Samuel Apr 30
“Fiethsing, no,”
Is something she hears a lot
From lots of people.
Almerius, Grus,
Mooj, even Milest.
Most often though
She hears it from her:
Zero.

“Fiethsing, no
Get off the ceiling,”
As though there’s any better
Place to be read a book
Than up, up high,
High as can be
And free from all,
Distractions
And the ground.

“Fiethsing, no
Chicken’s not food,”
Is really curt
Though it was just a joke
And not in front of Kaguya
Because she’s not cruel.
The rabbit heard though,
She thinks.
One can't trust them
they know too much.

“Fiethsing, no
You need to stay,”
She might dread most
Because it’s true
And she knows it.
But she won’t stay
And Zero knows it.
So they’ll fight,
Either here or later.
But they will
One way or another.
They know that.

“Fiethsing, no
I really don’t want your help,”
Isn’t any better.
It might even be worse,
Because it’s clear she does
When she needs it.
Tense and worried,
Far too much on her mind,
But Zero keeps on pushing
and pushing,
And hides away
As Fiethsing frets
More than most guess.

“Fiethsing, no
Please don’t go. Stay. Please,”
Is the worst.
Her desperate pleas
And that look in her eyes,
Paranoid and fearing
Even though she’d never leave.
She’ll wander, yes.
A lot, even.
She’ll always stay though
At moments like this
When Zero comes apart,
Incapable of believing that.
Or much else.

"Fiethsing, no
you really don't get it,"
is what she keeps on about
arguing on and on
with herself more than her.
Her mind plays tricks
and she seems so far away
and all Fiethsing can do
is sit there and stay.
She can't argue with Zero
not like this,
but she can stick around
even as she tears herself apart.

"Fiethsing, no
I guess you have a point,"
now that's more like it.
A sign
that the tide's receding.
She's coming back down
and she's coming back around.
The fear's there still
and they know it
the both of them,
but Zero's making it
bit by bit
back to her.

“Fiethsing, no
I think I’m fine now,”
Is the best to hear
When she’s resting her head
Against her
Worn out and exhausted
But finally grounded again,
Finally believing again
That she won’t leave,
That she’d never dream of it.

She hears it a lot
“Fiethsing, no,”
And she can’t imagine it otherwise.
Samuel Apr 23
It’s fine
Is what she tells everyone
This day
Like so many others.
Fears run through her,
Her mind a mess of possibility
Infinite in number and horror.
Deaths here.
Failures there.
Maybe a grave injury at best.
Can they best this foe?
Is this the end of the Sages?
Is this the end of the world?
She ponders this
Over a cup of coffee
Poured by Moojdart,
All concern and bother.

It’s fine
Is what she says as she slinks off,
Telling Mooj again and again
Don’t worry, don’t worry
It’s fine,
She can handle it.
She always can, she always must.
Grus is worried too
And Milest
And even their leader
Who’s normally too vain to care.
She brushes past them all
To go and hide away
As she tries to fix it,
As she runs through bad ends
In search of a single good.
She can’t find one
Or even the hint of one
No matter how hard she picks
At the threads of potentiality.
There’s only more worries,
Only more failures,
Which darken the flame of Hope
Burning inside
Which she clings to so stubbornly
Even though it’s not her natural Will.
She’s got to.
She’s got to cling,
Got to be strong.
She’ll fix it, she will.

There’s a knock at her door
And it opens
Before she can even say no
Because that’s just how Fiethsing is,
Because that’s just how little she cares.
Really it’s amazing she knocked,
But there you go.
You never can guess with her,
But Zero can know she’s annoyed.
She snaps at her.
An admonition, a demand
To go, to leave.
That you shouldn’t just barge in
“I mean really, Fieth,”
And it’s fine anyway.
It’s always fine.

But that’s not what she came for.
So she claims.
She’s just here to find a book,
Steal it more like,
Like she always does
And Zero’ll never see it again.
It’s just a ploy anyway,
It’s just a ploy thankfully,
Unfortunately.
Fieth sets in on the search,
Looking for a book
And not speaking a word more,
Of concern or otherwise.
She’s simply an annoyance
That rummages through her things
After barging into her space.
Fieth’s one that’ll be ignored.
Has to be, must be.
So she drinks her coffee
And goes to reading,
Or more like looking at pages
As the words blur together
From fear
Now tinted with anger.

It’s fine
And Fiethsing sighs
Finally feeling fit
To make a sound
And even words.
“Wow, it’s hot.
Don’t you think so, Zero?”
There’s more sound too
Of rustling clothes
Falling off
Onto the floor.
A shirt gone,
More than likely.
Still searching too.
She pays no mind,
As little as she can.
She has a book to not read.

A book to not read
As a thought invades her mind
Of what Fieth must look like.
Topless and slick with sweat
As she digs through her shelves
Musing to herself,
“Oh it’s not here either, oh dear.”
There’s a book to not read
As an image invades her mind
Of a hug,
Of a kiss,
A touch, anything.
Contact, warm and simple.
Memories flood
And imaginings more
As she has a book to not read.

Still it’s fine,
Just fine.
She’ll just read and think
On all the ways the world can end
Because that’s better.
Better than admitting she’s scared,
Better than admitting she needs help.
Help of any sort.
A talk, advice, a decision
Or a pair of arms
Wrapped around her waist
As she falls apart
Just for a moment.

“Oh, there it is!”
Rings out Fieth’s sing song tone
And she trots on over,
For once bothering to walk
And not float.
Just so she’ll hear,
Just so she’ll know.
It’s a kindness but it doesn’t feel like it,
More like a threat
That makes her sigh
Heavy and hard
In frustration
As she turns around to see
Fieth topless and grinning.
It’s enough to make her sick.
With fury.
With fear.
With want.
She holds out her book
Arm outstretched
As far as it can go,
A barrier between them both.
She doesn’t want to play this game,
She wants to play this game.

Fieth takes the book with glee
And a pleased, “Thank you!”
Before she rambles on and on
About dull history being her passion
Don’t you know, Zero?
It’s charming,
It’s cute
And she just wants her gone.
Gone and away
With her mirth,
Infectious as always,
And her plans,
Impish as always.
So she turns back around
And grabs another book.
Another thing to not read
As she tells herself
That it’s fine.

It’s fine
As Fieth steps forward and
rests a hand on her
Gripping her shoulder.
It’s fine
When she says, “I went a bit far
Didn’t I, Zero?”
Which she did
But it’s fine
And it’s not.
It wasn’t far enough, not close enough.
She didn’t just grab her
Right there, right then.
She didn’t just force her down
Against her desk
And whisper in her ear
Just what she’ll do to her.

So she falls to her side
Just far enough
To fall back into Fieth,
Head resting right between her breasts.
The grip becomes a hug,
Arm wrapping firmly around
Her frightened frame,
So frail,
Right now, right here.

“It’s fine,”
She says again.
This time it’s the truth,
And a lie
And she closes her eyes
And she melts
Right there, right then
In Fiethsing’s arms,
Though she wants nothing more
Than to chase her off.

“Just need a moment?”
Fieth asks
With a sincerity
That she so often lacks.
She’s not going to run off.
She’s not going to lie.
She’s not going to force the matter
Even if Zero wants her to.
It’s frustrating,
The fiendish way that Fieth
Makes her fend for herself
By pushing just enough
To get a decision.

It’s fine,
Frustrating or not,
As she pushes herself up and off.
Just enough to sit up,
Just enough to lean in
As she makes a decision at last.
Her lips part
And she kisses Fiethsing.
A moan escapes her,
A desperate plea
Muffled as Fieth’s tongue meets hers
And as Fieth’s hand crawls up her front.
Up her front, to her shoulder
To her neck,
Thumb rubbing idly, intently.
Intoxicating, it’s intoxicating
That sensation and more
As she leans forward the more,
Body pressed
Against Fieth’s.
Fieth who takes hold of her waist
With a free arm
And pulls her forward and up
To get her standing.
Two bodies, pressed together.
The kiss deepens,
Desperate all the more.

Her hands snake up Fieth’s back
And her nails dig into Fieth’s back.
Fieth who breaks the kiss
As she lets out a hiss
Of pained satisfaction
And who looks down
At her
As she buries her face
Into her chest.
She’s coming undone.
She’s starting to cry.
She’s clinging as she can,
Telling herself
Over and over
That it’s fine.

It’s fine
And Fieth’s here
Resting her cheek
Against her head
And with her hand
Stroking her hair
And her other
Holding her firmly,
Tightly
Just as she needs.
Just as she needs
Until she needs more,
More than a hug
And fingers in her hair.

She slips away,
Steps on back
One step, then two
Until a boot clicks against her desk.
She looks on
Eyes pleading
As she looks on at her
Her shirtless lover standing there
Unsure now of what she wants
But so sure of what she wants.
More, her.

So Fieth steps forward herself
Hands taking to her dress,
Undoing the buttons
As Zero tries to slip out of it.
Abandoning it on the floor,
Her bra goes there next
And her underwear
And her boots too.
It all goes
Until she is laid bare
For Fieth to look upon.
Fieth who doesn’t strip entirely,
Keeping her skirt on
And her boots too.
She dips down into her neck,
Pressing her lips against
That flesh
Vulnerable, sensitive
Enough to elicit a sigh.
Enough to get a roll of the hips.
Just enough
And not enough
As she buries her fingers
Into Fieth’s hair.
Pulling, stroking,
Needing simply to feel
Her and only her.
The her that slips a hand
Right between her thighs
Right then, right there.
A finger searching,
A finger finding
Just how wet she is.
A finger searching,
A finger finding
Just how hard her clit is.
Zero finds too
Once again
Just how skilled Fieth is.
How Fieth can circle her clit
Just the right way, just firm enough.
Enough to get her biting her lip
And resting her forehead
Into Fieth’s shoulder
As she comes apart
In her hands.

It’s fine
As her knees grow weak
And her breathing quickens.
It’s fine as Fieth slides a finger in
And a second.
The welcome stretch,
The familiar tension
Makes her shiver
As Fieth reaches deeper,
Deeper inside
And as Fieth pulls out
And pushes back in.
She pulls her head back,
And lets out a moan
Saying her name
As she pulls her hair.
God she’s near,
God she’s close,
God she’s in.
In her
Both in body and soul
And it’s all she can do
But say her name again
And again.
A fevered plea
As she begs for more,
Begs for her.
As doubts begin to clear
And leave
Just for a time.
Just right here, right now
And it’s fine.

Fieth pulls out again
This time fully
Leaving a dull ache,
An urgent need for more.
She wants to swear at her,
She wants to beg to her
To go back.
Back in,
Take her right there.
She needs it, needs her.
Desperately.
Fieth doesn’t though.
She grabs Zero’s thighs
And lifts as she can.
And she gets it
Though she’d rather not.
Rather not wait,
But she does wait and she knows
And she shifts her weight
Until she’s seated right on her desk,
Until she’s pressed down on her desk.

Fingers out of Fieth’s hair
She gropes at hard wood
That’s cold against her back
While the warmth burns
Between her legs.
She looks at her,
Looks to her.
Fieth’s hands rest on her thighs
As she looks back
Right at her,
Like she sees right through her.
Because she does,
She always does.

A hand travels up her thigh
Tracing a finger across her body.
A touch electric,
But not enough.
Not enough but enough
To get her speaking, to get her begging.
“Fieth, please.”
But Fieth just grins,
Feeling her breasts,
Admiring the look in her eyes.
“Fieth please just stop looking,
Just this once and fuck me.”
The words excite
And torment
And her cheeks burn red,
More ashamed to say it
Than have it happen.
Yet
The word she hears back isn’t a yes.
It’s “No.”

It’s fine
Isn’t it?
What had she done?
What could she have done?
Is it ending here, now?
Is it ending with still more to go?
What could she have done,
What could have Fieth have done?
Her fears come quick
And they’re tossed aside quick
As Fiethsing’s grin widens
And she says
“I’ve got a better idea.”
That’s fine.

More than fine.
Fine as Fieth bends down
Hand resting against the desk,
The other heading right back down
To her thighs.
Right back to part her lips
And then she feels her lips
And she feels her tongue
Against her clit.
Her fears are dashed
Right against the wall
And she lets out a cry,
A trembling moan.
So satisfied, yet not at all
As Fiethsing traces her clit
With her tongue.
As Fiethsing sucks at her clit
She claws, she scrabbles
Searching for purchase on the desk.
Which can’t be found
And she can’t find words
As she bucks her hips
Against Fiethsing’s mouth.
Not concerned about noise,
Not concerned about poise
Her worries gone entirely
And only this moment exists.
Only their bodies so close
Yet not close enough.
Time fades, distance fades.
A finger slips in again,
Then two, then three
But Fieth pulls her head up
Just to get it all situated.
Just to get it right.
Zero whines,
“Fiethsing please. ”

It’s more than fine
As Fieth dips back down
And Zero grabs wildly
Looking for something to hold
To touch.
All the better if it’s her,
If it’s Fieth and it is,
Her hair.
Her hair that Zero balls into her fist,
Her hair that she pulls upon
As the tension builds,
As the ache grows.
Until at last it rolls over,
A rush of sensation
And feeling
That shakes her body
And gets her to cry out
Impassioned, fevered ramblings
About her, about her,
God just her.
Just.
Fiethsing.

And it’s fine
As Fieth keeps working at her
Through the orgasm,
Past the orgasm
And into the pain
Of too much sensation, too much.
She moans, she whines.
She begs, she even swears
And she bangs a fist on her desk
To stifle the pain, the pleasure.

Fiethsing slides out
And sits on up
And she laughs and prods
Right at her thigh.
“I bet even Milest heard that.”
What can she do
But roll her eyes
And groan in exasperation
At that comment.
What can she do
But be glad
Glad deep down for it,
For it all.
Glad enough that she sits up,
Glad enough that she hugs Fieth.

“It’s fine.”
Samuel Feb 8
She’s kind

Isn’t she?

So many others

Look and see

Only her hardness,

Cold gaze

And colder words.

You can’t deny

That she’s cold.

Dour and stern

Always to the point

Reminding you incessantly

Of the mission.

But there’s more,

So much more.


Details matter

And usefulness

To you all

And her especially.

You matter too,

Silly girl,

To her.

She didn’t end

That call.

She let you

Fall to pieces,

Pour your heart out,

Over another

And she said

You mattered.


She listens. Always.

About flowers.

About animals.

About that world

And your want

To see it

Just once.

There’s more too

Than just listening.

You have it,

A precious gift,

Tucked away

That photo there

Of this world.


When people ask

What it is

That draws you,

That attracts you,

You can’t deny

That there’s looks.

But there’s more

So much more,

Because she’s kind

Isn’t she.
The prompt was "attractive".
Samuel Feb 8
How did it even start,

This fight?

The Sage of Holy Wind

Can’t really say,

she never can.

As always she is drawn

By the Wind’s beckoning call.

Drawn by whispered words

Of the Flashing Light’s fight

And her devilish foe.

That’s all she needs.


On those same gusts

She rushes

As she can

To the Light’s side.

A sudden guest

In the grueling conflict

She alarms them both,

The foe and the knight.

With a curse from both

And a grin from her

The combat continues

With desperation.


The foe has six arms

And three faces

All on one head,

A dreadful asura.

He swings six swords

With fiendish speed

And sings a song

Of hate that cuts deep

into the earth

Tearing it from her feet,

The King’s Blade.


She leaps up

Taking to the air

And calls down lights

That crash

With all the fury of thunder

Sped on by her own song

And Hope’s dire will.

Hope to protect.

Hope to save.

Hope to destroy.


His shout shakes the light

From the skies

And he lunges forth,

A dance of blades

Seeking gore and more.

His speed is great

But greater still

Is the Wind’s.

A gusting wave pushes him

Back and down.

He is thrown from the air,

The Fate Spinning Winds’ domain.


Grinning the Blade dives

Down and down

With righteous fury

And the blue glow

Of purest Light’s intent.

The thrust is sure, strong

And cracks like thunder.

The raging storm

Of Grimm’s good servant,

The Light’s own sage.


There is more to him

Than shouts and swords

And six arms though.

There’s a lack of care

And a burning hatred

For all the King’s men.

Many would run

Or raise up a shield

Guarding themselves from death.

But he welcomes it

Letting the blade run deep,

Piercing him through

and mortally so.

Then he catches the arm

That wielded the blade

And pulls down the Blade.


The fight seems over and done

From the Holy Wind’s high place

Her home, the air,

But a screech rings out.

Four devious daggers

Made of Darkness

Claim the King’s Blade,

Rending her flesh

And digging in deadly.

She is tossed aside

Like a toy

Bleeding and cursing

And damned.


The asura damned too

Rises up

Rage incarnate

Blind and dumb

And unrelenting

To finish his job.

He raises up

An arm and then another

Before the shocked sage

Buffets him with a wind.

Tossed he turns

Terrific rage building more

And directs it at her,

The sage unbelieving.


Like a shock of silver

Cold and quick

To the gut and the heart

Is the fear mounting.

Fear for her,

Fear of loss

Of a friend, a lover dear,

Known for a thousands years

And hopefully a thousand more.

The Wind’s sing of necessity

And Fate.

Of life and death,

An air of change,

Unyielding in its march.

The tune is so welcome

Normally,

Though it seems so cruel.

Now it is dreaded,

Disbelieved.

Now it makes her pause,

Turning to look

Searching for life

In her partner dear.


Finding that hesitation

The asura jumps up high

Blades ready

And burning with demon fire,

But his arms are pulled back

And he is pulled down

By deep red chains

Of crimson fluidity,

Of blood.

They coil and cut

Like blades

Slicing an arm free

Then two, then three,

But he breaks free

Shrugging off bonds

With a scream.


From the floor she rises

The Flashing Light

Eyes aflame

With red fury

Brilliant and ominous

As the Red Moon.

From the Flashing Light spills

Blood like a torrent

Shaped into swords

As would the Light be.

The sound of his chant

Is cut short

By a wave of dark

Butterflies fluttering from her.

The sound of her chant

Rings out

Sending forth a wave

Of blood made blades.

Skewering, rending

Utterly ending the foe.

She rises a victor

Dripping blood,

And her wounds close

Fed blood.


She rises a vampire revealed

And fear falls

In the Holy Wind’s Heart.
Prompt was "fear".
Samuel Dec 2017
I met a man of the sea
down at Cocoa
surrounded by Christmas Cheer.
He was an old man,
one who'd caught many waves
then took a break
before catching even more.

The others were struggling
on 1 foot white water
with their shortboards and fish.
This man though,
he caught a few
on an old fashioned longboard
like what I learned on
as a child.

I looked at him with awe,
at this man who knew
the waves and their bobs,
and who knew what sort
of board to bring.
So I talked with him,
asked if he caught much.
He said not really,
the surf is too small for much.
I told him of my father,
and the one gift he gave me:
a love for the sea's art,
for surfing.

This old man then asked
kindly, openly
"Would you like to try it out?
I'll show you a bit."
I thought about refusing,
crawling away in shame
but I was drawn in by
that welcoming man
and so I hopped on up,
or rather slipped and slid
until I perched on top
clinging awkwardly.
He held the board a bit,
telling me to relax,
to let my feet hang down
at the sides,
and getting me to paddle.
Which is awkward with a board
that size between your arms
but I did and I did
pushing myself forward.

Then he let go
and had me paddle out
before calling that I was too far
because he knew where they came,
he knew where I'd catch one.
Turning I found easier,
though I tipped over a tad
before catching myself
and always with my ankles gripping
onto the rails.
I paddled back a bit,
back to that kindly old man.
He grabbed hold of the board once more
and told me to start paddling,
just keep paddling.

Then it was there,
the wave
an unmistakable rush
of most remarkable force
that rockets you forward
and rips away control
while giving you another sort,
so long as you work with it,
work with the sea.
I turned into it,
to the side that hadn't crested
to ride along further
instead of petering out.
Just like he'd taught me,
my father's old friend.
And though I didn't stand,
not wanting to ruin this moment
with an awkward failure at a popup,
I rode and rode
with a growing excitement,
a glee like no other
until at last I could ride no more
for the wave had run out
and the land had come up.
It was both too short
and yet an eternity.
Life encapsulated in just one moment.

I brought back the board
and talked a while longer
of how I'd been reborn
and he laughed oh so knowingly.
"All it takes is one wave,
that's how it was for me,"
he told me as I tread water
still awestruck.
Never has a truer thing been said
to me or to anyone.
All it takes is one wave
to learn what life is
and yet not know it at all.

I met a man of the sea
down at Cocoa,
surrounded by Christmas Cheer,
and he taught me to ride
along his waves.
I met the Man of the Sea
and he taught me to live.
Samuel Dec 2017
How the fuck
do you look at the moon
and see a man
or I guess his face?

It's clearly a rabbit
or maybe an impression of one.
Pounding rice
or thrown by the sun
that's clearly a rabbit,
ok?
Samuel Dec 2017
There's few things better
than a pot of good rice,
for hunger both physical
and emotional.

It's my one good tie
to what my father denied me.
My mother learned it
from my grandmother,
along with a host of other things,
like spam enchiladas;
something my mother never made.

It's simple too.
You gotta crack the rice first,
it's vital to keep it from sticking.
That's what they say,
and I'm not sure it's true
but I do it anyway.
You oil up a pot
or a deepset pan
and just fry it for a bit.
Then it's cracked
and ready for the rest.

The water needs a bit more too,
but just a bit.
Tomatoes and peppers
or maybe just tomatoes.
Chicken broth or stock too,
we always use Knorr.
I like to add some cumin
to give it a warm smell and taste.
Sometimes you don't add the veggies,
but either way it's a bit more.
Just a bit
because really it's just rice.

But it comes out warm
and smelling of home
and things that could've been home.
It tastes pretty good to boot.
It's my mother's rice
that she taught to me,
but my grandma taught it to her
and it could've been hers.
It should've been abuela's.

Could've been, should've been
it's a sign either way.
It's one of my ties,
the biggest one I think
because there's few things better
than a pot of good rice.
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