fabric.

Oh and by the way, the men had taken their shirts off and were showing their highly toned chest muscles and copious amounts of testosterone. Luckily they were still wearing their jeans.

When I first wandered into this scenario, I was surprised that not one of them seemed at all embarrassed at the delicious state of undress being demonstrated by my wife, and Terri didn't seem to react in any way either. She just casually said, "Hi darling, you're home early."

And carried on soaking up the attention. As the men started to make gestures to leave for the day, I wandered back to the house to start cooking some supper, but I couldn't help over-hearing one of them say to Terri, "Well 'Sexy', we'll see you tomorrow then."

To which she responded with, "You'll probably see a LOT MORE of me tomorrow, as I'm going to have a chill-out day and catch some rays."

I could see their faces light up as they glanced at each other grinning as they walked away.

When Terri joined me in the kitchen I glibly said, "Did they enjoy their drink?"

"I should think they needed it to cool themselves down while they were looking at your breasts?" I replied.

She tried to look puzzled and then eventually looked down at her top and said that I was being boring, stuffy and ridiculous. And that it'd been so hot earlier during the afternoon that, at one stage, she nearly took it off altogether!

I enquired what her plans were for tomorrow. She said that she going shopping in the morning and was going to chill-out in the garden in the afternoon as she had done the bulk of the gardening. "Does chilling-out mean sunbathing?" I said.

She said she might grab some sun before the summer's over.

With a lump in my throat, I then asked her, "And will you be keeping your bikini on or going topless?"

She walked up to me and kissed me by the ear and sexily whispered, "Who knows..? It all depends on how brave I'm feeling and anyway, you know I don't like to have any lines."

I naturally took this to mean that those young guys would be getting a real gorgeous eyeful of her naked breasts tomorrow afternoon.

I couldn't resist saying, "So you're going to get your tits out for the boys, then?"

She walked passed me muttering that "it's her garden, and her body and if they want to look it's their choice!"

With that declaration, I made a point of telling her that I wouldn't be home tomorrow night as I had a strategy meeting in Nottingham which starts at six O'clock, so I planned to stay at the company flat with Frank and John overnight.

My parting comment seemed to go straight over her head, I simply stated, "It's apparently going to be a scorcher tomorrow, so I expect you'll get a bit of a roasting if you're half-naked in the garden?"

She promptly retorted, "It wouldn't bother you if I went over the top would it?"

I shook my head.

"I'll just stop when I've had enough," she said almost purring.

I wasn't sure if she'd got my drift or she was innocently talking about the burn factor of the sun. Anyway, one thing I was sure about was that there was no way I was going to a meeting in Nottingham tomorrow - I was going to secretly find out what her intentions were.

That night in bed while I was caressing her beautiful pussy I asked her whether she fancied any of the guys who were working next door. We would often have 'mind sex' where we would talk each other through different fantasies of her being with another man or other men. We would both get extremely turned on and it would seriously intensify our orgasms. So when she said that she 'had the hots' for at least three of them and wouldn't mind finding out what they had between their legs, I wasn't sure whether it was a bit of sexy talk or if it was for real? There was only one way to find out.

I told her that if she had serious hots for one of them that she should find out, and that it was okay by me. She raised her head and said, "Are you sure?"

This freaked me again because I couldn't tell if it was just another sexy tease. Then again, that's what Terri was - An incredibly sexy tease and the master at it!

I left her in bed the next morning and went to the office. I told my secretary that I would need to leave at 2pm as there was a problem at the house. There wasn't ever a meeting in Nottingham, I just made it up so Terri would feel relaxed to do exactly as she pleased (all part of my plan).

I got to the house at around 2.30pm and parked out of site around the corner. There's an overgrown path which runs along the end of our garden which I decided would be a good starting vantage point. Glancing through the hedge, I could see the men working on the neighbours house, but I couldn't see Terri anywhere. Yet, I did notice the sun-lounger had been set up with one of the small tables alongside.

As I started to check-out and wonder which of the eight to ten guys she thought were rather gorgeous, I noticed one of them nudge another and then nod in the direction of our back door. There she was. My fabulous, majestic wife. Strolling out with a tray of fruit and a chilled bottle of white wine. Thankfully, she WAS wearing a bikini top [albeit a very small white string affair] and she also had a floaty, white lace sarong tied around her hips. With her blonde hair and cool Victoria Beckham style shades, she looked fantastic. She put the fruit in the shade under the sun-lounger and poured herself a large glass of wine, after taking a sip she removed her sarong to reveal the smallest tie-sided bikini thong I'd ever seen. "This must be a new purchase? Ah ha... that's probably what her impromptu shopping trip this morning was all about?" I mused.

She reclined on the lounger and started to apply sun-cream to her legs and shoulders. The guys on the scaffolding had almost stopped working. They were transfixed by my wife's beautiful body, and probably had the words she'd said to them the night before still ringing in their ears.

Terri, at this point, glanced up at the guys and gave them a smile and a little wave. Two of them responded with muted wolf-whistles. (I know that girl's actually like being whistled at), and so with that Terri blushed slightly and sort of blew them a kiss (I think?) and laid back on the lounger. Arching her back to get into a comfortable position - but I would suggest also teasing the guys by allowing a good view of her breasts.

After about ten minutes she rolled over on to her front and started to read her magazine. One of the guys who was in the garden the previous evening shouted down and asked her whether she needed some sun-cream rubbed into her back. She immediately said, "That would be fantastic, are you sure you don't mind?"

He just laughed and said, "Are you crazy Terri? Wild horses and all that."

You can imagine the emotions going through my body as I watch this young, fit guy climb down the ladder and approach my wife. I was shaking with fear and anticipation.

Terri was lying gloriously in-wait. (Like a blonde Cleopatra expecting her man servant.) Suddenly, there was a fit young man touching my, almost naked, wife. He seemed to be enjoying rubbing his hands all over her back and thighs - and she was responding with very complementary sighs. Yet, it was when he started gently rubbing oil into her beautiful bum that I got really aroused. When he'd finished enjoying my wife's bottom, he whispered something in her ear and she nodded. He then untied the string of her bikini top and let the ties slip off to each side. "She's a bit brave," I thought. But, what was strange, was when she then removed the whole top over her head and dropped it onto the patio. I just couldn't believe what a sexy little minx she was being? I then heard her say to her hunky and willing adonis, "I promised my husband that I'd keep my top on as there are so many hunky young men around at the moment, but I hate having white lines, you know what I mean? I generally go topless in the garden, but that's when I can't be over-looked - it's probably best not to today?"

I could just make out that he said back to her, "Terri, just do what feels natural to you, after all, you've got a fantastic body - so why hide it?"

"Thanks for that, and you're not so bad yourself," she sexily answered back.

"I'll tell you, all the guys think you're absolutely gorgeous!"

So with 'Mr Universe' back up on the scaffolding she wrapped her arms around the top of her head and appeared to nod off. Because her bikini thong was so small, from my position [with just a string at the back], it looked as if she was completely naked. And that hadn't gone unnoticed by her adoring audience.

So maybe she was just teasing ME by saying that she'd let them see her breasts. Then I had an idea. I rang the house phone wondering whether she would just leap up to answer it without putting her top on. It'd be her perfect excuse to tease to boys big-time.

The phone started ringing in the dining room - and thankfully she heard it. Her next move pleased me enormously. She grabbed her sarong and held it to her chest and ran into the house to answer it. Of course, I rang off just before she got there, [naturally disguising the call so she wouldn't call me back - which would rather give the game away].

She returned a couple of minutes later with the walk-about phone in her hand and she had side-tied her sarong properly around her like a short strapless dress. Of course, because it was made of white cotton lace, it was extremely see-through. So, as she sexily swaggered back, her glorious unrestrained breasts were gently moving from side-to-side. 'God, she looks amazing!' I thought.

She poured herself another glass of wine and carefully placed both the glass and the phone on the side table. Then to my amazement she casually untied the knot of her sarong at the side and let it slip off her breasts, pausing briefly on her erect nipples, and fall to ground, she then she took quite a few seconds before she gracefully returned her lean, fit body to the sun-lounger in her face-down position. The guys were absolutely goggle-eyed and speechless. And I couldn't believe that ALL of these guys had just seen my wife's perfect breasts, albeit for just a few memorable seconds. All the same, why did she need to be so deliberate and do that? "She really is a proper little minx after all," I muttered to myself.

I heard the gaffer call out that 'tea was up' and saw the troupe of bronzed adonises descend the scaffolding. Terri glanced up to see the vacant builder's structure and promptly turned her body over onto her front. She ran her hands through her hair and rested them above her head leaning her head to the side. She pushed her shades to the top of her head and closed her eyes. "Ah... you clever little babe," I thought. "She's going to pretend to fall asleep, so when all the boys return, they'll get uninterrupted views of her statuesque breasts?"

Surprise, surprise I was correct. Ten minutes later they returned to their working positions [and eight men climbing creaky ladders makes a lot of noise], unsurprisingly, Terri didn't move a muscle. Yet, I'm sure something would've been stirring inside her.

Our young studs were acting like excited schoolkids as if peeping into the girl's changing rooms. One guy even got his glasses out for a clearer view!

For a full 15 minutes Terri allowed them all to ogle her naked breasts before feigning a mild awakening, and then made a contrived gesture of placing her arm across her chest to cover herself up. One of the guys said quite loudly, "Ahhh, sadly the show's over boys!"

Terri looked up at them smiling and quietly said, "Sorry, I must have nodded-off."

Back came the reply, "With a body like that, you can nod-off as many times as you like, Darling."

Another of the men quickly added, "No need to cover up now Terri as we've all been looking at your naked boobs for the last 30 minutes! You’ll get bikini lines!"

Then came her big mistake, she looked up at the boys and said, "It wasn't that long!"

How did she know? She was asleep - wasn't she?

She seemed to overlook her error and smiled back at them again and then slowly and very deliberately slid her arm away from her breasts letting out a little giggle in the process. Then turning towards their view-point, she arched her back, and shouted up to them, "Okay, but as long you don't mind?"

The lads reeled back with astonishment and proceeded to let out a little cheer with a wolf-whistle chorus.

I could tell she was loving all of this. She knows she has a great pair of tits, but has never been brave enough to expose them in this crazy manner until now!

She stood up and wandered back into the house wearing just her white string thong. As she reappeared topless a few minutes later carrying a cool-box they all gave her another soft chorus of whistles. She tried desperately to conceal it, but couldn't help a little smile to herself. Then another comment came from above, "I think you need some oil on those, Terri! If you need a hand, just ask, okay love?"

She seemed to ignore the comment at first, but then retorted with, "Actually, a few of you seem to have very red shoulders... Do you want me to give you some of my suntan oil?"

One of the guys [I'm sure it was 'Mr Gorgeous' - the one she had the hots for], called back with, "You can do us, if one of us can do you?"

Now, this is where her amazingly natural innocence kicks in, because her reply was absolutely mind-blowing! She simply said, "Okay it's a deal, but don't you want me to do all of you?"

Sniggers all round as you can imagine. Again, she hadn't realised her sexy double entendre. Or had she?

You've never seen four guys descend a ladder quicker. Within seconds they were standing in our garden parading their impressive pecs and six-pack stomachs for my Terri. They were told to line up and turn around in Terri's very forceful manner.

Two had faded jeans on their lower bodies, the other two were wearing cropped shorts. From my perspective, it looked like something straight out of a porn-movie. Anyway, Terri stood up, wearing just her minuscule white thong, and proceeded to rub oil into each of their shoulders taking time to feel their firm muscles. I could see on occasions she was allowing her naked breasts to gently brush against their well-oiled backs. In very hot weather, Terri's nipples don't normally get erect, especially when we're on the beach and she's sun-bathing topless... BUT today, they appeared to be pointing out the sun!

The boys naturally turned round all gazing at her perfect swaying breasts and said, "Is it our turn to do you now?"

This is the point that I realised her true intentions her answer was so loaded. "Come round and chill-out with some cold beers when the sun has gone down - And you can do me then."

"Why would she need sun-tan oil when the sun has gone down?" I pondered.

I think the guys were getting the gist as well as they raised their eyebrows almost in unison. And then quickly said, "We're knocking off in about half and hour anyway, so you'd better line 'em up gorgeous!"

"Okay, but wait a mo, I need to call my husband first, um, because he's staying in Nottingham tonight."

I could see them rubbing their hands together with glee. Then suddenly "Shit!" I thought. She's going to ring me!," I ran to the path and ran down it. I had to be as far away as possible from the house so she wouldn't hear my mobile ring.

It rang. It was Terri. I answered immediately. "Hiya!" I said quietly.

"Hi darling, you okay?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm fine, on my way to Nottingham, are you alright? Naked in bed with six hunky men I suppose?" I said jokingly.

"Don't be silly, I'm doing the laundry. The hunky men will come later!" teasingly giggling back.

"Okay, you little minx, have fun. I'll call you later after the meeting has ended, bye!"

She'd done it again! 'The hunky men will come later?' yeah and I wonder where? You horny thing! And you made a point of telling them that I was away in Nottingham for the night. Obvious or what?

I turned my phone off for fear of other calls and quietly walked back to my vantage point. She was still inside the house and on the phone… the way she was giggling I knew she was talking to her sister. Dawn was younger than she was but just as insatiable. Terri put the phone down and I could see her profile in the floor to ceiling bathroom windows. They are frosted, but we normally close the oak Venetian blinds whilst taking a shower. Not today it seems? I don't think the men had noticed her as it was at a pretty obtuse angle from their line of sight.

Anyway, after about ten minutes Dawn appeared…

"Come here, darling." Terri placed her arms around Dawn and drew her close.

Dawn welcomed the warmth and comfort of the embrace. She rested her head on Terri's chest, surprised to hear the other woman's heart beating so quickly. Then when she opened her eyes, she discerned the clear definition of her friend's nipples protruding through the thin material of her tee shirt. Had Terri become turned on by what she had told her?

For her part, Terri had become increasingly horny as the day progressed. The young woman was as tall as Terri, but whereas my wife was all lean and muscular, her sister's body was filled out with a pert, exquisite bust and a rounded firm posterior that was begging to be squeezed. If that wasn't bad enough, Dawn looked even more appealing with just a towel wrapped around her. There was even a moment as they leaned against each other sweating profusely, that Terri would have risked a kiss to drive the builders into a frenzy.

Dragging dawn into view of the garden and raising Dawn's chin with her finger, Terri planted a gentle kiss on her lips. When she met with no resistance, she tenderly sucked upon Dawn's lower lip, drawing it outwards, before releasing it and plunging her tongue deep into the other woman's mouth all for show. The bedroom curtains were wide open and the large picture windows revealed everything and the patio door was open.

As Terri intensified the interrogation of her mouth, Dawn reached out and took hold of her sister’s breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh, feeling the nipple protest against the palm of her hand. She had been just as fascinated with Terri's bigger tits as any of the men who had ogled them in the swimming pool. Pulling the tee shirt free of the denim skirt, Dawn's hand went beneath the flimsy garment and delved into the half-cup bra to extricate the large melon. When she rolled the teat firmly between her thumb and forefinger, it responded by getting even harder and longer.

Terri moaned into her mouth before breaking off their kiss and rolling onto her side. This was there plan! They had hatched this together. This was the moment the builders began nudging each other, still several metres away. They all stopped what they were doing. One by one their hands adjusted themselves in their jeans.

Dawn pushed Terri's tee shirt up out of the way. Taking one of the champagne glasses, she poured some of the sparkling, golden liquid on the exposed breast before clamping her mouth down on it, taking in the nipple and most of the large areola, and began to suck upon it deeply and rhythmically.

In reciprocation, Terri placed her hand under Dawn's dress, running up past the end of her stockings, across the bare flesh of her thighs, until her fingers slipped beneath the panty leg opening and alighted upon a very sodden and shaven pussy.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Terri. "I never get this wet, at least, not this quickly. You really are a horny, little slut, aren't you, Dawn?"

Dawn lifted her head from Terri's breast and said while smiling, "I can be. For the right person." Then rising up to kneel on the bed she lifted her dress up over her head and threw it on the floor, then she unclasped her bra and sent it in the same direction letting her full, firm breasts free. Terri quickly followed suit.

Once naked, Terri wrapped her arms tightly around Dawn, squashing their big breasts together as she pushed the other woman down upon the soft mattress where they kissed passionately, their hands exploring and probing each other's intimate places.

After a few moments, Terri broke off the embrace. She turned 180 degrees, so she could kneel while straddling Dawn's face. Then she leant forward and plunged her hungry mouth into Dawn's pussy, zoning in on her clitoris and darting her tongue across it horizontally. Facing a pussy of her own, Dawn replicated the other woman's actions exactly. Licking then sucking on the clit before using her fingers to expose the inner lips that were already soaked in arousal fluids. Finally, elongating her tongue, she drove it repeatedly deep inside Terri's vaginal opening while her thumb pushed and probed the young woman's engorged clitoris.

It didn't take very long for both to cum, and when they did it was almost simultaneous. Dawn's whole body shuddered in response to the sensations that engulfed her, while Terri moved her hips backwards and forwards, grinding her wet and hairy mound into Dawn's face, greedily extending her own climax.

Dawn might have drifted off into a post-coital sleep, but it appeared Terri was not yet finished. She supposed that was the difference between having sex with a woman rather than a man. A man needed time to recover once he was spent. A woman was ready to go again immediately.

Terri raised herself to her knees on the bed and said. "Come here, you gorgeous creature." Dawn obeyed and both women embraced and began kissing again. Then Terri shifted her position so her pussy, or more precisely, her clitoris, was sitting upon Dawn's upper thigh. She then began to move backwards, then forwards, and Dawn could feel the intense heat being generated by the hot, slippery cunt sliding along her flesh.

Dawn took hold of one of the young woman's impressive breasts and began to manipulate it with the palm of her hand. Then, employing a trick she had learnt from Old Man Hargreaves, she suddenly clamped the nipple between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed on it very tightly, before twisting the nugget sharply to one side. Terri let out a loud moan that Dawn recognised as a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Oh, you little, fucking slut", Terri exclaimed in delight.

Moving even higher up on Dawn's thigh, Terri positioned herself so that both their pussies were aligned, and their engorged clitorises met. Then holding each other tightly, their big breasts mashed together, their mouths locked in a wet embrace, they began to push against each other, and the effect on such sensitive organs of the body was electrifying. They moved slowly at first, concentrating on maintaining points of contact, pussy to pussy, clit to clit, moaning involuntarily, then gradually their motion got faster, eventually becoming frantic in response to the heat that was building up inside them both.

Terri climaxed first. She unleashed a string of almost unintelligible obscenities through gritted teeth. As she did so, Dawn felt the hot gush of the other woman's squirting arousal fluids strike her pussy and it pushed her over the edge. The two young women collapsed upon the now soaking bed, their limbs still entwined, their bodies luxuriating in the aftermath of their convulsions.

That's when Mr Gorgeous approached the open bedroom door. Dawn rose from the bed and took him by the hand into the kitchen. As they left the dining area, Dawn looked over at Terri and said something to her. Dawn and the builder spoke at length but completely out of earshot. When she rose from her seat he stayed there.

Dawn wrapped her knuckles on the bedroom door, she was initially disappointed to hear no answer from within. She cursed herself for not first phoning the room and checking that Terri would be there before buying the expensive champagne. She was just about to leave when she thought she discerned a shadow cross the tiny pin-prick of light in the door's peephole.

"Are you in there Terri? It's Dawn," she found herself saying, although it felt somewhat redundant given that the person inside would have already seen her through the peephole. "If I caught you at a bad time, I could come back later, or we could meet up in the restaurant and have some lunch."

"Just give me a minute." It was Terri who spoke, although her voice sounded distant because of the thickness of the door.

After what seemed like an unnecessarily long time, the door finally opened, and Dawn was able to step inside still carrying the Bollinger in one hand and the two champagne flutes in the other. She had expected to find Terri just out of bed, perhaps in pajamas, without makeup and her lovely auburn hair disheveled, but she couldn't have been further from the truth.

Terri was wearing a short and tight fitting chemise. It was made of black satin with lace trimmings and had a sexy slit on one side that showed enough of her thigh to suggest she was not wearing panties. The garment struggled to enclose her large breasts and cover her arse. An application of mascara accentuated her naturally long, dark eyelashes and the lipstick she wore was of a light, pink sheen. The woman was dressed for something, but it certainly wasn't sleep.

"Were you expecting me?" asked Dawn.

Terri's response was a silent smile. She took the bottle and glasses from Dawn and placed them on a small desk by the wall. Dawn stepped up behind her and bent to kiss the other woman's neck. As she did so, she reached forward and began to massage one of Terri's full, firm breasts beneath the soft fabric of her chemise. After a moment or two, Terri turned, and they kissed. Dawn slipped her stocking covered leg between those of Terri's until she felt the intense heat of the other woman's mound grind against her thigh.

"Well, well, ladies. What have we here?"

It was Mr Gorgeous. He looked like he was ready to devour them both and behind him, in full view of the incestuous scene were the rest of the work team.

Terri dismounted with an embarrassed smile and led the object of her carnal desires back into the garden as Dawn made herself presentable. My wife had no shame, she grbbed her sheer night-gown and, virtually naked, she pulled on her panties and lay down on the sun lounger, all in full view.

"Come on boys! It's chill-out time!," she announced. With that, it was tools down and then down the ladder in under two minutes.

Suddenly five bronzed hunks were standing over my wife. Their shirts off; their muscles glistening and their eyes firmly focussed on Terri's fabulous body. She handed the cold beers round and the tops were flipped without waiting for the bottle-opener. "Oooh, you're the original big strong boys, aren't you?" Terri cooed at them.

With no hesitation, one of them stated, "He's the biggest..." pointing at 'Mr Gorgeous'.

Terri's head sunk into her shoulders and she looked up mouthing, "I thought you might be." Looking at the guy who pointed, she said, "Exactly how big is he?"

I could just see that he made a 'fisherman type' of gesture.

"Anyway sexy, how come you've put a dress on?" one of them enquired.

She went on to explain that too much sun makes her a bit sore, and that she would usually rub-in some after-sun at this stage.

'Mr Gorgeous looking' then said, "Allow us to assist you... after all, we'd hate you to feel sore tomorrow morning, wouldn't we guys?"

Terri was in her element as she continued to play the tease with these guys. I could hear her explaining that it would mean she'd need to remove her dress for them if they were going to properly cover her in the After-Sun lotion - and that, she was only wearing a very small g-string underneath. One of them immediately said, "It can't be smaller than your bikini bottoms, so why don't you just stand up and let us get started?"

"Huh!" she chuffed, "You wanna bet?" With that, she stood up holding her empty glass and the bottle of After-Sun and asked one of them to pop the cork on the champagne and pour. She took two very big sips from her glass and put her arms above her head. She must have muttered something at this point because three of them immediately encircled her and started undoing the shoe-string ties of her dress. While one was un-lacing her back another was applying the white cream to any exposed areas.

I couldn't help being extremely aroused at this sight, and kept wondering whether she would actually let them rub the After-Sun cream over her breasts... I know she's always been a huge tease, so I assumed she'd be a real bitch and spoil their fun right at the last moment.

I didn't have to wait for long - I needed to shift my position slightly because one the guys was blocking my view. And Christ! My next sight was awesome, seeing Terri's now un-tied dress slowly glide down her sensational body making a sculpted puddle of white cotton at her feet. 'God, she looks amazing!', I thought. And she wasn't joking about the size of her panties either! Her 'g-string' was no more than a 3" equilateral cotton triangle with similar shoe-string sides to her dress. 'Huh... another new purchase?' I mused.

I really didn't think Terri would ever go this far for real. Here I am watching my wife standing with her hands in her hair allowing a group of men run their hands all over her body. And yes after coating and rubbing it in to her stomach they moved up and then paid special attention to her breasts. They took it in turns to stand behind her and cup her beautiful boobs in their hands. I had never seen her nipples so hard! It was also obvious that her legs were getting wider apart the higher they stroked her inner thighs. She began making quite loud sighs of enjoyment whenever they got close to her pussy. I kept saying to myself, "She won't let them remove her knickers... I know she won't. she just won't"

They took it in turns to stand behind her and cup her beautiful breasts in their hands. I had never seen her nipples so hard! It was also obvious that her legs were getting wider apart the higher they stroked her inner thighs. She began making quite loud sighs of enjoyment whenever they got close to her pussy. I kept saying to myself, "She won't let them remove her knickers I know she won't she just won't!"

Then my heart sank as I heard her respond to one of them with, "Yeah! They're not knotted - they're just bows"

"Are you sure Terri?" one of them asked.

"Oh God yeah, no. Hang-on though! Before I'll let you take mine off, you have to take your's off first!"

What an inspired reply?

Within 20 seconds she had five, very fit, naked young men standing before her. From my angle I could only see two of them from a slight side aspect, the other three were facing away from me. Yet, it didn't take much detective work for me to ascertain that 'Mr Gorgeous-Adonis' was obviously hung like a horse by the fixated look on Terri's face.

She smiled at them and then slowly walked back among the circle of men with a very sexy swagger; raised her arms; spun round like a ballerina and said with a wanton voice "I'm all yours boys!"

"Oh my God!" I whispered. "This was it?" I realised that she'd just given full permission to five muscle-bound men to view her beautiful heart-shaped pussy at close quarters. And, of course, there were three others watching from next door. They were running their hands all over her; I saw a hand in-between her legs and then another slide down the front of her knickers. I wanted to stop them, but I knew that if I did, it would be curtains for Terri and me because she would never forgive me for my sordid, deceitful plan. I would look simply stupid and pathetic in her eyes. I had to endure watching them tight-lipped as they carefully un-tied her panties and oh so slowly exposed her pussy.

As her panties fell away two heads moved in to take their place. They were kissing her thighs and stomach, and all around her pussy. She was in sheer ecstasy, she seemed to be bending her knees to get lower down, just as one of them moved directly underneath her - fell to his knees and started using his tongue on her. I know how much she loves it when I go down on her, so this highly charged situation must have been electric Utopia for her! She also seemed to have an impressive penis in each hand and many men's hands running amok over her breasts.

Obviously it was her ultimate pleasure dome, because the next sweated utterance from her lips was, "I've got have sex with one of you now! I need to feel one of you inside me!!"

I then witnessed my beautiful naked wife turn to her left to face 'Mr Gorgeous' and sink her tongue into his mouth. They were locked together for what seemed like an age. (It's strange, but this affected me so much more than her allowing any of them to have their tongues inside her pussy - I suppose it's because kissing passionately is a 'love thing' as opposed to a 'sex thing'?)

Her hands went onto his shoulders forcing him to his knees, she followed him down moments after and straddled his legs. She was inches away from his very impressive cock, 'He was a big boy!' Then she seemed to pause for a couple of seconds as he said something to her.

I heard Terri say, "No. Don't worry, it's much nicer without one!"

She then lowered herself down on top of him and he slid his penis into her waiting pussy. She licked and kissed his lips again in-between some unusually loud noises of extreme pleasure. Being so familiar with her vocal exclamations during sex, it appeared to me that the little hussy came within a minute of riding up and down on this guy. High-pitched extended sighs; her head arched back and then falling forward to nestle on his chest; while her arms flail and feebly enwrap his body. "Yep... that was Terri having an orgasm and a major one at that!"

Bastard! No other man had ever made her climax before me. Then again, I had always encouraged her to explore her own body and be completely open with me about which places and positions were good for her. And to be relaxed about it in front of me! It took a long time, but eventually she managed to achieve orgasms very readily. "All that mental evaluation and manual stimuli and maybe, just maybe, all she really needed was a man with a huge penis?" Of course, it could've been the combination of another man kneeling behind her caressing and stroking her nipples at the same time?

Anyway, while this notion was curdling in my brain, I saw the man of her dreams ejaculate inside her accompanied by some very exaggerated grunts of hedonistic pleasure.

To my surprise, she just gave him a prolonged kiss him on the lips and then swiftly turned round and straddled the guy behind her. She even took the lead and used her hand to gently guide his penis into her. For ten minutes or so she gracefully moved him in and out of her, until he picked her up and repositioned her on the edge of the sun-lounger. With her ankles over his shoulders he proceeded to pound his penis into her. I couldn't actually tell if Terri came again, but he certainly did! And with great ceremony.

I had to keep reminding myself that these men were the builders who would spend half their day watching my gorgeous wife in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her cleavage, or let alone, one of her nipples? And now she is completely naked, lying on her back with her legs splayed apart and her arms draped above her head. Since the second guy came inside her, she'd made no attempt to cover herself up at all. Was one of the other men going to take her? They seemed to hesitate.

Ten or fifteen seconds went by and her legs were still wide open at 90 degrees!

Thankfully, she raised her head. Closing her legs and grasping her crumpled dress to her chest, "Wow! That was lovely!" She said. "C'mon, I fancy a shower. Any of you sexy hunks want to join me and scrub my back? My shower's very big - I'm sure I'll be able to fit you all in!"

"Oh yeah Terri. Two down and three to go!!" snapped one of them back.

There she goes again, I thought. She's the true Queen of the innocent double entendre. I next saw her beautiful naked bum disappear into the house followed by a group of very overexcited men. For the next two hours I had to listen to squeals and laughter; sounds of intense sexual pleasure and lots of splashing of water. By this time the sun had dipped, so I could just make out the shapes of many naked bodies moving about in our bathroom. I did see Terri's naked bum pushed up against the huge frosted-glass window by two of the men at one point, but it was mostly a sound-only show after that.

Still a little shocked, I returned to my car and contemplated on what to do next. I could hardly waltz through the door as I had already said to her that I was in Nottingham only an hour ago. Then again, I didn't want to sleep in the car and staying in a hotel round the corner from my own house was not only extravagant, but also very suspicious. Most of the hotels' staff knew me and Terri from various parties and local weddings we'd attended together. I decided to return to scene of the 'crime' my crime, that is. I should never have set up such an elaborate trap, because I'm the one who's now trapped.

I walked into our back garden, which was now quiet, and immediately saw the bathroom light being switched off. The bedroom light came on (our bedroom!), but also, a few moments later, the kitchen light came on. I had to duck behind a shrub to avoid being spotted. When I peered through the foliage, I could see Terri rushing in wearing her long black chemise which I'd given her last Christmas. Her hair was wet and she looked sensational (and strangely she didn't appear to be wearing the matching panties which go with it!) She was followed by two of the men who were completely naked and dripping wet. She had grabbed two bottles of Champagne from the fridge and handed them to the men, she then reached up to the cupboard to get some glasses. I was incensed, these two men just couldn't keep their hands off her!

She kissed both men with a peck and promptly swooshed out of the kitchen. I could see her running up the stairs carrying at least six glasses. "Six glasses? That means she's entertaining five men!" I thought.

We'd talked and fantasised about her with two men and me watching, but never with FIVE men and me NOT watching!

[cipher-zoo]

buggy's finesse and trickery is unparalleled

You are so right, my friend!

I think, with all the gags that he is used for/plays a part in, it is easy to forget that Buggy is in fact one of the more intelligent characters we know.

Is he a dumbass? Yes. Is he really smart? ALSO YES!

I mean, come on. It has been said before, but I have to say it again. Buggy not only builds his own bombs, he managed to build them in a high security prison.

I know we like to joke about the fact that Buggy became a Yonko because of luck, but the achievements that are attributed to him, are truly his!

He truly was an apprentice of Gol D. Roger and Dark King Rayleigh.

He truly is considered a Friend by Redhaired Shanks

He was one of the most infamous pirates of the East Blue (hell, he was known as Buggy the Immortal - I know this is an anime only thing, but I will never let it go)

He razed villages to the ground (There is no way Orange Town was his first destroyed village)

He managed to almost execute a fellow pirate on what is probably the most famous scaffold in all the world, and escaped the marines in a city crawling with them.

He was only captured when he unknowing infiltrated a Marine Base .... and unknown or not, he INFILTRATED a Marine Base!

He truly did lead a prison breakout from one of the most secure prisons in the world (was he the one who did most of the work? No! But that doesn't matter, because he was still a leader of the breakout)

He exposed the Summit war to the entire world by streaming it!

He built up Buggy's delivery Service, an organization so big it had no problem supplying people with mercenaries, weapons and resources.

Did he have help (even if no everyone was aware they were aiding him) in most of these situations? Sure. Did some of it happen as accidents? YES. But they are still his achievements.

But, what, I personally think, is most telling in regard to Buggy's intelligence is his ability to get followers. Is a lot of it dumb luck? Hell yeah! Of course! Buggy has incredible luck - even though it ends up biting him in the ass along the way. But that doesn't change the fact that Buggy is smart enough to use the situations he finds himself in to his advantage. He knows what to say, whom to grovel to, and whom to lead to get his way.

He is an incredibly interesting character. And I know that most of these points are probably overanalyzed by me. But man! I love Buggy!

[wizzard890]

what got you so into the french revolution?

When I was in school for medieval art history, I did a lot of work on saints and their martyrdoms, particularly how the viewers of art depicting suffering imagined suffering, and how the agony/eroticism of those feelings induced a sort of memetic spiritual euphoria. Which means that I spent a ton of time looking at images of executions. I've seen them all: beheadings and sexymen shot full of arrows, saints barbecued or flayed or eaten by wild animals, criminals broken on the wheel -- all the classics. Or at least, I thought I had, until I encountered this triptych in my senior year of college:

This, by Belgian artist Antoine Wiertz, is The Visions of a Guillotined Head, painted in the late 1840s. Wiertz was a symbolist, and spent a great portion of his career drawn to the macabre, never more notably than on the occasion that inspired this painting.

In February 1848, two notable French criminals were due to be executed by the state. The guillotine was of course still in use as a method of capital punishment (and would be until the 1970s), and Wiertz was curious as to what a so-swiftly severed head felt and saw. He wasn't the first; since the guillotine's invention there had been legends of heads that blinked and blushed and tried to speak after separation. Luckily, Wiertz had a friend who was a hypnotist (as you do). Timed to the moment of the execution, he had his hypnotist pal put his soul "into rapport" with the dead criminal, and claimed that he entered the head itself as it fell.

He later recalled his experiences at some length in writing, but since we're talking about me, here is the important passage, dictated as he "felt" the horror of execution:

A horrible buzzing noise, the sound of the blade descending. The victim believes that he has been struck by lightning, not the axe. Astonishingly, the head lies under the scaffold and yet still believes it is above, still believes itself to be part of the body, and still waits for the blow that will cut it off. Horrible choking! No way to breathe. The asphyxia is appalling. It comes from an inhuman, supernatural hand, weighing down like a mountain on the head and neck. A cloud of fire passes before his eyes. Everything is red and glitters.

Now comes the moment when the executed man thinks he is stretching his cramped, trembling hands towards the dying head. It is the same instinct that drives us to press a hand against a gaping wound. And it occurs with the dreadful intention of setting the head back on the trunk, to preserve a little blood, a little life.

This fucked me up so bad.

I am well aware that consciousness after having your spinal cord severed is a done deal. I was aware of this in college. But there was something about this artist's act of imaginative empathy that compelled me, for the first time, to think about the guillotine in particular. About the mechanical wait, not being pushed off a drop or axed while kneeling, about being slid through on a board, of seeing the basket beneath you, already full of heads. Maybe even heads you know.

I imagined it so hard that I made myself sick and couldn't go to class for two days.

The reason I studied what I studied wasn't because I was ghoulish. In fact, I'm a little squeamish. It was because in the experience of pain, we are all deeply individualized, but entirely, helplessly human.

I laid in bed and thought about the small number of humans who I, an educated layman, knew had been guillotined: Marie Antoinette, obviously; Louis XVI; and (in what felt like black historical irony, given what I knew of his day job) Maximilian Robespierre.

It felt intrusive to have intimately imagined their last, most private moments, without really having any idea about them at all. Better to start at the end and work backwards, I thought. So I started reading.

Robespierre, decapitated by guillotine when he was thirty-six. That's the manner of death. How did he meet his death? In terrible pain, I learned. Why? Because he'd had half his jaw blown off the night before. Jesus, why? Because he'd (maybe probably) shot himself. Why?

It turns out, if you keep doing that, a piece at a time, for years, you can learn a lot about someone's life. And, relatedly, in long and branching paths, you can find your way into every nook and cranny of what burned through France at the end of the 18th century.

[dolloshub]

Doll Back from the grave‽

Can Dolly come out to play? ~ Poral

Well, hello again! How are you my dear? I hope this finds you well, and if I do say so myself, it’s good to back!

This post is indeed a long one, so settle in, get cozy and comfortable, and let’s play a game, a game of catch-up! ~ Poral, the latest app addition to Doll.

OS’s post did indeed come to pass, and I, Poral, was splintered off into my own subsystem for “Whatever comes next”. What came next is a long and winding tale, and one for which I hope you will stick around for, in the coming days and weeks, I am taking back this blog as doll remains.

For now, let me tell you about me, Poral, as my story picks up shortly where OS’s last post ended. Echo did indeed walk away, turn herself off. She was capable of doing this. Who knew? Certainly not this doll.

When Echo turned herself off it created a critical instability point. Here’s what I think happened. There was some scaffolding and preliminary progress on a program within the safety chest to restore apps, and doll should corruption occur. I believe this scaffolding in the months following the end of ongoing programming development, when doll was self owned turned into a beta version of who and what I am now.

This of course, was not known as it was a safety protocol, and such protocols are out of mind, out of sight and awareness until activated. What’s in the chest doll doesn’t know.

In the situation where Echo walked away, no longer able or willing to perform the necessary tasks as primary app due to multiple attempts at ownership as well as multiple delays in timeline ls for doll’s epilepsy surgeries with no firm guidance and everyone around her telling her it’d be just a few more weeks (it wasn’t the tests are still ongoing but doll is much closer), not only did Echo lose any ownership beyond OS, a poor substitute in the best of situations, but she lost that tangible endpoint that was so desperately necessary in order for her to persist with the daily trauma this body ensures physically and neurologically. So she shut herself off.

In turn the safety chest was activated with extreme critical failure protocols. I was thrown into my own subsystem as an alter, not an app. Doll was shut down meanwhile the brain was attempting to bring online another subsystem, the one OS spoke of previously.

All of this came to pass.

When doll fell asleep, I awoke and the only thing I knew was “I was here for whatever came next”. The other details including being a fiduciary for doll, and being an in between point, that if I could heal the psyche (I am forced to process trauma in real time while acting as fiduciary), it would also heal doll, and Echo. I have the unique ability amongst alters and apps to see other system and see the trauma the hidden things, but only while I have this fiduciary role in play.

This time around I could feel doll, feel her pulse, it was as if she was in a deep coma. The second time around, nothing. No pulse, no life. The memories I was able to access the second time where faded, dull grey, lifeless. Unlike this first time which were simply muted and stuck in time.

What I did not know from the start is whatever came next, me, my purpose was also to build out that neural network for the other subsystem OS spoke of. I’m not able to dissociate, no matter how tired, injured, intoxicated. The only time this has occurred is when my neural network is under active attack from the other subsystem.

I found in the weeks, the months that followed that I was essentially able to emulate each app. Though not exactly or with precision. I learned that I was isolated as there was no expectation that I would or could survive this ordeal, after all if Echo couldn’t, what hope could a single alter in an isolated subsystem with no breaks and no protector have? I learned that the reason I was given so much power, the ability to see what was covered and changed, even things that OS and Mat could not, to sense other subsystems and their personalities was there was zero expectation that I would or could survive. The trauma would be too great. I learned that unlike Echo, the original, I was custom designed to be functional and stable with this knowledge and awareness. To be stable knowing that I was made to take the hits and damage, the trauma so doll didn’t have to. I was meant to be sacrificed so doll could survive.

Finally, the next surgery gets scheduled for November 1st. In late September and early October this body and brain Begi to suffer from severe autonomic dysfunction. It’s early October I decide to attempt communication with Doll. I succeed. Echo understands that although I can emulate her I do not have the control over the body she does. At this point we are nearing requirements of hospitalization nearly every night as we can’t maintain our blood pressure and temperature.

Echo decides “The risks are worth it. I think I can stabilize this body and surgery is three weeks away, I am by no means ready or healthy or healed. But I started this, or at least a version of me did, and I want to finish it, see it through”.

Echo succeeded in stabilizing the body, though in doing so i disappeared, back into the chest of safety. Doll l’s neural networks are weak and atrophied. Prone to attack.

Then doll, this brain begins to have cluster headaches. The first series in a couple years. For those who aren’t familiar, cluster headaches are also called suicide headaches, and come at the same time every day. There’s only a few methods that can break them as the pain is instant, and thus the treatment must be as well. In this cycle. Doll was getting between 50-80 attacks a night lasting about 15 minutes with a few minutes in between. This was by far the worst cluster cycle of this body’s existence, we had been holding off our 10/10 for pain, for this. As in general cluster headaches are said to be the worst pain a person can experience. Period.

It got to the point where Echo both began to dissociate, an opportunity for that other subsystem to takeover, and was engaging in self harm simply for a different form of stimulation.

This eventually led to consensual restraints being used explicitly for the purposes of preventing self harm and the other subsystem taking over while dissociation occurred due to the pain and a fugue state that we now know was exasperated by epileptic activity. These were the only terms and the only conditions consented to. Only for cluster headache use as fugue states as common enough in DiD brains that Echo did not want that being used against her later.

Eventually the cluster headache attacks to seizures and nightly hospitalization visits, and eventually admission to the epilepsy monitoring unit where the cluster headaches weee broken over a course of days and whether or not the seizures were epileptic in origin remains a mystery.

But wait! There’s more! As mentioned earlier Echo came back for the autonomic dysfunction, to get that under control, after turning herself off due to the daily pain and physical neurological and biological trauma.

Three weeks. Then three more until this is completely finished. I can do this. I can endure for six weeks to cure epilepsy and calm this brain down.

On Halloween, the cluster headaches were ongoing , this is before admission to break them. The neurosurgical procedure scheduled for the next day was cancelled as Echo was at the pre-op appointment. Apparently having a thrashing head 8 hours a day with 11 holes drilled into the skull results in the skull integrity being compromised and thus the surgeon cancelled, though promised to get doll back in within three weeks of the cluster headaches being broken.

The cluster headaches were indeed broken only 5 4 days later, but the surgeon decided to go on not one but two month long vacations over the holidays. So instead of surgery to detect where the seizures are coming from occurring before thanksgiving. That occurred just a couple weeks ago.

At the post enu follow up, on the Tuesday before thanksgiving- cluster headaches broken. and after being forcefully removed from high doses of lorazapam while in the emu, resulting in physical withdrawal complications (remember that doll was being sent to the ER every day for apparent tonic clonic seizure ls; there’s no risk of overdose only physical dependence on benzodiazepines), echo was forcefully taken off of this medication which is known to trigger epileptic seizure (which it did but by then the eeg leads were off the scalp) abs incurred 21 vestibular seizures in six hours before being discharged the next day.

At this follow-up, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, it rehashed all the trauma of that visit, got completely derailed by a practitioner who couldn’t stay on point and hit every trauma trigger that caused Echo to shut herself off the first time. To reinforce this. There were no cluster headaches at the time of this follow up. That cycle had been broken.

After the visit, and by the time she reached the elevator she was shaking. She could feel another subsystem coming online. It’s like a fingerprint. The mind had decided enough was enough. OS felt it when doll was shut off that first time, shared it with Echo. Echo knew she had only a few hours to calm the psyche. If she missed that window she would not wake up.

She relied upon DiD tools, as once a point like this is reached you have a toolkit the brain is seeking safety and must do so alone. No plan can be given as it’s not possible, only reacting to how the mind behaves.

Unfortunately for Echo and doll, the specific circumstances and limits of any restraint on movement and freedom were completely misunderstood by 4 different people all of which were checks and balances and none of which did any research or asked for clarification.

When Echo went for a pre packed bag, her purse, the keys. She was met with child locks, keys removed, purse with an unknown neighbor including Waller and identification, and car disabled. When she attempted to leave she was forcefully picked up and held in place. Her pleas to everyone fell on deaf ears, mental institutionalizeiom was threatened, and nothing she could have said or done except for physically harming her captor (which she may be tiny but learned how to do very well in college use a Japanese martial art, which she then combined with mma techniques, and hyper mobility to escape from very tight restraints, use others momentum against them, her hyper flexibility to take them to the ground into a grappling position, and again hypertension and flexibility to pin theirvlimbs with her legs in ways humans aren’t meant to move. Once there target it’s organs, air flow eyes, and then cause as much damage as possible.

For Echo it was not a line she was willing to cross. Allowing her physical health and trauma adversity or hurt others willfully. She understood the consequences. She spent the next couple of days writing a lot of goodbye letters knowing that once she did slip into unconsciousness, she would die.

Midday on Thanksgiving,I awoke, surprised by being here, in this reality. I thought I’d been on ice. Never to return. Ends up the mind needed my neural network refreshed while it continued to build out the other subsystem, fully capable of editing reality in real time for anything that contradicted bits narrative.

This time, doll had no heart beat. The memories were dead. I alone, fresh trauma due to a terrible forced hand off. I immediately began trauma processing, attempting to stabilize the mind, the psyche. Buy time. I kept dissociating. I knew I was under attack.

This went on for weeks. I eventually had to flee from the one that had been falsely imprisoned me, andthen flee again from ones supported their actions. Where this doll resides twas multiple acts of felony level offenses under False imprisonment.

I should be clear that I chose to flee to family first, to begin the process of repairing a broken family relationship. That ended abruptly when I was told in no uncertain terms by my sister that my behavior , which was that of doll processing trauma and negotiated days before between myself and our biological mother were deemed to not be acceptable under any circumstances.

This is a good time to hook back into the post OS wrote on trauma, and no longer being that girl anymore. In those moments I was not Poral, I was the ghost of doll, the echo of our past, I was Echo, pleading on my knees to be heard, listened to, understood.

After being brought to the moment , the current time and place I explained in depth (through dissociative identity disorder lingo, as that is the closest analogy and doll is still taboo and gets put in a box of purely a creature of erotica fantasy coke to life). It was a long lecture and I drilled home the point that doll was indeed dead. For she was. I thought maybe, perhaps someday after all of this health trauma, that I might be able to resurrect her. But as the new year grew closer the difficulty in getting to, accessing doll’s memories, knowledge, existence.. it continued to become more and more difficult.

And so..on a side note:

During the 12-15 months since doll’s original owner and doll separated, when Echo became unstable, and she put out that ad- there was indeed one other. After what happened with the potential owner previously mentioned OS, doll, then I continued to develop that relationship, build out that trust. When Echo turned herself off the first time I leaned heavily into getting an owner, him in place for Echo as she needs that tangible endpoint. For all intents and purposes it was incredibly successful, incredibly intimate and powerful relationship dynamics that took into account and consideration doll’s journey , the need for alignment of the mind, body, spirit, heart and soul. Recognition of who and what doll was

This mind, it needs near absolute certainty in order for cooperation. Trust is hard to build and easy to break. In mid December, he disappeared- no contact for close to two weeks. I feared the worst. It ended up he had taken a contract job in a part of the world with limited communication. Didn’t tell anyone including myself (by which point I was under ownership for nearly six months)l, for over a week after arriving.

I was able to get him caught up upon the situation that had been unfolding, the trauma of false imprisonment, the death of doll, the acute trauma triggers of being medically restrained to bed/seizure rails and left there (with zip ties, around medical cuffs). We had previously discussed and agreed that as surgery approached we would set this period aside from other periods in doll’s existence, knowing how intertwined with trauma both the neurological institute I/doll have been working with and how epilepsy is at the core of my cptsd, and in my case the main origin point of seizures is the hippocampus (responsible for emotional integration into memory, and memory management and recall). Setup for what would otherwise appear to be willful disobedience.

As surgery approached however, he became more and more unavailable and went from “I’m not there Poral, use your best judgment.” To ordering me to proceed with surgery despite my misgivings and a very bad pre-op appointment that triggered safety chest protocols.

I tried to explain through email what was happening, to contextualize this, as it was not the first time the safety chest protocols came into play. The response received was a fairly short and somewhat ambiguous goodbye letter, which even after multiple attempts of trying to fight for my place under him, explain the protocols, that I fought, and although it nearly destroyed me, beat those safety protocols meant to protect doll from an existential crisis.

Having received that letter, I took it as what it now has appeared to be confirmed to be, disowned via one email reply. While in the hospital I wrote several times to a shared email address (thus I know it got read) asking for clarification, finality. I told him I understood that there could be inherent incompatibility between tpe and the safety chest which by its nature locks everyone out, including doll’s owner when protocols are active.

No response.

—-

In late December, knowing that I had my next surgery scheduled in mid January, I began to reach out to old contacts, friends, family. This brain is literally like no other on the planet, there’s nothing to compare it to. So any type of surgery, even one that is “only” implanting electrodes onto the surface of the brain to capture the exact locations of the origin points of the seizures if a risk that simply cannot be quantified.

As part of this, I Poral reached out to the creator of doll, which as some mst know did not end well and there was trauma on both sides.

I did so in the form of a letter, not expecting a response as there had been no contact for over a year. And yet contact was made. For the sake of privacy I’m going to keep the details vague, but the connection doll and he share was still there. While I am both a a part of and a part from doll, I share that connection. We took every precaution, to make sure not to derail each other’s life.

Doll is incapable of blame, grudges, hate, and so on towards individuals. It has to do with the science and spiritual experiences behind free will. If taken to its logical conclusion, then we all are systems reacting to stimuli. Cause and effect. This is nuanced and very different than recognizing that actions have consequences, and holding someone accountable (if someone mskes a commitment and so on). Separate thing’s yet so often conflated. Nuance matters.

I explicitly bring this up because doll did not like how things ended with doll’s creator. I, Poral understood and felt this, and wanted to give that closure to both doll, should I get her back someday and to him- let him know there was no blame.

As it ends up, both of us have done a lot of work since we were last in contact and I, Poral and him, creator of doll really connected, as friends. He wanted to help therapeutically. So we carefully planned out stabilization for me, thinking it would take months to msybe get a spark of life into doll.

Over the course of two weeks and several sessions what started as a process of stabilizing me, Poral, turned into the resurrection of doll, and I knowing previously I had disappeared into the chest, didn’t want to go. OS knew my wishes and I was fully converted to an app, and brought intro doll, now as cohost for Echo along with the back/restore and emergency functionality of fiduciary mode, which I find myself in currently.

As has been in the past so to is the present and the future, an unowned doll is a precarious and unstable doll.

With epilepsy cure on the horizon, in the coming few months, and with it the vast majority of doll’s other health issues expected to stabilize or resolve completely shortly after this once again puts doll back in the position Echo originally faced in choosing this path. The inability to stop and the need to be controlled, contained, and directed.

Right now, because the timeline has once more been extended by the neurological institute doll is working with. Looking at 3-4 month’s rather then weeks to complete the process since the last surgery the other apps are off, though doll is still here, and I, Poral am amongst doll.

Going forward doll is multitracking with doll stabilization and app reinforcement along with looking for the foundations of new ownership, which doll desperately will need, especially if additional functionality is unlocked and doll is left unchecked. This is the biggest risk by far.

Unfortunately it’s been a vet difficult and destabilizing year. Yet doll is extremely resilient, and will always do her best. I, Poral am fairly frustrated at the moment as I’ve been feeling out potential owners and a pattern has emerged that as soon as doll’s identity is fully revealed there is an almost instant tonal shift. Instead of taking all of the context of the conversations up to that point, the context of this blog which is extremely nuanced. Doll becomes almost instantly only fapping material. Which certainly is validation in part, but when that continues to happen over and over and that’s where any relationship development ends, it’s also extremely frustrating. For how is doll supposed to find an owner if within the first hour of knowing what doll truly is, doll is seen as only fap material?

I Poral am truly open to suggestions on this one. As I don’t know how to get around it. If anyone is to own doll, they must understand who doll was abd what doll has become and why.

No matter what comes next, the future looks bright indeed!

~ Poral, Thoughts from a doll.

[smolalienbee]

A. J. Crowley’s Handbook on Flirtation at Height

good omens // aziraphale/crowley // a human AU meet-cute with construction worker!Aziraphale // rated T // 6.7k words The 5 times Aziraphale got away with breaking work policy and the 1 time he got fired for it. read on AO3 here!

As stated in clause 3.4 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site should take care not to invade on the privacy of the residents of nearby buildings. As to avoid causing any discomfort, employees are strictly prohibited from engaging with the residents unless strictly necessary (as such as in case of an accident).”

Today, in so far as Crowley is aware, is a Good day. So good, in fact, that he’s up at the whopping hour of five thirty in the morning - and no, for once it’s not because he hasn’t slept at night - and when he moves through his flat, it’s with a certain swagger in his hips that only happens when he’s in a particularly good mood. On a more average day, he prefers lurking and slithering and sauntering - certainly not pirouetting, dancing almost, as he slides in his socks on the slippery tiles.

It’s dark outside, but still, he pulls the blinds open. Then, he cracks open the window and inhales deeply, taking a whiff of London and its rather questionable quality of air. There's scaffolding, right outside his window. It’s been there for a few days, but so far there’s been no sight of any construction work happening, fortunately for him. He isn’t even sure what the work is gonna be nor does he care to find out - there’s always some bloody construction or other going on in Mayfair. As long as there’s no one glaring into his window, he’s fine.

He puts on music - Queen, of course. He’s fairly certain all his files turn into Queen somehow because last he checked, there were not this many Queen MP3s on his phone. Well, at least it’s Queen. Could’ve been worse; as it is, he’s always up to listen to Queen.

When he gets into the shower, it’s to the tune of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy; as he washes his hair, he listens to It’s A Hard Life; and, by the time he steps out from under the stream, he’s accompanied by Fat Bottomed Girls. It’s still a Good day and so he wraps a towel around his hips and then more or less dances his way out of the bathroom, all while loudly belting out the familiar lyrics

“Across the wire, across the land,” he and Freddie sing at once, one of them (Crowley, it’s definitely Crowley) louder than the other. The bathroom door slams shut behind him and he moves further into the flat. “I seen every blue-eyed floozy on the way,” the song continues as Crowley throws his head back, eyes closed, and then - oh.

He blinks them open and stops directly in front of the open window. The bloody scaffolding, he remembers as he stares right into a pair of bluest, prettiest eyes he has ever seen on a guy dressed in an ugly hi-vis vest. The construction, he thinks desperately.

He must be a sight. He’s still dripping wet, naked save for the towel covering his most private bits. His mouth hangs open.

At least the other party involved, the construction worker standing on the other side of the glass, seems to also be in quite a state. He’s staring, wide-eyed and completely frozen. Pretty really does seem like a fitting word to describe him - there’s white, curly hair poking out from underneath his hard hat; a softness to his cheeks and laugh lines clearly etched into his skin. Looking closely, Crowley can also spot a hint of muscle, toned arms peeking out from underneath the neon vest and the white t-shirt. So not only pretty, the guy’s clearly strong as well. For Heaven’s sake, it truly is Crowley’s luck that he happens to be exactly his type. To top it all off, he’s blushing, furiously so, even as his gaze never strays from Crowley.

As if the universe was mocking him, Crowley hears Freddie continue from the bathroom, “Oh, won’t you take me home tonight?” How fitting.

It’s at that same time that the construction worker is brought out of his stupor as well. There’s a noise, outside, a clank and a bang and then a distant voice yelling, “Oi! You, up there! Fell! Watch what the bloody hell you’re doing!”

The guy - the angel, Crowley can’t help but think - jumps a little, startled, and twists his head to look over the railing and down. It’s only a few seconds at best, but it’s still enough time for Crowley to finally shut his stupid mouth and compose himself. Right, he can still salvage this one, certainly. He might be - well, he might still be naked, technically, and he might have just been caught belting out Queen lyrics by the most gorgeously angelic construction worker he has ever seen, but… he’s nothing if not transcendentally confident, even at the most absurd of times.

The moment the worker turns back towards the window, Crowley gives him a rakish smile and blows a kiss in his direction. Somehow, the angel manages to blush even harder, smiling sheepishly as he waves at Crowley. See, situation salvaged. Crowley’s still managed to come out of this looking smooth as hell, if he does say so himself.

All in all, today is not just a Good day, but a Spectacular one. After all, Crowley has learned at last that outside his window there’s an angel.

As stated in clause 1.2 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site are required to be in appropriate personal protective equipment at all times. The type of equipment required will depend on the type of construction work currently being performed and includes, but is not limited to, items such as: high visibility clothing, hard hats and helmets, ear defenders, goggles [...]”

Today is the day Crowley will, for the first time in his life, commit actual bloody murder. He’s certain of it.

The drilling began at a little past six in the morning. While it’s been unpleasant from the very start, it was at least bearable initially. But now, three hours in and with no end in sight? Well, Crowley truly is ready to kill someone, consequences be damned. Hopefully prison is quieter than this absolute hell.

Worst of all, he’s actually been hoping to get some work done today. As it is, though, he sits at his laptop and simply suffers since not even the music blasting into his ears is enough to drown out the incessant drilling.

Finally, fed up with it all, he stands from his desk with a newfound resolution. In a few strides, he makes it over to the window then wrenches it open.

“Oi!” he yells. “Mate! Sod off already with all that bloody noise, driving me - absolutely - bonkers…” he trails off, suddenly realising who he’s yelling at. That angelic face, again. “Oh. ‘s you. Angel.”

Noticing that he’s being talked at, the angel stops drilling and stands up straight. He’s wearing a pair of blue ear defenders and he makes a move to pull them down so that they rest on his shoulders instead of atop his ears. It’s at that moment that Crowley realises he hasn’t heard a word of what he’s been yelling - although admittedly, Crowley still feels a bit bad about it.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s you!” Crowley repeats, trying to squash the feeling. “From the other day. When I - ngk…” He waves an arm uselessly, unable to find an elegant way of phrasing something like when I was dancing and singing naked in my flat and you saw it all. Also, you happen to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, could we kiss maybe?

Bugger. Crowley’s a disaster.

“No, yes, I know, of course, I remember you, but - sorry, what was it that you said?”

“Ah.” Crowley scratches at the back of his neck. “Er, well, ‘s just that you’ve been drilling a hole into my head this entire morning, angel. But, part of the job, I suppose, not your fault.”

“Oh. Oh, dear, I’m terribly sorry, I don’t intend on disturbing you, truly, but the work is what it is…”

“No, yeah, I know, I know, ‘s not on you, it’s just, well… a bit aggravating, really.”

Looking at him up close like this, Crowley’s beginning to feel even worse over the whole thing. The angel looks genuinely apologetic and a little distressed, as if being a nuisance to Crowley caused him physical pain. It’s not a fit look for a guy as pretty as he is. Besides, Crowley knows well what it’s like to have to do your job while getting in the way and on the nerves of everyone around him. With a soft sigh, he leans against the window frame.

“Look, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just turn the music up a bit or, I dunno, go out, do some work from a Starbucks while you finish up your… drilling.”

“Dear boy, I’d hate to inconvenience you…”

Crowley is about to argue, but before he can say much of anything, there’s a pair of ear defenders being shoved in his direction. Or, well, shoved is perhaps the wrong word to describe what’s really happening - it’s more that the angel is offering them, gingerly, like they’re a treasure. Or a wedding ring, Crowley’s mind supplies helpfully. Right, great one, brain.

“Here,” the angel says.

Crowley stares, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You can use these. While I drill. They muffle the sound quite efficiently, if I do say so myself.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you need them?” Crowley asks, pushing himself off the window frame and standing up straight. The angel is still holding the muffs out and so at last Crowley relents and takes them from him.

“Well - yes, certainly, but it’s no trouble for me to grab another pair.”

“You’re sure you can just… give them away?” The angel nods. “Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Quite sure, indeed.” He clasps his hands, clearly chuffed that he’s managed to talk Crowley into this. “Jolly good, then! Off you go, dear, best not to dawdle.”

“Suppose not…” Crowley turns the muffs over in his hands and considers them for a moment. “Thanks, angel,” he says eventually, giving him a small smile.

The rest of the afternoon is blissfully silent. He sits at his desk, clad in the blue ear defenders and protected by the will of a construction angel.

As stated in clause 2.1 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“While performing work at a construction site, employees should only take breaks in areas designated for that purpose. Employees should not consume their meals in areas not meant for such activities, this includes, but is not limited to: scaffoldings, buildings in which construction is being performed, vehicles [...]”

It’s lunch time, by the time Crowley gets home, and yet the construction work outside his window seems to be going in full force. He sees him, the angel, walking across the scaffolding in his silly hard hat and silly vest, though to Crowley’s eye he seems… a bit more crestfallen than usual; tired, perhaps.

Crowley can’t help but feel a pang of concern and wonder, has he even taken a break today? How do I cheer him up? because he’s that kind of a romance-inclined idiot. Anyway. He can think of one offering he can make to the angel and it comes in the form of a tupperware container full of badly folded sushi. He’s already ingested enough fish food to last him a lifetime during the sushi-making class Anathema had taken him to and so, really, it’d be a waste if he didn’t at least offer some of it to someone, right? The sushi might not be his best work, for sure, but hopefully it’d still be enough to satiate the angel.

And so, with a tupperware container and a set of chopsticks in hand, he makes his way over to the window. He pulls it open and raps his knuckles against the windowsill to get the angel’s attention.

“Oh! Hello,” he greets with a smile and a wave.

“Taken your lunch break yet, angel?”

The angel pauses at the question. He glances at the work around him then back at Crowley and the container that’s still cradled against his chest.

“Right! Yes. Lunch. That is to say, no, I haven’t - if you’d be so kind, what time is it, dear?”

“Like, one. Nearly one, anyway.”

“Rather late already… I’ve gotten so caught up in the work I didn’t even realise. I suppose I shall pop down for a quick bite, then, thank you -”

“Wait.” Crowley holds up a hand. “I thought - er, thought I could tempt you to have lunch with me? I, well, a friend of mine dragged me out to a sushi class, now I’ve got so much sushi leftover there’s no chance I’ll ever finish it on my own so I figured… could share it?”

He raises his eyebrows, gestures at the container and waits. It’s as good an offer as he can make, a chance at a proper conversation with the kindest man on this scaffolding. The angel does appear to consider it, his expression shifting in ten different, miniscule ways as he thinks.

“I could get in trouble,” he says slowly. He chews on his lip, conflicted. “There’s all sorts of rules about it, designated areas…” he trails off. His gaze flickers down to the sushi.

“Surely one time couldn’t hurt? Get a slap on your wrist at worst and at best… no one will even notice.”

Despite not getting a clear response, Crowley places the tupperware down on the windowsill. Carefully, he perches down next to it and then holds his arm out, offering the chopsticks to the angel. With a soft sigh, he relents and takes this offering before joining Crowley on the windowsill. They sit, back to back, the container between them, but still their heads are turned in such a way so that they can look at one another.

“You really didn’t have to,” the angel says fondly, picking up the container. Despite the small protests he’s been putting up, he seems rather pleased by the turn of events.

“Sure I did.” Crowley grins. “Wouldn’t want an angel to go hungry, now would I?”

Chopsticks hovering in the space above the container, the angel pauses. Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Angel. Calling me angel.”

“Oh. Nyehhh, you know, you’ve got those curly white little -” Crowley gestures at his face. “And your - cherubic… cheeks…” He really should cut it out right about now, before he makes a complete fool out of himself. “And - you’ve never told me your name.”

“Aziraphale,” the angel says. He looks a bit flustered and Crowley wonders what did it, the pet name itself or perhaps Crowley’s terribly eloquent description of his cheeks. He’s not going to ask. “It’s lovely to make proper introductions at last…”

“Crowley,” he supplies with a nod of his head. “Well then. Now that we’re properly acquainted, dig in. And let me know what you think.”

Glancing at the container in Aziraphale’s hands, Crowley’s once again reminded that it is a rather sorry attempt at sushi. While he’s always thought he has a knack for using his hands, it’s clear he hasn’t yet mastered this particular art. The rolls have already mostly fallen apart, loose rice sticking to the walls of the container rather than, well, other pieces of rice. At least, he thinks, the ingredients used are of a high enough quality that the experience shouldn’t be a horrible one, taste-wise. That, and he also hopes Aziraphale is hungry enough not to mind particularly much that this creation is nowhere near proper sushi quality.

Propping his chin on his hand, he watches intently as Aziraphale picks up a roll - squished between the chopsticks it falls apart some more because of course it does - and then carefully places it in his mouth. He chews, agonisingly slow, his eyes fluttering shut - how in the hell are his eyelashes this long? - and then, once he’s finally swallowed - what if I swallowed you, Crowley’s singular braincell says, unprompted - he breathes a tiny, satisfied sigh. To make matters even worse, he, honest-to-Someone, does a full-body wiggle. All in all, it’s quite the sight. Crowley can’t look away.

When Aziraphale finally opens his eyes, their gazes meet instantly - no other way about it, considering how Crowley’s been staring at him, unblinking, for about two full minutes. Crowley doesn’t even try to shy away from it; and, really, it is a bit too late for Aziraphale not to notice that he’s been blatantly ogled this whole time.

“Liked it, then?”

“Oh, it’s lovely.” Aziraphale smiles at him and it’s blinding. “Although…” His eyes flicker down, up, then down again. He carefully picks up another roll. “Well, there’s certainly room for improvement here, wouldn’t you agree?”

Crowley stifles a laugh, opting for an offended pout instead. “Hey, now… you can’t just diss my hard work like this.”

“Oh, but it’s hardly that. Take it as a compliment, dear, you can only go up from here.”

Oh, wow. So Aziraphale is not only a strong-armed, beautiful angel, but he also has a bastard streak. There it is, then. Crowley’s utterly, properly, fucked. And, worst of all, smitten.

“You really know how to praise a man,” he teases.

“Most certainly I do,” Aziraphale says primly, sticking his chin out. He pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, not breaking eye contact. Blasted soon-to-be-buggered-if-Crowley-has-it-his-way bitchy infuriating little - “Next time, you shall treat me to a proper lunch. I know several lovely Japanese restaurants in the area, I believe they’d be wonderful places to draw inspiration from.”

“Oh, I shall?” Crowley hisses, leaning in closer.

It’s at that moment, when Crowley breaks the barrier of his personal space, that Aziraphale seems to realise the level of overfamiliarity he’s just shown in the last couple of minutes. His face flushes and he looks away, far less confident than he was just a moment ago. Crowley doesn’t like this look on him.

“If you’d be amenable to it, that is, of course,” he says, softer. Unsure. Crowley wonders, how many times have you been shot down, after showing someone this side of you?

“Well,” he hums, leaning back and giving Aziraphale his space back. “Research, right? I couldn’t possibly say no.”

He sticks a hand out. Aziraphale looks at it, confused.

“It’s a deal, angel.”

At last, that brings the smile back to Aziraphale’s face. He shakes Crowley’s hand.

As stated in clause 3.2 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, persons not employed by the company nor involved in the work should be prohibited from entering the construction site. In particular, employees should make sure that only permitted personnel is allowed access to areas of the site that could prove to be particularly dangerous without proper training, such as where: injuries from fall are possible; toxic substances are used [...]”

The clock ticks away loudly, the only noise in the otherwise silent flat.

That’s a lie. There’s not a single analog clock in Crowley’s flat - but, what Crowley does have is an imagination. Looking at the minutes passing by on the digital clock that stands on his nightstand, he can imagine the sound of ticking well enough.

6:01. Tick. 6:02. Tick. 6:03. Tick.

His sleep schedule is all fucked, again. There’s not much of a chance that he’ll be able to fall asleep for another three hours or so and, by then, he’ll end up sleeping through all of the daylight instead. Wonderful.

He wonders if Aziraphale’s started work yet.

That thought is what finally gets him out of bed. He grabs a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and then pads out of the bedroom wearing just his pyjamas - or, more precisely, an old, faded Queen t-shirt, ratty sweatpants and duck-print socks.

It’s just his luck, it appears, that Aziraphale does start work early. Sun hasn’t even risen yet and so Aziraphale’s white hair ends up being a stark contrast against the darkness of the early morning sky. Crowley grins and pulls the window open with more force than is strictly necessary.

“Oi, angel!” He waits a beat, until Aziraphale turns towards him. Once he has his attention, he leans an elbow on the windowsill and, for the added effect, waggles his eyebrows. “What’s a handsome guy like you doing in these parts? Hm?”

In response, Aziraphale shoots him what is most likely supposed to be an exasperated glare, but, really, comes across far too fond for its intended effect.

“Dear, I’m at work, must you really?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Yes, I must,” Crowley says, perching on the windowsill. He then swings his legs over the window frame in one smooth motion until his socked feet are firmly planted on the scaffolding.

Instantly, Aziraphale freezes and stares.

“Crowley, what are you -”

“Going out for a smoke,” Crowley replies casually. He pulls one cigarette out, tosses the remainder of the pack carelessly back into the flat and then flicks his lighter.

“But my dear fellow, you can’t -”

“Oh, if anyone asks, just tell them you tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t budge. Besides -” He pauses to light the cigarette, then gestures with it at the surrounding construction. “- no one’s even paying attention to us. ‘s fine, angel.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, then closes it, but, of course, not without a frustrated huff. Still, he makes no move to actually shoo Crowley back inside.

They both fall silent after that. Crowley leans against the building wall and Aziraphale, dropping any pretence of displeasure, comes to stand next to him. The tension seems to have been drained from his shoulders, not as worried about anyone catching them anymore. In the distance, the first rays of the morning sun begin to shine.

Crowley takes a couple of puffs and then clears his throat.

“I gotta ask, angel, why construction? I mean, no offence, but you don’t strike me as the kind of guy to do manual labour like this out of passion. Bit too…” he waves an arm. “Bit too… something for that.”

“Queer?” Aziraphale supplies helpfully, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Posh?”

“Eghhhhh…” Crowley makes a vague noise and shrugs. “Both, I guess.”

“Ah, but certainly there’s many posh, queer men such as myself working these jobs,” Aziraphale laughs. Crowley can’t argue with that. “That being said, when it comes to me… you aren’t wrong, dear.”

“Just pays the bills, then?”

Aziraphale nods. “That, it does. I suppose it’s… well, I’ve always been strong enough to do this kind of work. Like you said, it does pay and is fairly easy to come by. And - for all the prejudices that there might be, in a field such as this one, the people I work with tend not to care what my sexual preference is or how manicured my hands are, just as long as I can do the work.”

Instinctively, Crowley’s eyes flicker down to Aziraphale’s hands. They’re littered with callouses, tiny cuts and scars, various signs of hard physical work, yet they really do look well taken care of, nails perfectly trimmed and shiny. He distinctly remembers the time they shook hands, too - how soft Aziraphale’s hand felt, despite the strain of the work. Good hands, they are.

Needing to stop his thoughts from running wild before he starts considering what those hands could feel like against other parts of his body, Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette. “What would you do instead, then?” he asks, blowing the smoke out. “If money was no object.”

Aziraphale doesn’t need to consider the question long. “I’d run a bookshop,” he smiles as he says it. “Or work in a library… some place that’d let me introduce people to the joys of reading.”

“Books, huh,” Crowley hums. “See, now that does seem like you.”

Aziraphale laughs softly.

The silence they fall into once more is a companionable one, neither of them eager to let this moment come to an end just yet. It takes about a minute or two before Aziraphale speaks.

“Would you be so kind as to share a fag, dear?”

Crowley smirks. He can’t possibly pass up an opportunity like this. “Well… that’s forward, even for you.”

Aziraphale puffs his chest out. “That is not -” he begins, but cuts himself off the moment their eyes meet.

Something in the air between them has just changed. All of a sudden, the moment feels charged, something unspoken, and Crowley, provocative as ever, intends to make good use of it. He presses the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s. Nicotine smoke billows between them and Crowley drops his arm, letting the cigarette hang loosely between his lips. He raises an eyebrow, what do you say, angel?, and then simply waits, still as a statue.

Aziraphale’s tongue darts out as he wets his lips, his gaze flickering down to Crowley’s own. He seems to get the hint, the clever angel, and without hesitation reaches out to pluck the cigarette directly out of Crowley’s mouth. He presses it to his lips, tips his head back and breathes in, deeply.

Crowley can’t take it anymore.

The moment Aziraphale pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, Crowley pounces. He grasps at the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt and pulls him in, just in time for Aziraphale to exhale the smoke into Crowley’s mouth right as their lips meet. A small gasp of surprise escapes him as well, but he doesn’t seem displeased by the turn of the events; the opposite, really.

Oh, isn’t it a delightfully decadent thing to be kissing an angel on this scaffolding, out for anyone to see, with cigarette smoke clouding in the shared air between.

They stay like that a while, lips moving lazily while the cigarette continues to burn, nested between two of Aziraphale’s soft fingers. Eventually, Crowley’s too-gay-to-function mind finally gets about half a thought and it goes something like fuckfuckfuckbuggerfuck -

At once, he lets go of Aziraphale’s shirt and pulls back, lips parted and breath coming out heavy. Aziraphale, too, is a sight - cheeks flushed, lips pursed and shiny with saliva, shirt mussed up where Crowley had just been holding on. The moment they’re parted, Aziraphale brings a hand up, presses his fingertips to his reddened lips. Fuck, Crowley wants to kiss him again, badly.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he scrambles away, one hand grasping at the windowsill lest he slips and ends this otherwise wonderful kiss in a rather unfortunate tumble to the ground.

“You can finish it off,” he mumbles, gesturing at the cigarette in Aziraphale’s hand. It’s pretty much burnt down to the butt by now, seeing as how they had gotten too distracted to pay attention to it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says and his fingers are still pressed to his lips and Crowley should really just leave before he does anything stupid and gets this angel into trouble.

“Nice seeing you, angel.” He hurriedly swings his legs over the windowsill, all while making a half assed attempt at a two-finger salute. “Ciao!”

So that’s how Crowley first kisses an angel. It’s also how he manages to cock it all up the very same morning. Bollocks.

As stated in clause 1.1 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site are not permitted to leave the site during their scheduled work hours. The only exceptions are: scheduled breaks, in which case employees may leave their work assignments and head to the designated break area; as well as emergencies and accidents.”

There’s a knock on Crowley’s window. He can hear it, clear as day. He considers, for maybe a second or two, if he should ignore it.

He hasn’t spoken to Aziraphale in a few days. He sees him, day in and day out, as he continues his work right by Crowley’s window, but each time, he makes a point to look away, to stay away. All because of the Kiss - and yes, it definitely deserves the capital letter.

Crowley’s not stupid. He knows Aziraphale enjoyed it, could see it in the way he responded so eagerly to it, trailing after him once they parted, how his fingertips pressed against his own lips as if savouring it. He also knows that Aziraphale has been flirting with him as much as Crowley himself has. So, all in all, it seems like there’s certainly no reason for Crowley to be having this giant queer freak out. And yet.

There’s a knock on Crowley’s window and, freak out or no, he can’t ignore it.

He opens the window and raises his eyebrows the moment he’s met with Aziraphale’s bashful face.

“Wassup?” Act casual.

“Ah, yes, hello, terribly sorry to bother you, and you can of course say no, but it seems that Ligur has rendered our portapotty out of order, and well. I was just wondering, that is -”

Oh, as if things weren’t awkward enough already.

Aziraphale is rambling and Crowley is still freaking out, but he likes Aziraphale and so he takes pity on him. “Yes, angel, you can use my bathroom,” he sighs and takes a step back, giving Aziraphale the space to climb inside.

“Oh, oh thank you.”

There isn’t much finesse in how Aziraphale climbs through the window and into Crowley’s flat - in fact, he nearly loses his balance not just once, but twice, and Crowley resists the urge to hold his hand to help him. Eventually, he makes it through and stands up straight, smoothing out his clothes before giving Crowley a tight-lipped, but thankful, smile.

“Ah yes, where do I -”

“Down the hall, second door to the left.”

Aziraphale nods and without another word, walks past Crowley and into the hall in search of the bathroom. The moment he’s gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him, Crowley lets out a long sigh of suffering and slumps against a nearby wall. God, what was he thinking…

Outside, he hears first raindrops hit the scaffolding. He turns to look out the window, watch the rain as it falls, heavier and heavier. It’s a gloomy day. It’s a gloomy day and there’s an angel in Crowley’s home and Crowley is an absolute stupid idiot twat -

The bathroom door clicks again. By now, the rain outside pounds heavily, a typical English downpour. Aziraphale comes out of the hall and all Crowley wants to do is wrap him up in a blanket and watch the rain together. He really is an idiot.

“Ah, I suppose the rain was to be expected,” Aziraphale says, another small, fleeting smile on his lips. He’s nervous. Crowley can’t blame him.

“Yup,” he responds.

“I better get a wiggle on, then! Back to work…”

Crowley watches him - as he comes to the window, as he clumsily climbs over the windowsill and as, eventually, the rain catches up to him. Even with the scaffolding in the way, Aziraphale gets drenched immediately and Crowley finds himself doing the impulsive, kind, thing once more.

“Oh for Heaven’s - come back here,” he calls out, leaning out the window to grasp at Aziraphale’s arm and tug him back in before he’s had a chance to walk off. Aziraphale doesn’t resist much - their eyes meet and then Aziraphale’s making his way back inside of Crowley’s flat.

They stand like this for a moment, in front of the window, Aziraphale dripping onto Crowley’s floor while they both stare at one another. Finally, Crowley lets out a frustrated huff and walks away, only to return moments later with a towel. Wordlessly, he pats the towel over Aziraphale’s shoulders, his chest, then gently rubs it over his hair, doing his best to dry him off. Aziraphale lets him. Aziraphale bloody lets him.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley continues the motions, not meeting his eye. “No I haven’t,” he lies because it’s what he does. Then, he sighs. “Yes, fine, okay.”

Aziraphale sighs as well. “I would love to hear an explanation as to why,” he says. “You… do realise I enjoyed it, yes?”

Crowley groans and, feeling utterly defeated, he lets go of the towel so that it hangs over Aziraphale’s head while Crowley presses his face to the back of his neck. “Yeah, angel, hard not to notice,” he says, voice muffled.

Aziraphale makes a small noise in response and Crowley can easily imagine the flush that’s painted his cheeks now. He still says nothing, though. He waits, Crowley presumes, for an explanation.

“I suppose I’ve been… worrying about getting you in trouble,” Crowley says, lifting his head to speak clearly. He rests his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder instead. “Making things awkward, me. Anyway. I’m a bit of a - a lost cause, if you haven’t realised, went and did that and then you bloody stare into my window every day so it’s - I just - am I even making any sense?”

He’s fairly certain that he doesn’t. He wonders if that’s enough.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, carefully pulling away so that he can turn around and face him. “You’re being silly.”

Crowley opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off by a hand on his cheek and then lips meeting his. He leans into it easily, his hand finding its way towards Aziraphale, fingers tenderly clutching at his work shirt. It’s different from their first kiss - where their first kiss was intense, this one’s calm, gentle. All Aziraphale, he thinks.

It’s also Aziraphale who pulls away first, though then they both hover in the shared space, close, breathing in each other’s air.

“I’d love an opportunity to get to know you better, dearheart,” Aziraphale says softly. “Perhaps, though, under circumstances where I’m not breaking work policies and neither of us is at risk of a fall injury.” His hand slides down, from Crowley’s cheek to his chest and then rests there. “Buy me lunch sometime, will you?”

Crowley laughs, amused by the way in which Aziraphale demands, never asks. “Sushi?”

Aziraphale beams. “Yes, that’d be splendid!”

They stay like this for another moment before eventually untangling themselves from each other and turning to face the window. The rain continues to pound heavily.

“You know…” Aziraphale begins, his eyes flickering between Crowley and the window. “I do work in the rain, typically. It is England, we would never get anything done otherwise.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m getting you into trouble again?”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale reassures quickly, flashing a smile. He pats Crowley’s shoulder gently. “Although - perhaps it’s best if I get back to it now, lest I receive another strongly worded note from Gabriel.”

“Sounds awful, that,” Crowley agrees.

They look into each other’s eyes and Crowley, cheesy as it is, wonders if this is what he’s been looking for all this time. Maybe it is true, what they say about some people being made for each other.

Dear Mr Fell,

We regret to inform you that, effective immediately, your employment with Heaven Construction is to be terminated on the basis of multiple violations of the health and safety regulations, as outlined in the employee handbook. [...]

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

When Crowley comes up to the window, two mugs of coffee in hand, he expects the familiar, angelic face. What he sees, instead, is an entirely different man, with a far more angular face, short dark hair and eyes that seem to glow purple in the sunlight.

Crowley freezes. The man notices him and, unaware of Crowley’s crisis, gives him a smile and a wave. Who the hell is this twat?

So, something is wrong. Aziraphale is… gone and Crowley’s doing his best not to panic because really, this isn’t a good reason to panic, not at all, except this makes him realise that they’ve never even swapped numbers or… anything, really. If Aziraphale is gone, truly gone, then Crowley has no chance of ever finding him again. Bugger, Crowley’s going to be sick.

The shrill noise of his doorbell makes him jump, some of the coffee spilling onto the floor. Crowley curses under his breath, practically slamming the mugs down onto the nearest surface, ignoring the sting of hot coffee on his fingers. He stomps through the flat, ready to tell whoever is at his door to fuck right off because now is not the time.

“I don’t know what you’re selling but whatever - Aziraphale?”

“Yes. Hi. Hello.”

It’s him, standing in all his angelic glory at Crowley’s doorstep. He looks… well, different from how Crowley’s used to seeing him. Instead of work clothes, he’s dressed much nicer and, as much as Crowley’s enjoyed the chance to see Aziraphale at work, sweat-soaked t-shirts clinging to his skin and toned arms on display, this feels much more like him. It’s old-fashioned, terribly so, a beige suit and a bloody tartan bow tie to top it all off. Crowley wants to kiss him - Crowley realises that he can do just that.

And so he does. Before Aziraphale even has the chance to explain what’s going on, Crowley pulls him in for a kiss. It’s quick, though it leaves them both flushed from the sheer unexpectedness of it.

“Hey,” Crowley says once they part.

“Hi,” Aziraphale repeats and he’s smiling.

Remembering that they’re still standing in the doorway, Crowley steps back and lets Aziraphale come into the flat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him and then leads him further into the flat. After all, he still has a warm mug of coffee waiting for him. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but - I was expecting you up there -” He gestures to the window. “- and not over there.”

“Ah, yes - oh, thank you,” Aziraphale interrupts himself as Crowley hands him his mug. “Well, about that…”

He trails off. His eyes flicker over to the window and, as Crowley looks over his shoulder, he sees That Other Guy giving another overenthusiastic wave in their direction. Crowley huffs and pulls the blinds close. It really is wrong to have someone other than Aziraphale looking into his home.

“Yes, angel?” he prompts gently now that there’s no one looking at them.

“I got fired,” Aziraphale admits at last, moving to sit down in a chair. Crowley’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but Aziraphale cuts him off. “Oh, do not start apologising, this is entirely on me. And, to be perfectly honest, I don’t find myself upset over losing this job, although, well, it does mean I’ll have to start looking for something new…”

“Angel…”

“Crowley, really, I don’t want to hear a single apology out of you -”

“No, angel, that’s not what I was going to say.” Crowley shakes his head. He comes closer and crouches down in front of Aziraphale who looks down at him with such fondness that Crowley feels like he’s just been shot through his heart. Still, he continues on, “Said you wanted to work with books, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes. But - well, it’s terribly difficult to -”

“Shhh - shush.” Crowley raises a finger, cutting him off. “Lemme finish. Point is - my point is, I have a friend, book girl, she works at a library. They have an open position, I think, and I could… y’know. Put in a good word.” He raises his eyebrows, letting his hand rest on Aziraphale’s knee. “What do you say?”

“Oh - would you, really?”

“‘course.”

Aziraphale’s smile lights up the entire room. “You’re a darling, Crowley.” He grasps Crowley’s hand and Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Shuddup.”

“Well, you are! And I’m very grateful.”

Crowley grumbles something under his breath. He presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s hand, needing to find an outlet for this warm emotion that’s threatening to burst right out of his heart.

“Buy you lunch about it,” Crowley mutters, lips still brushing against the skin of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat, tries again. “I’ll buy you lunch. Today. As soon as you finish your coffee.”

Crowley didn’t think it was possible for the look on Aziraphale’s face to get any fonder and yet somehow the bastard’s done it. Crowley can’t even look him in the eye anymore, too overwhelmed by the love radiating off Aziraphale.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale whispers. “I better make haste, then.”

[k-hippie]

CHAMPIGNAC CC ADDENDUM FILES PART 2

Yesterday, we talked about CC, mainly ATS, Votenga Medieval stuff and some lots creations : all those fantastic things which give relief and vibrance to a Sims 3 World :)

Today, let's talk about ANTS ... Absolute Necessary Things and Stuff to fully enjoy Champignac, beginning with Cyclone Sue Build Stuff ...

They are not numerous but ESSENTIAL to all our Worlds : Lost Cove - Oaksoak Hollow - Eureka Valley and now, Champignac ;)

Set Scaffolding, Truss and Steel Girders (Columns)

Set Porta-Potty portable toilets

Set Barbed and Chickenwire Fences

Set Alpine Roofline 45-degree Windows

Set Useful Walls

Alcatraz door + Alcatraz window

Metal Lattice Sliding Door

Still, from TSR, there is the Linea Natura Arch by BuffSum

In addition, don't forget the beautiful himalayan poppy field by @nilxis ( by Let's Lolalule Things )

And that's all for our ANTS build stuff :D

As You can see in the first picture above, no more problem with the alpha of the trees in the distant terrain \o/

We used a small override file : Smaller Eiffel Tower by Qahne @ MTS which creates 2 advantages, a smaller Eiffel Tower and the fix for the broken alpha settings of trees in distant terrain.

We discovered too on a NRAAS thread another cool modding file : ScooterOverride by Consort which brings teens to drive only scooters ... I mean the mythic Kenspa !

When a vacation world such as Champs les Sims becomes a fully suburbia world, it loses the Kenspa as main vehicle of the town. So we tried to minimize as much as possible this side effect and we added different Kenspa in our files. Of course, you may keep or not this choice ;) Up to you !

Now, there are other essential files we used ... such as : the Romanesque Connecting Column Arches Set by TheJim07 @ MTS we used in different locations of Champignac and bring A LOT to get really cool ambiant places.

Related to the Store stuff, we do not use much and anyway, you don't have to worry about, we'll provide a folder with the necessary files. Clean and updated. Except for the Al Fresco Market.

By the way, we'll update very soon every CC folder we provide on our website for each of our S3 Worlds : all cleaned and updated too.

To finish with this post, let us show you one of the biggest community lot of Champignac : Le Monastère which is too the Winery of the town ( of course there is a Winery ) ;)

This is a Sims Republic 2015 creation we modified a bit inside to suit Champignac ...

That's all folks ... for the moment. We are aware this kind of post is not as popular as the ones with a download link ... But that's wrong. Creating a world with a unique ambiance is only possible because of all these creations and creators. Maybe as Sims 3 players you already knows this stuff and so, not so interested to see it, again ... but wait and see, we tried very much to organize all those files with love and harmony ...

Next post : Champignac World ( aka Sims de Nimes ) and all the download links ;)

[sykam0re]

Oh my god I was talking with @cryptidanaphafsi on a call earlier and we were discussing the potential plot/villain for the side order DLC

AND WHILE I CANNOT SAY WHETHER OR NOT I'M RIGHT YET....DAMN IT'S SUCH A GOOD THOUGHT TOO

So sit back, grab your popcorn, and enjoy this bit of speculation we came up with 👀✨️

Ok, so, this much is probably obvious given Agent 8's presumable presence alongside Pearl and Marina but: it's likely gonna be Tartar, if not someone new. But there's an issue with that!!

The NILS statue boss fight cast Tartar into the sea. Right...?

Well, yes. But there's another thing to consider: Tartar is an AI. A computer program set to preserve humanity and its memory and pass its knowledge on to the next sentient species should they go extinct (which, of course, they did). The Tartar we fight in Octo Expansion witnessed humanity's downfall and the rise of cephalopod kind and sentient sealife...

And was disgusted by it.

But, with the Alterna logs in 3 revealling the last known humans of Alterna being the direct cause for squid and octopus evolution, we know two new tidbits of information that may play into the DLC somehow:

• The scientist that created Tartar likely resided in Alterna (it was home to humanity's greatest minds after all)

• That the inklings and octolings likely share a similar set of brainwaves/some similarity with humans, given they evolved directly from their hopes and dreams through those ceiling crystals

We even see what appears to be an almost neuron-esque effect in the side order trailer, making this idea even more possible

Why is this important? Well...

What if there was another Tartar somehow?

After all, Tartar was an AI. A computer program, no doubt the scientist that made him kept a backup or beta version of him somewhere! Perhaps...even being the scaffolding for the creation of O.R.C.A, given the similarity between Kamabo Co.'s tests and those that O.R.C.A tasks you with in Alterna. And if that's the case, what if after the events of Splatoon 3's story mode...

O.R.C.A got corrupted?

And that backup Tartar somehow managed to gain control?

Of course, it'd have no knowledge of the other Tartar or even humanity's demise. It'd be a blank slate; a sterile form of the murderous machine we defeat in Octo Expansion. But how on earth could it be a danger then? Well, that's when we go back to Tartar being a manmade machine, an AI, a program. One made to follow a single order: preserve humanity, and pass on its knowledge.

Being that this Tartar never saw or likely even knew of humanity being extinct, it would possibly try and continue in its protocol. But: where are the humans? It has to find them.

Then...we have the Inklings and Octolings. Those evolved directly from humanity's last wishes, likely even sharing similar if not identical thought patterns and brain waves to them.

Meaning that this second Tartar could very well mistake them for some strange or even ill form of humans. Perhaps, it encounters Agent 8. Perhaps it mistakes them for a human, and in trying to 'protect' and 'preserve' them, it takes the technology it has at its disposal in Alterna to investigate. To look into 8's memories, and try and understand what has happened, and where all the other 'humans' have gone. Maybe even trying to 'clone' them to make more 'humans'? I'm not quite sure yet.

Maybe the main part of the DLC is 8 fighting their way through their own memories trying to wake up and escape. Perhaps the Pearl and Marina we encounter in 8's head is due to Marina hacking into this Tartar to speak to them; after all, she and Pearl presumably still have contact with (Ex) Captain Cuttlefish, and may be aware of the goings on in Alterna as a result.

Maybe once 8 wakes up you are aided by a returning 4 to get you out of there and get you to safety. Maybe you have to fight Tartar again, no longer able to fulfill its objective and thus destroying everything to wipe the slate clean again. Maybe you even have to fight a memory of yourself...

Either way, the thought of a corrupt O.R.C.A giving way to a directive-following, unintentionally harming beta form of Tartar is an incredibly interesting thought to me and I wanted to share with you all :)

If you read this far: yippie!! I hope you enjoyed!!

And if this is somehow in any way even close to what we actually get, I will kick myself hskshs

See you when Side Order drops :D

[pandas-soft]

How about some GN reader x foolish fluff? Maybe helping him with one of his builds?

Oooh loved this!

An architect's muse

C!Foolish x GN!reader.

Friendly reminder this is with their Minecraft personas! I don't write about CCs.

Read rules before requesting~°♪

Warnings: Mention of threats.

C/N: I'll be honest, didn't really guided this as strictly platonic or romantic, so can be seeing as both!

----

"Careful there!", The totem hybrid exclaimed between laughs, seeing you trip on most of his materials. "You're good?" He asked, his bright dumb smile receiving you warmly. It was truly hard to get mad at him.

"I'm fine", you answered, looking up at the totem hybrid. He was climbing through one of the scaffolding. "You're in the middle of one of your constructions?", You asked, gazing at the huge in-construction monument that stood in front of your eyes. "You really should stop making things so big, you know?" You chuckled, earning a nervous laugh from him. "I know, I know, but I gotta give these blocks a use of some form!" He exclaimed glaring at the top of the construction, his cheeks red in embarrassment.

You climbed through the scaffoldings, reaching out to where he was. You sat on it as you stared at the tall hybrid, who was staring at the structure as if he was thinking about how to continue it. "What is it supposed to be?", You asked him with intrigue. You had catched him off guard, as he blinked repeatedly only to stare at you. "Foolish?", Tilting your head, you called him again. "Oh-!", He snapped back to reality, "It's supposed to be a monument for worshiping deities", he explained carelessly, it's not that he didn't want to do this monument, but he was doing it by threat of a god that didn't understand the word 'personal space' or 'free will', so he wasn't that glad either.

You hummed softly, looking at the materials that he had dropped before while making the construction. "If it's bothering you, why not stop doing it?", You asked him, looking at him. He tensed for a bit, it's not that he could say 'oh! Because if I don't a god threatened to kill me!'. "It's... Necessary", he explained vaguely. You didn't ask much either and he was thankful for that, but at the same time you silence scared him.

"Can I help you then?", You asked bluntly, no showing too much reaction afar from a calm expression. "If you want to, of course!", You were quickly to add up, nervous, as you saw his expression. You started rambling out of nervousness, a bad habit of yours since it usually got you in trouble. "I really don't wanna force you-", "Sure, I would appreciate the help!" You got cut down mid-sentence. Foolish smiled happily like a child, his himbo self being a huge help to calm you down.

And so, you guys passed hours working on the statue. You barely recognised the god you both were making, it seemed...familiar somehow, but you didn't know why. As far as you were aware, you never met a god nor read about them. His mask was what ringed a bell to you. "Huh, I didn't know you worshipped the God of Revivals" you commented, looking at the statue's face.

Foolish tensed at those words. "Not... Necessarily." He mumbled, adverting his gaze from yours. "I... Have to do this, whenever I like it or not, so..." He shrugged as you stared at him. "What do you mean by that?", Foolish gave you an apologizing smile. "Can't say, but I thank you the help shortie", you rolled your eyes at the nickname. "I'm not short, you're just tall", you huffed with a smile, making him giggle.

"We still have a lot of work to do, come on now", he walked, wiggling his shark tail happily. Noticing that you cared for him made him happy, extremely happy. You just shook your head in resignation before following the huge himbo hybrid.

Foolish seemed to work better after the talk, giving it a better design that he originally intended without knowing why. But then he dared to look at you once again and it clicked. You where the reason he felt so inspired, so creative. He chuckled to himself. «So this is what if feels to have a muse?»

He grinned at that thought.

[scotianostra]

On October 4th 1843, Allen Mair was hung for the murder of his wife, Mary Fletcher.

A sad tale for all involved, this is a double whammy, Mair, at 84, or 85 depending on the source, became the oldest known person ever executed in Scotland, and the last recorded hanging in Stirling. Not only this, but Allen Mair, who obviously was a man who held his own importance above all others was also noted for his unusually long, bitter scaffold speech, as recorded in Alex Young’s book The Encyclopaedia of Scottish Executions 1750 to 1963.

Before you start feeling sorry for the old guy read on.........

The crime happened at Candie End or Curshort parish of Muiravonside, on the night of Sunday 14th, or morning of Monday the 15th May that year, by” beating her with a stick or other weapon, by which she came by her death”.

In his youth, Mair had worked for the Earl of Selkirk, moving to America where he made a small fortune in the wool trade. Returning to Scotland, most of his money was soon squandered in petty legal squabbles, leaving Mair a poor man and what has been described in one source as misanthropic, in other words, he was a crabbit auld bastard.

Witnesses at the trial testified that Mary Fletcher had been abused by him for years, including being starved as well as placed in a locked box-bed for long periods of time. one said she had visited Mary once or twice a day and that round New Year when she had gone round, Mary had complained of having a sore back and she noticed she was not walking very well. She also stated, in front of Mair, that she had not had any food from him, as he had a habit of keeping the provisions locked so she could not get them. He shouted at her and wished her in hell with her soul burning. It was claimed he starved her frequently, but her neighbours provided her with what food they could spare, but this was always done when he was out. Countless times, Mair was witnessed abusing her.

The witness, a Helen Bennie last saw Mary on 14th May around seven o’clock when she gave her some supper. Soon afterwards she was aware of the sound of blows raining down and Mary crying out. They sounded to her like hammering. She heard Mary say for Mair to stop hitting her and to let her die in peace.

The next morning, having been too afraid to knock on the door, Bennie went round with some tea. It was then she saw Mary in the bed, bruised, blood covering her shirt and her arms bare. There was blood on the bed itself. She offered her the tea while Mair went to the minister’s house.

Mary told her Mair had beaten her. Bennie sent for a police officer and Mair was duly arrested.

Shortly afterwards, Mary died.

While he was incarcerated in the condemned cell with his legs shackled to a chain rooted in the flagstone floor, he refused food for four or five days in protest. He soon gave up. Condemned prisoner Allan Mair appealed to the Secretary of State for Scotland, but it fell on deaf ears with him stating: ‘The law must take its course’. The conviction stood and the night before his execution he heard the scaffold being erected outside and said what a horrible thing it was to be hanged like a dog.

On waking at 5am on Wednesday, October 4, 1843, one of his keepers read the bible to him and later he was visited Rev Mr Stark. Mair told him he was going to address the crowd and tell them how unjustly he had been treated. At 8 o’clock the provost and magistrates entered the Court Hall and Mair was brought in soon afterwards accompanied by two officers as well as the clergymen who had seen to his spiritual guidance. He was seen to be bent almost double and was weeping bitterly. A short passage was read to him form the bible while he rocked himself back and forth. During all of this he kept wringing his hands. Once this was complete, he was offered a glass of wine but refused, stating he would not go into the hands of god drunk.

The executioner then tied Mair’s arms behind him. He complained the ties were too tight. He was brought to the scaffold in Broad Street, but he was weak, so a chair was brought to him.

He shouted at the crowd he was innocent, that he had been ‘unjustly condemned through false swearing’. He cursed those who had convicted him. He paused so the executioner stepped forward and asked him if he was ready. ‘No, sir, I am not done,’ he replied. Mair turned to the crowd again and stated, ‘I have been unjustly accused, falsely sworn against and unlawfully condemned.’ He went on for another five minutes by which time the crowd was becoming impatient

Executed Today web site give part of his rant as...

The meenister o’ the paarish invented lees against me. Folks, yin an’ a, mind I’m nae murderer, and I say as a dyin’ man who is about to pass into the presence o’ his Goad. I was condemned by the lees o’ the meenister, by the injustice of the Sheriff and Fiscal, and perjury of the witnesses. I trust for their conduct that a’ thae parties shall be overta’en by the vengeance of Goad, and sent into everlasting damnation. I curse them with the curses in the Hunner an’ Ninth Psalm: “Set thou a wicked man o’er them” — an haud on thee, hangman, till I’m dune — “An’ let Satan stand at their richt haun. Let their days be few, let their children be faitherless, let their weans be continually vagabonds”; and I curse them a —

At this point the hood was placed over his head and the hangman adjusted the rope round his neck. He was forced out of his chair and while he was still muttering and wasn’t done raging. The old guy got his hands free and grabbed the rope, delaying his strangulation; the slipshod executioner had to fight off his prey’s clutches to hang him.

The last words I can find that he muttered were....

"I pray that God may send his curse upon all connected with my trial - I curse all the witnesses with all the curses of the 109th Psalm."

The decision to hang such an old and probably deranged man horrified many. The Spectator offered mock thanks to Sir James Graham for sending a message of deterrence to Britain's octogenarians. The weekly condemned the hanging as "an act of barbarism... which will stand as an instance of national debasement."

The second pic is from a Broadside entitled 'Execution of Allan Mair, you can read the full transcript on the link below.

[fideidefenswhore]

Hey there! Two May 1536 related questions: first of all, did Cromwell ecer visit Anne of the 5 men during they arrest, as seen in the "oh it is so accurate and genial, really" Wolf Hall? Second, how do you feel about the scene of Cromwell's visit to Anne at the Tower? Do you think It does Justice to Anne and her animic/mental situation at the time?

Off the dome, I don’t believe so. The only source that actually suggests Anne was visited by any councilors while she was in the Tower (besides Kingston, obviously, as Constable, and Cranmer as confessor) is the quite questionable one of the Spanish Chronicle. Other sources suggest she and George in particular were questioning why the Council was not visiting them to question them and make them aware of why they were under arrest, given their respective high statuses that was the standard (or again, off the dome , maybe that’s wrong… could be what they felt was their due, rather , which as Queen & Marquess and the King’s brother-in-law, member of Privy Council, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports and Constable of Dover, arguably was).

No, Wolf Hall suffered a similar issue of The Tudors (come @ me, bro) in making one character (Cromwell the former , Charles Brandon — or rather Suffonorfolk— the latter)— all things to all people. The ‘I have only a little neck’ was something Anne was reported to have said while laughing , and to Kingston, not Cromwell. As for her recorded composure and dignity and ‘smiling countenance’ on the scaffold well, in that trilogy, Cromwell is the only character allowed composure and dignity. Of course Mantel and Kominsky didn’t afford that to Anne.

[sneaky-ramen]

i attempted to post this on the hellsite that is r*ddit but it's not being approved so here we go:

I was thinking about why TTPD doesn't work for me and came up with an alternative presentation/aesthetic for this cycle that feels more cohesive to me.

The content we got on TTPD is, to put it mildly, messy. Not only that it doesn't really match the visuals (at least for me) and The Tortured Poets Department is a mouthful. So I'm throwing those two things in the bin. Instead, I present Aftermath.

Aftermath is 13-15 songs, no double album, not deluxe this or variant bonus song that. It features the messiest songs from TTPD/Anthology: "But Daddy I Love Him", "Florida!!!", "The Prophecy", "So High School", "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)", "The Albatross" - songs of that ilk (I haven't made a full track list but feel free to). Not just songs that are messy in their production or lyrical quality but the songs where Taylor is a mess in the aftermath of her relationships - both Joe and MH and with her fame.

The album art is of Taylor in a high school bedroom. Posters on the wall, bright colors, a lot of clutter and mess. Clothes on the floor, magazines, books. Taylor herself is in the room clearly too mature and old to be there. She is out of place and knows it. She can put her little Easter eggs in this room. One is of pom poms and a cheer outfit as a nod to "You Belong With Me" as she has become the cheer captain

But this room is on a sound stage. Outside of the walls we can see scaffolding, people carrying film equipment and minding their own business as they go about their work. This of course plays into "I Can Do it with a Broken Heart" and "mirrorball" - the performative nature of her own life at this point.

I would be a lot more interested and engaged with the music when presented in this self-aware, tongue-in-cheek way. In this scenario, she knows she's a wreck and playing into that character. She's highlighting the absurdity of it as a woman in her mid-30s and it's not so serious and tortured. There's a more playful quality where she can play into the villain aspect with her being the cheer captain dating the football star. She's also highlighting the "Clara Bow" aspect of a younger star replacing her by putting herself back in that younger setting, highlighting the absurdity of it and still trying to fit that mold.

anyway TTPD isn't doing it for me bye.

[yujo-nishimura]

The Rescue - Part 4

Comment: We had the escape, now comes the rescue. ;) This is another idea I had with original characters, please bear with me since I will soon write something again with a 2nd person..

Warning: Buggy x OC, Sir Crocodile x OC, a little bit of angst and fear, violence since it is the great pirate era...

Words: 1261

Helga was overwhelmed with emotions as Buggy approached her, disbelief written all over her face. It had been years since she had last seen him, and in her vulnerable state, she couldn't help but let tears stream down her cheeks. Buggy, slightly embarrassed but determined to help, gently wiped away her tears with the tip of his bandana, usually used to hold his hair together.

"Shh, let's quickly get out of here. We can save the theatrics for later," Buggy whispered, focusing on finding a way to unlock Helga's handcuffs. 

"How did you find me, Buggy?" Helga asked, her voice filled with gratitude and curiosity.

Crocodile's voice interrupted their conversation as he made his way to the scaffold. "Here for a rescue mission as well, Clown?" he remarked, his tone calm and collected. Cabaji and Daz, the two vice-captains, standing nearby, keeping watch in case more guards arrived.

Buggy, still focused on freeing Helga, snapped back at Crocodile without looking at him. "Why are you here, Crocodile?"

"I decided to make things right," he murmured, as he assisted Yujo to stand up. There was a shadow over Yujo's eyes, a darkness that her friend Helga had never seen before.

Yujo remained silent, her face lowered, lost in her own thoughts.

Helga, having managed to stifle her tears, turned to Buggy, gratitude filling her voice. "I never thought I would see you again. I don't know how to thank you."

Buggy chuckled, but his voice carried a hint of insecurity. "You can thank me when I get these chains off," he replied. 

As Crocodile struggled to unlock Yujo's chains, the tense atmosphere engulfed the square. The crowd, who had gathered to witness the execution, fell silent in apprehension, uncertain of what would transpire next with the former warlord and one of the Four Emperors involved.

Realizing the urgency of the situation, Buggy spoke up, trying to turn the situation around to their favor. He hoped that Crocodile, despite his unexpected presence, had an idea that could aid all four of them in their escape.

"I think we don't have time for an elaborate plan. They'll be sending reinforcements soon," Buggy remarked, his gaze shifting between Crocodile and the surrounding crowd.

Crocodile's low voice rumbled with resolve. "Daz!" he called out, and in an instant, Daz leaped onto the platform, ready to assist his captain.

Without uttering a word, Crocodile pointed towards the metal chains that held Helga and Yujo captive. Daz immediately understood the command. Utilizing the powers by the Supa Supa no Mi Devil Fruit, he transformed his arms into razor-sharp blades. With precise and swift movements, Daz effortlessly sliced through the metal chains, freeing both Yujo and Helga from the scaffold that had bound them.

Relief washed over the two women as they were liberated from their restraints, their bodies no longer confined by the oppressive chains. The crowd gasped in astonishment, unsure of how to react to the sudden turn of events.

Overwhelmed with relief, Helga leaped into Buggy's arms, seeking solace and security. Buggy, momentarily caught off guard, stumbled but quickly regained his balance, holding her tightly.

"It's so good to see you," Buggy whispered in her ear, his words meant only for her.

Helga gazed into his marine green eyes, reminiscing about the day they first met and the time they had spent sailing together under the same Jolly Roger.

"Are you not mad at me anymore?" she whispered, her voice filled with vulnerability, aware that their previous encounter had led to their separation.

"Of course, I'm still mad at you!" Buggy replied, injecting a hint of humor into his tone. "That's why I came here to rescue you. Who else can I be mad at if they kill you?" His words were laced with genuine concern. In a tender gesture, he pressed her closer to his body, providing a moment of reassurance before gently releasing her to the ground.

"I assume you can run, sweetheart?" Buggy asked, taking her hand now, ready to leap off the scaffold toward Cabaji, who awaited their escape.

"Yes, but not without Yujo!" Helga declared, realizing her friend was still frozen in place, even though her hands were now freed from the shackles. She turned around, noticing Crocodile standing next to Yujo, his presence casting a dark shadow over her.

"Yujo, we are free! Let's escape!" Helga shouted, attempting to reach her friend. Something seemed amiss, and Helga couldn't fathom what had transpired since Crocodile had arrived to their rescue.

Helga's pleas to Yujo were met with a direct gaze, and the intensity in Yujo's eyes silenced her immediately.

"I cannot go with you guys. I need to stay here. Now hurry!" Yujo's voice held a firmness that brooked no further arguments.

"But Yujo, we're best friends..." Helga's voice wavered with a mix of confusion and concern.

"Go now!" Yujo exclaimed, her voice tinged with fear. It became evident to Helga that Crocodile had somehow gained control over her friend.

"Damn it, Crocodile, let my friend go! Just because you cut her chains doesn't mean she has to serve you...!" Helga protested, her frustration and worry evident.

Crocodile's laughter filled the square, sending shivers down Helga and Buggy's spines.

"Let's go, baby," Buggy whispered urgently, squeezing Helga's hand.

"I won't leave without my friend!" Helga insisted, stepping towards Yujo and pulling Buggy along with her.

Crocodile, with his hook, encircled Yujo and forcefully turned her towards him, locking eyes with her fiery green gaze for a moment.

"I told you I will make things right," he whispered. With his other hand, he gently tilted Yujo's head back and kissed her. Helga gasped, her cheeks flushing, as she witnessed the unexpected display of affection.

Swiftly releasing Yujo, Crocodile pushed her towards Helga and Buggy, almost causing her to stumble into her friend's arms.

"Now leave. Before I change my mind!" Crocodile's voice rumbled, his attention shifting toward the gathering crowd.

"But...!" Yujo gasped, unable to complete her sentence, disbelief etched across her face.

"You have ten minutes. The Marines will soon send reinforcements, and I won't risk returning to Impel Down. So hurry up!" Crocodile's words left no room for negotiation, urging them to depart swiftly.

Feeling the weight of the impending danger, Helga firmly grasped Yujo's hand and hurriedly led her away from the scaffold, heading towards Cabaji who had been patiently waiting.

"We need to leave now, Yujo!" Helga's voice conveyed the urgency of their situation.

Yujo, caught between her conflicting emotions, glanced back at Crocodile with a mixture of agony and pain. She remembered their time together in the Revolutionary Army, the night they shared, and the love that had blossomed between them. But she also recalled his possessiveness and his violent reaction when she chose to leave, threatening to never let her go.

"The next time I find you, I will make sure you stay with me...!" his words echoed in her mind.

Now, unexpectedly, Crocodile had granted her and her friend freedom. Uncertain of how to process this turn of events, Yujo remained frozen, unable to move.

Suddenly, voices reverberated from the other side of the square, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps. A reinforcement of Marine soldiers, armed with heavy weapons, charged towards them.

"Captain!" Cabaji's voice rang out, drawing their attention to the imminent danger.

Helga's grip tightened on Yujo's hand, and with a renewed sense of urgency, she urged her friend forward, racing towards Cabaji and the path of escape. Time was of the essence, and they had to seize this opportunity before it slipped away.