#Alas. We have electrical heating.

[hazelcuttlefish]

Even though it didn’t seem to affect things happening in DC much I take some glee that the weather fucking sucked on this day January 20, 2025.

[prettyfilmz]

PHYSICAL TOUCH • JEY USO

authors note: we have officially made it to the end of the love language series. thank you all so much for the support I have gained, it really means the world to me that you all love what i write and knowing some of my favorite authors on here love it too. sorry for taking so damn long to update, school has been kicking your girl's ass and I was really finding it hard to write during it all. but alas we made it!! I decided to end this series the same way I started it...with my baby jey uso. you are in for a treat with this one as this is the longest one shot i've written in the series🤭 well, don't let me keep you too long. without further a due, happy reading my loves and once again thank you💗🎀 p.s. jey looks so sexy with his red and black gear for survivor series🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

summary: jey don't wanna be "just a friend" to you anymore.

tags: 18+ (MDNI), written with black woman in mind, friends who really like each other, smoking, fluff, jey is obsessed with you, dirty talk, unprotected sex, car sex, kissing, biting (slight), small bits of roughness, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink,praise, this is goofy lovey dovey shit x10000.

word count: 2.7k words

now playing: red light special - tlc

it’s midnight. the air is crisp with the cool breath of late november, cool enough to give goosebumps but still not enough to bite.  you’re sitting low in the passenger seat of jey’s sleek black charger, legs crossed and dipped in the glow of the dashboard lights.  the subtle scent of ‘black ice’ air freshener mixes well with the slow haze of smoke curling from the joint between your fingers.

jey is sitting easy in his driver’s seat, one hand draped on the wheel, the other arm resting along the back of your seat, fingers casually brushing your shoulder.  his signature chain glints in the dim light from the street lamps as they pass, the soft rumble of the car’s engine making everything feel muted, more… intimate.

you exhale a slow, lazy stream of smoke out the cracked window, watching the way the city lights smear into streaks as the charger cruises down an empty street. a gentle r&b song played low in the speakers, its lyrics matching the faint thrum of tension hanging between the two of you.

“you gon’ pass that or hold it hostage, mama?” jey’s voice cuts through the thick quiet, low and teasing, making heat spark low in your belly.

you glance at him through your lashes, lips quirking into a small smirk.  “why? you need it more than me, greedy?”

he leans over slightly, closing the gap between you, his face a little too close, soft brown eyes locked on yours.  “oh I need somethin’, alright.” his grin is sharp but playful, that familiar flirtation slipping from his lips as easy as breathing.

you roll your eyes, even though a shiver crawls down your spine.  you flick the joint between your fingers, teasing, before finally passing it to him.  his fingertips graze yours when he takes it, the brief touch buzzing through you like a shock of electricity.

the air in the car shifts, as it always does when it’s just the two of you, hovering somewhere between platonic and dangerous.  it’s always been like this for years—friends who flirt too much, share too much, maybe fuck love each other too much.  it got complicated when you started seeing someone else, tried to shut that part of you down.  but now that’s over, and things have been creeping back to where they were.  no labels, just...  whatever this is.

jey takes a slow pull from the joint, his gaze never leaving you.  his lips wrap around it just so, and you hate how your thighs press together on instinct, an action he catches easily.

he smirks as he exhales, letting the smoke drift lazily out the window.  “missed this, you know.  just me and you. you ain't gotta act all tough around me, honey.”

your heart stumbles a little at the softness in his voice, but you keep your cool, leaning back against your seat like his words didn’t hit as deep as they did.  “you're getting soft on me,” you tease, smirking.

jey chuckles in return, shaking his head as he taps ash from the joint.  “yeah, yeah. but you love that shit, don't lie." his hand slides from the back of your seat to rest on your thigh, heavy and warm, thumb brushing idly over the curve just below your skirt.  the touch is familiar, claiming, like he’s always known you’d end up right back here.

you don't attempt to move his hand. instead, you settle into the weight of it, the warmth of his large palm massaging your skin,  biting your bottom lip to hide the little smile threatening to creep across your face. he’s watching you too close, like he is reading all of your thoughts.  and maybe he is—jey’s always known how to read you well with just a look.

he leans a little closer again, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always gets you into trouble.  “come here.”

you glance at him, the warmth in your chest spreading fast, and you know where this is headed.  you could pretend you don’t.  you could play coy.  but you don’t want to. not with him. not tonight.

instead, you lean in, and jey meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before he kisses you properly.  it's slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like a reminder—like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you.

his hand tightens on your thigh, and you sigh against his mouth, your lips parting for him, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you’re clinging to the front of his hoodie, breathing him in like the smoke lingering in the car.

he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you catching your breath.  his hand drifts higher on your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt with ease.  “I ever tell you how bad I missed you, baby?”

you hum, tilting your head to nip gently at his bottom lip.  “maybe? it would be better if you show me. ”

jey groans low in his throat, his hand leaving your thigh to grab the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss—hungrier this time, all teeth and tongue. his free hand grips your thigh again, fingers digging into your skin.

he breaks the kiss to drag his lips down your neck, biting gently at the spot just beneath your ear that always makes you purr.  you gasp, arching against him, and he chuckles against your skin, his voice low and wrecked.  “that’s it, mama. I got you.”

your mind is already hazy, inebriated in the way his hands and mouth paint your body like a canvas, but it’s just the foreplay.  his fingers trail higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and you shiver, your breath stuttering out in a soft moan.

“you want this?” he murmurs against your neck, his thumb slipping beneath the damp fabric to tease you.  “words, baby.”

“yeah,” you breathe, barely able to form the word.  “please, jey.”

he grins against your skin, kissing you again as his fingers slip between your thighs, parting your lower lips easily. he groans softly at how wet you are, dragging his fingers through your slick folds with a slow, deliberate touch that makes your head fall back against the seat.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with praise.  “so fuckin’ wet for me and I ain’ even taste her yet.”

you whimper, hips bucking against his hand, and he chuckles low in his throat, loving how desperate you are for him.

“you gon’ let me taste her, mama?” he asks, already pulling back enough to maneuver between your legs, carefully leaning over the gear shift so he’s fully in your space.

you don’t even have time to respond before he’s tugging your skirt and panties down, throwing them carelessly into the back seat.  his hands are on your thighs, spreading you wide, your pussy exposed, and glistening for his eyes only.

jey doesn’t hesitate. he dives in, tongue skillfully dragging through your silky folds with a hunger that leaves you breathless, thighs trembling. he eats you like your pussy is the lifeline that is keeping him alive, switching between sucking your clit and fucking your tight quivering hole with his tongue, the sounds are lewd and obscene which only heightens the pleasure for you two.

“s-hit,” you moan, fingers tangling in his hair as your hips grind your cunt against his mouth. he groans in response, the vibration of it making you cry out, the pressure building fast and sharp between your thighs.

“that's it sweetheart,” he murmurs between licks, his voice dripping with praise.  “you taste so sweet, baby. missed this pussy so much.”

you’re close—so close you can feel the knot tightening in your abdomen. your thighs clamp around his head, sputtering expletives and jey doesn’t let up, gripping your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

“come on, mama,” he urges, voice rough and low against you. “make a mess on me.”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm crashes over you, and you cry, back arching as you ride the wave of pleasure, jey holding you through it, his tongue relentless against your clit until you’re shaking, begging him to stop.

but he doesn’t.  he grins up at you, wicked and smug, and keeps going, sending you spiraling into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

“j-jey! w..wa-ait” you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body shakes with overstimulation.

“shhh, I got you,” he soothes, but his grin says otherwise—more like he loves seeing you fall apart for him, that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this.

and when he finally pulls back, lips and beard glistening with your juices, he leans in close, brushing his mouth against yours.

“you good, baby?” he asks, soft and playful, like he wasn’t worshipping you in between your thighs moments earlier.

all you could do is nod, breathless, and he kisses you again, allowing you to taste the sweet tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue.

jey pulls back from the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded, but that cocky  grin of his never fades. he leans back in the driver’s seat, hands casually resting on the curve of your thighs, spreading them just enough to tease you with his gaze.  the warmth of your release is still causing your pussy to throb, but it’s not enough to fully satiate your lust. and with the way jey is gazes at you, he knows it too.

“come here, mama," jey murmurs, giving your thigh a quick slap. 

with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you shift over the console and climb into his lap.  you’re grateful for the roomy interior of the charger as you straddle him, thighs bracketing his hips.  he leans back, hands already roaming up your waist, under your top, squeezing at the soft globes of your breasts like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you.

“you comfy, baby?” he teases, palms pressing into your ass, grinding your bare pussy down against the thick bulge in his sweats. the friction makes both of you groan, and you can’t help the way your body moves on its own, rolling your hips against him.

jey bites his bottom lip, eyes locked on where you grind against him, the wet drag of your pussy staining the fabric of his sweats.  “fuck," he mutters, head falling back against the seat.  “you gon’ ride me just like that?  huh, baby?  make a mess all over me?"

you grin, the pressured heat between your legs building again.  “you always did like it messy.”

his fingers dig into your hips as he presses himself up against you, just enough to make you gasp.  “you know I like you,” he says, voice rough.  “always did."

the words hit you deep—more than they should—and for a second, the weight of them hangs in the air between you.  but you’re not here to talk about feelings, and jey knows it too.

he shifts under you, hand slipping down to stroke himself through his sweats.  “c’mon, baby.  take care of daddy.”

you slide a hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him. his cock springs free, thick and already leaking precum, and the sight of it causes you to slightly drool.  you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasing, loving the way his breath stutters beneath you.

“damn, mama,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips.  “you tryna kill me?”

you smile mischievously.  “maybe.” but you don’t play around with him—this isn’t about teasing, not tonight.

you lift yourself up, lining him up with your entrance, and he watches you with brown, half-lidded eyes, pink lips parted as he waits for you to sink down on him.  and when you do, the pleasurable stretch steals both of your breaths.

“fuck, baby,” jey groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you take him inch by inch, slow and deliberate.  “that’s it...fuckin' perfect. you always take me so good, mama."

the praise hits you like a drug, making you moan as you bottom out, his cock buried deep inside you. you pause for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, and jey's hands roam your body like he can’t get enough of you—palming your ass, squeezing your waist, his thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts under your top.

“look at you," he murmurs, voice thick and filled with something dangerously close to awe. “this pussy was made just for me, huh?"

you roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down on him until he curses under his breath, head falling back against the seat again.  “uh huh,” you whisper, leaning in close to kiss behind his ear, sucking on the lobe.  “all yours, daddy.”

the growl that rumbles from his chest is damn near primal. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding you into a rhythm that’s slow and heavenly, each roll of your hips dragging him deeper into you. the air between you is thick with heat, every breath shared, every moan swallowed by the other’s mouth as you kiss again, messy and uncoordinated.

“that’s it, baby," he groans, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into your neck.  “fuck yourself on me. just like that. good fucking girl.”

you gasp as his teeth graze your skin, the sharp sensation shooting straight to your swollen clit. as if he can read your body, his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with expert precision, circling it in time with the roll of your hips.

“cum for me again, mama,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing.  “lemme feel you cum on this dick.”

you can’t hold back—not with the way he’s filling you so perfectly, not with the way his thumb works your clit like it’s second nature, and certainly not with how the head of his cock presses deliciously against your g spot. your orgasm hits you fast and hard, your whole body tensing as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as you gush all over him.

“that’s my good girl," jey groans, grinding up into you as your warm gummy walls clamp down around him.  “makin’ a mess all over this dick.”

you’re still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax when jey’s grip on your hips tightens, and suddenly he’s fucking up into you, chasing his own release with rough, desperate thrusts causing you to whine.

“uh uh, take it, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth, hands locked on your hips as he drives into you, relishing in your choked sobs.  “gon' fill this pussy up.  you want that, honey? want me to cum in daddy’s pussy?”

“y-yessss,” you mewl, head burying itself in his neck as you grind against him, every nerve in your body on fire.  “please, daddy. cum in me please.”

the sound he makes is beautiful as he slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills his warm thick load into you, flooding your womb with his seed.

“shit,” he mutters, chest heaving, forehead falling to rest against your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

for a moment, the only sound in the car besides a song playing on low volume is the harsh rhythm of your breathing, the scent of sweat and sex mingling with the lingering haze of smoke.

you stay like that for a while, tangled together, your body still humming from the high of it all. jey’s hands roam lazily over your back, soothing, grounding, bringing you back down to earth and you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin.  “told you I missed you girl.”

you laugh, breathless and light, brushing a hand through his hair.  “you’re so dumb.”

jey leans back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and boyish, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart skip.  “yeah, but you love my dumbass.”

and damn it, he’s right.

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[ragnarokhound]

Hi wife! Thinking about you. Should we buy a hot tub? Or a sauna? Or both?

Also thinking about the werewolf fic. I would be delighted if there was full werewolf smut in the werewolf fic👀👀 When will my wife (you) return from the war (writing the werewolf fic)?

Also thinking about the hilarity of tim hearing jason talk about his “time of the month” and ofc assuming it’s about Jason being trans when jason is talking about wolfing out. Picture:

Tim: “-and I brought chocolate-“

Jason: “Are you trying to kill me? canines can’t have chocolate!”

after some confusion they clarify things (jason is trans, not a big deal, he’s a werewolf, also not a big deal). Then (important for plot and character development) they have dirty dirty werewolf sex :)

Hehehe hello darling, you are always near my thoughts <3 And ohhh I could use a dip in a hot tub, especially now that winter has come to my climes >.< Though I fear a sauna would never see its use with me, haha

I am ALSO thinking about werewolf fic. Nigh constantly these days. I am deep in the trenches. I am furiously pondering how to reconcile the idea I had sketched most of the bones of almost an entire year ago with what I think and like now. It's been a bit of a battle. One I am fighting... tooth and claw you might say ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ (badum tsh)

Alas, while I don't want to give too much away, I feel I must warn you that the kind of werewolf Jason is in werewolf fic is more in line with 'that's just a wild animal' and less 'monsterfucker furry.' So while we'll see some very animalistic behaviors from Jason (what with the scenting and the licking and the biting and the growling etc) and some occasional signs that he's on the verge of wolfing out, there is no actual wolfed out smut lmao OTL. Please enjoy a small sneak peek of what I kind of sort of mean at the bottom of this post <3

For actual werewolf smut you'll want to look forward to the timestamp/smutty sequel I fully intend to write for my vamp!Tim and werewolf!Jay fic, in which he is absolutely the monsterfucker furry kind of werewolf and Tim takes gleeful advantage of that fact lololol (but werewolf fic comes first...! It Is Time. I Will Not Be Distracted.)

And omg yes. I do very much love the trans 🤝 werewolf overlap and metaphors, it's one of my favorite things fr fr (you got me thinking about trans lesbians jaytim now--)

I LOVE assuming there's a mundane explanation for a supernatural secret, that's my JAM (Do know that our early correspondences live rent free in my WIP document and that I would eventually also like to write the goofy sitcom-esque romcom in which Jason isn't quite hiding his lycanthropy from Tim - but Tim's not really clocking it either lmfao)

--and it must be said that dirty dirty werewolf sex will always be VITAL to both plot and character development <33 (it certainly is to werewolf fic, even if the werewolf part of that sex is mostly in the vibes lolol)

Anyway, here's wonderwall a sneak peek leading up to some of the smut in werewolf fic:

Jason snaps his teeth sharply, inches from Tim’s throat. It's not an empty gesture, and Tim wildly thinks through his options, squeezing tight with his knees around Jason’s thick waist so he can’t buck Tim off immediately. Jason is too strong and Tim is too light; he can’t stay here forever. Jason writhes underneath him, looking for leverage. With his shoulders trapped under Tim’s staff, Jason plants his feet and surges his hips in a powerful, cresting motion. Tim sinks back on his haunches to keep him down, then forward again when he threatens to break free. In Jason’s struggle, he rocks up just as Tim rocks down— and they inadvertently grind together. Tim's stomach curls and tangles in an electric jolt of heat at the glancing friction. He realizes with a spike of hot, mortified shame that he's— Tim is hard under his uniform. He sucks in a short gasp, trying to hide it, and Jason— —whines.

[kitasgloves]

You've been working at a large corporation for two years. Although, the work gets really hectic at least it paid well and it was enough to refrain you from resigning. The CEO was a man in his sixties and a well-known millionaire. It was all thanks to the company being passed down to generation to generation, always granted to the eldest child of the family.

Today was a Friday, after finishing all the gruelling work. Naturally, your friends all decided to go out and get some drinks. To you, an evening of partying and alcohol with your friends sounded ideal, and you needed to shake the stress away.

You and your friends arrived at the club all dolled up and prepared to either get wasted or have a one night stand with a stranger. You're not sure which one you're going to be tonight. But after consuming a plenty amount of alcohol and partying on the dance floor, you believed you're the former. Until a man slips beside your seat when you're finishing your drink.

"Hey"

The man goes. You gulped down you drink and looked beside you, nothing could've prepared you for what the man looked like. He was absolutely hot, narrowed-eyed with the most gorgeous eyes. His lips were curled into a tiny smirk. He was dressed expensive and all black. And his perfume engulfed your senses.

"Uh, hi"

Suddenly, you felt shy. You also felt conscious of your appearance after all you spent an hour dancing, getting all sweaty and disheveled. When the man sees you fixing yourself, he quietly chuckles.

"Saw you dancing, you look pretty hot"

He says, your eyes meet and you feel an electric shock traveling down your spine. He buys you drink as you two spend talking while the music blasted. You have no idea where your friends were at this point but you're absolutely distracted by this hot stranger. Eventually, his hand starts to travel up your skirt and he's beginning to kiss your neck.

"Let's get out of here"

He tugs you by the arm out of the club. Once outside, he pins you against the wall by the entrance of the club and smashes his lips against yours. It was immediately a heated make-out session. You two kissed until you get to his car which everything escalated at his place.

Morning arrives and you were greeted with a hungover, luckily it was bearable. The hot stranger was still sound asleep and naked beside you. As you picked up your clothes on the floor and hastily got dressed, you left his place and called for an uber.

It never occurred for you to ask for the guy's name. From what you picked up, he was incredibly rich and a beast on the bed. Alas, you were too drunk to even get his name. Monday rolled by and you're back to being stressed and busy.

"Did you know the boss is going to retire soon and let his son take over?"

"I heard that his son is visiting today"

"We must be on our best behavior then"

You hear your co-workers gossiping. It was interesting to say the least. When your boss calls everyone for a brief meeting, it was confirmed that he will be retiring and letting his eldest son take over. Like the rest of your peers, you were curious who his son was.

As soon as the CEO's son made his appearance, your blood went cold. It was the guy you met at the club! You gulped as you feel your face heat up when he meets your eyes first out of all people.

He was surprised but he hides it with an impassive expression. Shit, he looks so fucking good wearing that suit and tie. Everything that occured that night between you and him flooded your mind as you sat biting your lip and crossing your legs.

After the introduction and brief meeting, everyone was dismissed until the CEO's son calls for your name. Fuck, you turned around with a raised brow. You swallowed nervously when he motions for you to come closer. His father has left the room and he's free to drop his deadpan expression and smile at you.

"I've been wondering why you left me that morning"

"...So-sorry"

"I'm looking forward to working with you once my dad retires"

"I look forward to it too, sir"

"You're cute, you can call me Rintaro"

"Uh, okay...Rintaro"

RINTARO's smile widens as he leans over to press his lips against your ear.

"Can't wait to fuck you in my office soon"

[argyrocratie]

Solidarity among the Displaced

How Russian Anarchists in Exile Supported Armenian Refugee Squatters

(2023-09-19)

Throughout the world, mass displacement is accelerating as climate catastrophe, economic crisis, and war drive millions into exile, both within their own countries and across borders. These mass migrations are exacerbating gentrification, driving up housing costs just as real estate speculation is rendering more and more people homeless. How can displaced people continue to take political action in their new homes, establishing solidarity across ethnic lines in unfamiliar settings? In Armenia, Russian anarchists living in exile set one example, supporting Armenian refugees who had squatted the abandoned Ministry of Defense.

(...)

In the last decade, Yerevan saw several waves of protests. Do you see people building historical knowledge and experience from one struggle to the next?

With regards to the movement of the 2010s in Yerevan, there really was a street movement in which Armenian anarchists participated. There were protests against the increase in electricity prices, an anarchist bloc participated in a demonstration on human rights day, there was an action against the gentrification of Yerevan, and an action of anarcho-feminists. But unfortunately, all of the people from that generation have either left politics, joined political parties, or gone abroad to Russia or Europe.

Today, the anarchists in Armenia are mostly emigrants from the Russian Federation. In fact, I only know two Armenian anarchists: N—, a punk musician (who became an anarchist in the early 2020s), and S—, an anarcho-feminist who lectures in our space and occasionally publishes in left-wing and anarchist magazines (who also became anarchist around that time). Neither them, alas, was connected to the movements and affinity groups of the 2010s.

There is also an anarchist from Israel: Y—, a Jewish woman who gave birth in the Crimea, repatriated to Israel, lived there for 18 years in kibbutzim and participated in the anarchist movement there (including contact with “Anarchists Against the Wall”), married an Armenian and moved to Yerevan, and decided to establish a café here with anarchist and feminist themes. The café became a gathering place for the local Jewish community (for example, at Shabbat celebrations every Saturday), as well as for the creative intelligentsia, who held public readings there.

All this continued until Russia invaded Ukraine, after which the Russian authorities began to persecute their citizens even more, and hundreds of thousands of anti-war Russians (including anarchists) fled the country.

As a result, Armenia, which was mono-ethnic for almost all the years of its independence, is now more diverse.

The door of the Mama-jan café. The second sticker says “No war” in Russian.

That is how our small circle was formed, which now represents the entire anarchist movement in Armenia.

There are many different people among us. One is actively involved in veganism and even founded his own vegan cooperative (which I also joined). Others, like one friend who is a Christian anarchist, collect humanitarian aid for the victims of the war. There is a queer anarchist group that continues to engage in street activism.

How did you go about supporting the squatters?

As soon as we learned that they had been forcibly evicted, we decided to go and help them. We went to them several times and, despite some initial distrust, my friends managed to find a common language with them.

As a result, at the next weekly meeting, we discussed how to go about supporting them. One of the sympathizers of anarchist ideas, a visitor to our circle, arranged to supply firewood for using potbelly stoves to heat their tents. Also, as an anti-war activist with certain connections, I managed to invite a journalist friend there. During a subsequent visit, they met us very hospitably. We helped to unload the firewood and they fed us and taught us to play backgammon.

We made a report about the situation for emigrant Russian-language media, which later played a very important role. We also established contact with the charitable organization “Ethos,” which was founded by relocators in Yerevan and is engaged in helping both Ukrainian and Armenian refugees.

Thanks to the fact that news coverage appeared about the eviction and was reposted on our initiative via various publishing houses (for example, in “Doxa,” which actively covered the persecution of anarchists and anti-war protesters), we were able to initiate a collection for food, medicine, and fuel in Ethos. In the end, we collected 60,000 drams more than planned! [The equivalent of approximately $157, still a significant amount of money for some refugees in Armenia.]

Also, the squatters began to actively invite us to their protests: they held these every Thursday and every Monday near the government building and the State Expenditure Committee. My friends and I held a poster reading “State, why did you take away people’s housing” with anarchist symbols.

The squatters were very pleased with our support, and even invited us to barbecues—which was especially ironic in the case of our vegan friend.

What do anarchists have to offer to struggles for housing?

Anarchism, in principle, throughout its history, has been very interested in the housing issue. It is not for nothing that during the Paris Commune, one of the revolutionary decisions of the council was to settle homeless Parisians in the apartments of bourgeois emigrants who had fled to Versailles, and to establish a ban on evicting tenants for non-payment of rent. Housing insecurity is a significant aspect of modern society, a challenge to which anarchists must respond.

The example of this eviction is particularly striking. It shines a light on all the absurdity and immorality of a civilization based on private property.

_

The house was not built by its owner. It was erected, decorated, and furnished by innumerable workers—in the timber yard, the brick field, and the workshop, toiling for dear life at a minimum wage… Who, then, can appropriate to himself the tiniest plot of ground, or the meanest building, without committing a flagrant injustice? Who, then, has the right to sell to any bidder the smallest portion of the common heritage? On that point, as we have said, the workers are agreed. The idea of free dwellings showed its existence very plainly during the siege of Paris, when the cry was for an abatement pure and simple of the terms demanded by the landlords. It appeared again during the Commune of 1871, when the Paris workmen expected the Communal Council to decide boldly on the abolition of rent. And when the New Revolution comes, it will be the first question with which the poor will concern themselves. Whether in time of revolution or in time of peace, the worker must be housed somehow or other; he must have some sort of roof over his head. But, however tumble-down and squalid your dwelling may be, there is always a landlord who can evict you… Refusing uniforms and badges–those outward signs of authority and servitude–and remaining people among the people, the earnest revolutionists will work side by side with the masses, that the abolition of rent, the expropriation of houses, may become an accomplished fact. They will prepare the ground and encourage ideas to grow in this direction; and when the fruit of their labours is ripe, the people will proceed to expropriate the houses without giving heed to the theories which will certainly be thrust in their way–theories about paying compensation to landlords, and finding first the necessary funds. On the day that the expropriation of houses takes place, on that day, the exploited workers will have realized that the new times have come, that Labour will no longer have to bear the yoke of the rich and powerful, that Equality has been openly proclaimed, that this Revolution is a real fact, and not a theatrical make-believe, like so many others preceding it. -Peter Kropotkin, The Conquest of Bread

[medra-gonbites]

Roll Initiative - Chapter 3

I can't with these stupid boys <3

Chapter 3 of Roll initiative (started for @bloodweaveweek)

Word Count: 3,381

Pairing: Astarion/Gale (Bloodweave)

SFW - Unrequited Love, Will they - Won't they

“Ah! You actually came!” He said with a little bit too much gusto. Astarion smirked at the sound of his betrayed excitement and ran a hand in his perfectly coiffed hair. He pushed past him to get inside. his cologne reached Gale’s nose. Heat pooled in his abdomen as the smell alone was already triggering something primal in him. Astarion walked in like he owned the place and headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer in the fridge and shrugged. “Something fell through. I might as well have.” He brushed off. Rude. Gale frowned at these words; big man who thinks himself better than this but still shows up to drink his beers. Still, Astarion’s scent lingered in his nose and he felt so very happy to have him stand in his home again. It all made it difficult to remain upset with him, but Gale would try very hard.

Read the rest on AO3 or under the cut

That evening, Astarion had almost bailed again. Almost.

When his phone had rang the week before his heart had nearly leaped out of his throat. He played it cool; being his usual aloof and unbothered self to the man he thought would not bother pursuing him after his teasing and dismissal. But Gale had and wasn’t it nice to feel wanted. Astarion had promised him he’d come. Part of him wanted to break his promise and stand them up once more.

He considered it for a while. Pondering the pros and cons. 

Cons: He needed to commit, a concept he avoided like the plague. Commit to a game that required time, regularity, dedication and concentration. Commit to a group of people whom,  beside Wyll, he didn’t know and who would eventually depend on him to keep on playing. He potentially might need to commit to Gale. He did not seem the type to do one night stands despite his eagerness the evening they met and Astarion was not the type to date. He barely did “friendship” already. But he certainly did not do “relationship”. 

Pros: The game was fun. As much as he hqd to admit it, it really was. It was nerdy and tedious but also very creative, enticing and he hated how much he loved it. The prospect of having a group of people he could hang out with was also tempting: Wyll was a stand up guy and he didn't’ doubt his friends would be great too. 

And finally, there was Gale. Gale was handsome and smart and playful and he had no right to be as sexy as he was. Astarion could not stop thinking about that damn nerd! And that scared him… 

In the end he had finally decided to go. To be braver than he had been the week before and actually show up. He knocked on Gale’s door. He was early. He had arrived before everyone else hoping to clear the air before the start of the game. If he would manage to; sincerity was not really his strong suit, but he really wanted to try.

Alas, when Gale opened the door, Astarion could not help but put his mask back on.

----------------------------------------------------------

Gale expected to see anyone but Astarion. 

At this time, he suspected that these early visitors were Jenevelle and Lae’zel. They usually were the first to arrive (and the first to leave because, as Lae’zel would put it: “we are busy women, be glad we came alltogether”). 

Besides, as excited and hopeful as he was to see the man, he had tempered his expectation and was fully aware there was a 75% chance Astarion would reiterate his little trick from last time and not deign to join at all.

When he saw those pretty curls, the piercing eyes and that charming smile Gale felt a surge of electricity run through his chest. He had to fight the urge to jump and wrap his arms around Astarion’s pretty form. He kept his enthusiasm to a minimum but failed to conceal the smile of relief that was etched on his face.

“Ah! You actually came!” He said with a little bit too much gusto.

Astarion smirked at the sound of his betrayed excitement and ran a hand in his perfectly coiffed hair. He pushed past him to get inside. his cologne reached Gale’s nose. Heat pooled in his abdomen as the smell alone was already triggering something primal in him. Astarion walked in like he owned the place and headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer in the fridge and shrugged.

“Something fell through. I might as well have.” He brushed off.

Rude. 

Gale frowned at these words; big man who thinks himself better than this but still shows up to drink his beers. Still, Astarion’s scent lingered in his nose and he felt so very happy to have him stand in his home again. It all made it difficult to remain upset with him, but Gale would try very hard.

“You’re the first to get here. Care to help me set up?” He asked.

“Not really; just do your thing.” The young man declined.

Gale swallowed his refusal and started to prepare the table for the game by himself all the while Astarion watched him, a mischievous grin stretching his lips. Gale thought he saw a hint of lust in his eyes but tried very hard to ignore it. As much as he was flattered to be gawked at this way, he was also very annoyed to play host for such a boorish guest. Astarion stood in the middle of the room, not budging, clearly on purpose so that Gale had to constantly pass him as he came and went. 

“Astarion, if you aren’t going to help, at least move away!” He eventually snapped.

Astarion chuckled, obviously relishing in pushing Gale’s buttons. Gale was really not in the mood for his little games. He did not want to talk about… whatever was there. Not at all; not before the game anyways. But presented with Astarion’s infuriating behaviour he could not refrain from addressing it.

“What’s the deal with you? You seduce me, kiss me, almost take me on my own dinner table, then you blow me off without a reason. Now you’re here, acting all haughty! Frankly, I don’t get it. I thought…”

Gale stopped himself before he would say something stupid. Or pathetic. 

“Nevermind… Just sit and wait; the others will come soon.”

Astarion froze for a moment. He seemed taken aback by the sudden rebellious strike of Gale’s temper. He opened his mouth to answer, and for an instant Gale thought he saw a flash of regret in his eyes. But before the other man could speak the door slammed open and Karlach barged in.

“Sup’ mofos!” She exclaimed. She stopped to take in the sight of the room before smiling wide upon seeing Astarion. “Hi there! You must be Wyll’s friend? I’m Karlach!” 

Astarion waved mildly at her, confused by her sudden and loud entrance.

“Nice to meet you, darling.” He answered.

“Aw darling.” She mewled, her cheeks blushing.

She skidded to the kitchen, giggling like a schoolgirl. Gale smiled. He was happy to get some company, other than Astarion anyways. He handed Karlach a drink. She whispered in his ear, her eyes still locked on Astarion’s silhouette in the living room.

“What a hottie!” 

Gale scoffed. Karlach jerked towards him. Interpreting his annoyed reaction to be directed at her, she immediately added.

“Do you have dibs? I feel like you have dibs.”

“What makes you say that?” He enquired, his brow furrowed.

“The tension was insane when I came in.” She opened her eyes, wide like saucers, seemingly realising something, “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything by the way! I can be such a cock blocker sometimes!”

Gale let out a dry laugh. 

“I can assure you nothing is going on whatsoever.” He retorted, the bitter taste of frustration rising in his throat.

Back in the other room, Astarion was lost in thoughts. There was no telling what was happening in that little head of his and Gale was done trying to solve this puzzle. He had another kind of game to think about right now.

----------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't before long that Lae’zel and Jenevelle arrived, closely followed by Wyll. The young man tasked himself to introduce Astarion to the rest of them as Gale was not inclined to do so. Astarion noticed the irritation in the game master’s demeanor; he did not act as his usual graceful host. Not to Astarion anyways, and he knew very well why. He pretended not to mind. Even if he was reluctant to, he could be a social butterfly and mingle among this new group. He had certainly been outgoing enough when he had first met Gale…

The game started promptly. Gale had planned a little coincidental interaction in their current point of the campaign to allow Astarion’s character to join the party relatively smoothly. As he was contextualizing the scenario, Astarion could not help but marvel at him. 

The way he was focused and detail oriented into the story. The immersive world building he was creating from scratch. How his voice resonated and took a grave timber when giving ominous clues. How his hands and fingers danced as he described the surroundings and NPCs the party encountered. How his lips and tongue moved as he pronounced words and names in elven or primordial.

Astarion was lost in this vision, enthralled by the story teller in front of him and hanging at his every word. 

“And there in the clearing you hear a twig snap. You turn around and you see…” Gale narrated before gesturing to Astarion.

Astarion flinched at his cue to enter the game. He hastily took out a fully filled character sheet from his bag, trying to hide his flustered self. 

Gale raised an eyebrow at the document. All the sections were dutifully completed in a neat handwriting. There was even a little portrait hastily drawn in the top left corner of the paper, next to the name. It was a rudimentary doodle, not very detailed (or good for that matter), but it clearly showed pointy ears and vampire teeth. Astarion suddenly felt self-conscious by the dungeon master’s gaze upon his work.

“Well that’s an exhaustive profile if I’ve ever seen one.” Gale mocked with a warm grin.

His comment drew the attention and curiosity of the other party members. Astarion blushed and covered his sheet ever so slightly when the four pairs of eyes lingered on it. 

“Well, I understood we needed it to play.” He mumbled trying to keep a detached voice.

“Oh, you gave him a back story and everything!” Wyll exclaimed, bending over to check the section of the sheet, “That’s very thorough of you, I can’t wait to get to know…” He faltered as he read the name, “Count Victor Vamp?” 

The group stifled a collective laughter at the name of the character. Astarion crossed his arm on his chest and let out a defensive puff of air.

“Yeah, I’m not good at names, so what! Victor is probably cooler than all of your guys!”

He slumped slightly, an embarrassed look on his face. Why did he even care about all this to begin with?

“Don’t worry Astarion!” Jenevelle encouraged, “I’m sure he'll fit right in!”

Astarion rolled his eyes to highlight his annoyance, but secretly he hoped that the young woman was right. He liked Victor much more than he thought he would and could hardly wait to live the adventures that were going to befall him.

----------------------------------------------------------

The game went on for about two hours without a hitch as the players made their way through the hoops of the quest that Gale masterfully orchestrated for them. 

He kept an interested eye on Astarion, watching expectantly as the man was getting carried away in the game. He could see the detached facade crumbling little by little as the excitement of the game did not leave much room for him to be self-aware. It was endearing to witness. His usually poised self was slowly letting spontaneity dictate his moves and his reactions. The jokes he made and his interactions with the others, without feeling the need to feign disinterest. His riveted attention to the scenario and the many forks he could choose from to advance it. 

Gale was elated when, as he explained the story or the dilemmas, he would catch Astarion’s big eyes on him, drinking his words like he was a prophet. How bad he wished he could keep this kind of energy alive at all times.  

As the party made its way in the great outdoors they reached the Cliffside Crawl as Gale planned; a narrow path on the rocky and windy flank of a cliff above a treacherous sea. A tricky place no doubt, but given their current level, nothing the adventurers couldn’t overcome. Astarion’s confidence had built through the last hour and he enthusiastically leaned forward. 

“There is only one way to go, right? Let’s just go!”

“We might want to check the surroundings first, no?” Wyll cautiously suggested, “The path is narrow, and Gale described ridges and caves alongside the walls. As a ranger, maybe I should do a perception check?”

Astarion ignored him and turned to Gale.

“I approach the path.”

Gale raised an eyebrow and glanced at Wyll for confirmation. The latter gave a resigned wave, giving in to the new players enthusiasm. 

“Alright. Roll random encounter.”

Astarion seized Gale’s die. He still had not bought his own, despite his claim a few weeks ago, but as an accommodating DM Gale did not mind lending him his, even if it was his favourite set. He smirked as the man shook the precious purple icosahedron; another reminder of the former experience they had shared after their previous game. Astarion noticed Gale’s gaze, a cocky grin spread on his lips, that had Gale’s neck turn pink.

He dropped the die on the table. 3.

Gale hissed. Manticore.

A menacing and imposing creature with the body of a lion, the wings of a dragon and with a spiky tail capable of impaling its enemy at an impressive range. Might be a tough battle for a group of their level but if they’d play it smart, not impossible… Unfortunately, they did not play it smart. After an inelegant and brutish fight and a couple of pretty bad die rolls, the party was in a tough position; all of them barely having any hit points or spell slots left.

“Bloody die again!” Astarion fussed.

“Come on now, don’t blame it on the die! You are the one who recklessly ran into danger without a second thought” Wyll snarled, annoyed.

Gale hesitated; He was grinding his mental gears, thinking of a way to facilitate their victory without downright cheating. He would rather refrain from pulling a deus ex machina but he also did not want to let his friends down. He had a few ideas but they had to initiate them.

“Guys, come on, you can turn this around” He tried to cheer.

Astarion’s brow bent into a pleading arch as he turned to Gale. He blinked his perfectly performative puppy-eyes at him, his lips pouting, slightly glistening in the light of the overhead lamp above their map.

“Can’t you just help us out here?” He said, giving him a coquettish look, “Come on, for me.” 

Gale flinched, frowning and blushing at the same time. Was Astarion really trying to flirt his way out of a fight during D&D campaign? As a respectable DM, Gale was insulted by the man's attempt to bribe him and spoil his integrity by using his charm. But beyond that he hated that it was kind of working. His impartiality wavering, faced with Astarion’s pursed lips, enticing, intoxicating in a way that made him want to let them win.

The two men kept devouring each other with their eyes, forgetting the rest of the world around them. The rest of the world, however, was not inclined to forget about them. Jenevelle placed her hands on the table with a confused look. 

“Pause the game for five minutes! Is there something going on between you two?”

“Yeah! I’ve been saying!” Karlach added.

“Have you sorted things out?” Wyll asks, enthusiastically at the idea of his friend’s budding romance.

Gale sheepishly looked over his screen in embarrassment. He was about to correct them but was interrupted by Astarion’s loud scoff.

“No no no no! There is nothing there! I’m just using my vampire charm on our dear DM!”

That stung. More than Gale would have liked to admit. 

He glanced over at the man and was met with a defiant smirk. He did not know if he was playing or not. Frankly he was done with his careless attitude, in game or otherwise. He had bruised his ego and his heart enough in so little time. Looking over at the book of random encounters, the game master sought an opportunity for payback. A way to erase that entitled grin from his face somehow. Scanning over the manticore’s page he finally found it. 

“The manticore’s wings have been damaged by Jenevelle’s previous spell; maybe there is something you could do? Given that you are on the edge of a cliff?”

“Oh right!” Astarion cooed, taking the bait “I push him off.”

Gale’s lips stretched into a calculating grin, as he locked eyes with Astarion, his expression dead serious. 

“You push the beast off the cliff, but his tail swirls around your ankle… Roll a dexterity saving throw.”

Apprehension crossed Astarion’s face, his smile fading from his lips and Gale felt in control once more. A sadistic satisfaction at his worried expression, that he didn’t know he could feel or enjoy. The die rolled on the table, the players holding their breath. The resin gem, tethering on one of its edges, was a small push away from its final call, hanging between an 18 and a 2. 

Fuelled by pettiness, Gale obeyed his impulse to intervene. He feigned to shift onto his seat, his knees stealthily hitting the table from underneath, giving the last jolt for the die to fall on its side. 2 it was.

“The manticore takes Count Victor Vamp with him over the edge cliff and they both tumble to their doom. The echoes of their scream reverberates through the mountain before a dreadful silence resumes in the valley”.

The group gasped in response to the fall of their comrade. Count Victor Vamp was gone. Astarion jaws slacked, in shock. He stuttered incredulously before pointing an accusatory finger toward Gale.

“You knocked the table! I felt it!” He protested.

“I did no such thing!” Gale denied.

“Somebody did!”

“Don’t be a sore loser Astarion,” Lae’zel sighed “We will make a new character for you next week.”

Astarion huffed in indignation. He rushed to pack his stuff hastily in his bag. 

“I don’t care about this game, I'm not a child. But I won't play with cheaters! Thanks for nothing!”

He glared daggers at Gale and the dungeon master felt a wave of guilt churning in his stomach. The young man stormed out, leaving the party speechless.

“Thanks for Count Victor Vamp’s service…” Karlach remarked sternly, “Can my bard sing a eulogy for him?”

Gale rubbed his forehead, a futile attempt to ward off the headache that was already throbbing behind his eyes.

“Roll for performance…”

----------------------------------------------------------

After Count Victor Vamp’s demise and Astarion’s premature departure the group decided to end the session for the night. An awkward silence settled as they were gathering their respective files and antics, only broken by Gale’s sudden realization. His die 20 was missing. 

“Nobody moves.” He blurted anxiously.

The others lifted their heads with an intrigued expression on their faces. 

“Empty your dice pouches!”

Irritated groans accompanied the player’s compliance, but it became clear quickly that none of them had inadvertently bagged Gale’s precious die. As his friends departed one after the other, Gale was consumed by his search for his missing die. He checked his dice box six times. Lifted every piece of furniture he owed. He had even rummaged through the trash on the off (and unlikely) chance it had been mistaken for a pistachio shell.

“It’s karma, Gale! You should have been nicer to Astarion!” Snickered Karlach as she was leaving last.

The lightbulb lit up. Of course Astarion. Who else would have reason and be petty enough to steal from him. The rogue. How ironic.

He reached for his phone and composed a text.

“I know you have my die!”

His phone buzzed in response almost immediately.

“And I’m keeping it you ass!”

“Can you please be mature about this…”

“Lol! Kettle!”

Gale tutted disapprovingly but before he could text back, Astarion seemed to have a change of heart.

“I’m on my way. You better apologize when I get there.”

For some reason that statement sent a jolt of heat through Gale’s core. He tried to brush it off. Astarion was coming back. He was going to give his die back, he would apologize to him and hopefully they could deal with this like adults.

Adults who play games.

Read the last part in chapter 4!

[callboxkat]

One of those Yule Log videos, but make it Infinitesimal

I'm a little late, since this idea came to me courtesy of some Yule Log videos that we played in the background on Christmas Eve. I recommend one called Puppies Crash Christmas on Hulu. 10/10.

Writing Masterpost

I would make this for real if I had 1: the time 2: my stylus (I'm visiting family and left it behind, smh) and 3: any animation skills to speak of. Alas, I lack all three.

But! I'm still sharing the idea with you all. Enjoy!

...

Roman and Logan live in an apartment without a real fireplace, so this is a little different than the usual Yule Log video. Instead of watching a roaring fire, the camera view centers on a laptop sitting open on a table. On it, a fullscreen video of a campfire plays.

Above, stockings are hung up on the wall, each already filled. Three of them are full size: a red-and-gold one embroidered with the name Roman, a stylish blue one embroidered with the name Logan, and a black one with REMUS crudely hand-stitched in an alarming shade of neon green. (Remus originally brought in an actual knee-high, black-and-green-striped sock, yanked right off his foot, but this was immediately shot down by all other parties).

The remaining three stockings are of the miniature kind: one purple, one sky blue, and one green. The letters V, P, and E are hand-sewn on each one, respectively.

These stockings all hang below a shelf, which is adorned with LED candles, a small statue of Santa Claus in a space ship, a toy Dalek in a Santa hat, and various Disney snow globes. The whole setup is framed by a large garland, which is interwoven with Christmas lights that twinkle in a rainbow of colors.

As the video begins, voices can be heard in the background. They are accompanied by footsteps as their owners walk around out of view.

0:00 "It isn't even a real fire."

"It's festive, Logan!"

"The combustion of fuel to create heat, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, water vapor, and oxygen is festive?"

"Yes. Yes it is."

Logan sighs. "I suppose I can admit that lit fireplaces are an image that Christmas conjures. But, again, we do not posess a fireplace."

"Hence the video."

"Roman, that video is of a campfire."

"Fire is fire."

The voices and footsteps pause for a beat.

"....Why does it have to stay on when we aren't here? This seems like a waste of electricity, especially given your insistence upon the purchase of gifts for the holiday."

"What if Pat stops by? Or Virge, or Emile? It's for them!"

"I am unsure what desire they would have for--"

"Do you want them to have a bad Christmas?"

"I don't see how--"

"Do you?"

"I'm impartial to Christmas, as you know."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"...No."

"Great! Then it stays."

Another pause.

"Why does it have to be my laptop?"

"Because yours has a bigger screen. Ooh! There's a last-minute Christmas present idea for you!"

"My laptop?"

"No, a new one for me."

"I am not purchasing you a laptop. Yours functions just fine."

"Fine. Oh, wait, did you plug it in?"

"Naturally. When have I ever neglected to plug in my laptop?"

(Please note, dear reader/would-be viewer: the laptop is not plugged in)

0:05 The footsteps retreat. We hear the jangle of keys, then the door closing and locking. Flames continue to flicker on the laptop screen. We can hear them crackle and pop.

0:06 A car honks outside.

0:07 We hear footsteps and laughter in the hall, which quickly move on.

0:08: The seam in the wallpaper just above the shelf, visible under the garland and lights, silently opens. 5-inch-tall Virgil pokes his head out, then steps onto the shelf and beckons to someone behind him. He walks using a pair of forearm crutches.

Emile emerges a second later. He carries a fishing hook and rope and wears a hand-sewn backpack secured with a button.

The pair look around, before Emile secures his hook on the garland above the shelf. He carefully rappels down to the first of the miniature stockings, sky blue, and starts pulling out candies, stashing them in his backpack. Virgil leans over the edge of the shelf and watches, occasionally pointing or gesturing to his brother.

With the stocking visibly more empty, Emile climbs back up on the rope to the shelf. He slides off the backpack, which Virgil carries back the way they came, out of sight. He returns with an empty backpack.

Emile takes it and once again rappels down, this time moving to the purple miniature stocking.

0:12 As Virgil and Emile collect candy from the stockings, Patton arrives. He pushes a present the size of a ring box in front of him. It's wrapped in red paper, with green ribbon. He waves to Virgil, then leaves.

0:13 One of the Christmas lights goes out, not far from the doorway into the wall.

0:15 Emile finishes taking candy out of the last miniature stocking. He and Virgil leave with the candy. The three stockings are about half as full as before.

0:20 Patton returns, pushing another present ahead of himself. This one is a black box, with a too-large blue bow on top.

0:24 Virgil and Emile return with the third present. This one isn't in a box. Bafflingly, it's a medicine bottle, with a too-large green bow on the cap. Virgil uses one crutch and pulls on a string tied around the bottle. Emile pushes. As we watch, Virgil trips, and Emile accidentally tips the bottle, nearly knocking it over completely. The cap comes off, which Virgil quickly grabs. A piece of candy shaped like an eyeball tumbles out. As Emile rights the bottle, we watch the candy bounce off the laptop keyboard (causing the volume of the video to rise by 1), then hear it hit the floor, bounce, and roll away.

(It's old Halloween candy. They're expired. Remus will love it)

They position the gifts on the shelf, then whisper an inaudible conversation. Emile goes to make sure the cap is tight on the medicine bottle this time.

Virgil notices the Christmas light that has gone out. He looks for a moment, then smacks it with his crutch. The light comes back on. He and Emile leave.

The digital flames crackle and pop.

0:35 Patton reappears at the bottom of our view, carrying a bag on his back. A candy wrapper pokes out of the top. He climbs up the ladder attached to the table and sits down beside the laptop and its campfire video. He pulls out the candy and starts to unwrap it.

0:37 Virgil and Emile arrive. Virgil has both crutches now, and Emile carries a larger bag of candy on his back. They climb up the ladder to join Patton. They eat the loot from their stockings in the light of the "fire".

0:40 A notification pops up in the lower right-hand side of the laptop screen: Battery Saver Mode Engaged. The littles don't notice.

0:50 The littles finish their candy, climb back down the ladder, and leave.

0:55 Another notification pops up on the laptop: Warning! Low Battery.

1:00 The laptop dies, and its screen goes dark. A moment later, so does the video.

...

Thanks for reading! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year!

[staroaming]

Silent Running

Vash x Reader - Suffering from a chronic illness, you are found passed out in the dunes by Vash and Wolfwood. 

The desert heat beats down on your shoulders, heavy as iron weights, thick as a blanket. You huff and wipe at your brow with the back of your hand, wondering for the umpteenth time if you should have just stayed and waited everything out. But the thought of wasting time didn’t bode well and now...you’re here. You frown and glance up at the sky, squinting at just how bright it is.  Your knees are weak and wobbly, your stomach twisting with the need for some sort of sustenance, your head pounding and pounding- You curse and sit in the sand with a grunt, bringing your hand to your temple. You rub at it, urging it to stop; now simply isn’t the damn time. You reach blindly in the bag hanging from your shoulder, digging until you feel the small container that usually houses the pills you need to ward off an attack. Alas, you come up empty. You shut the case and toss it violently, wishing you didn’t need them at all. But with a fresh wave of nausea and sharp pain behind your eyes, you know that it’s impossible to live without them.  Wavering, you glance around, wishing someone would happen to be walking the same way.  With your luck, you’ll sooner be swallowed by a damn worm.  Gulping against your dry throat, you try to stand. But the moment you manage to get to your knees the pain erupts: it’s a wildfire, a surge of electricity, a dagger. Bile rises but you clamp your hands over your mouth until you can manage to curl in upon yourself, the motion practically habitual at this point. Like usual, when you don’t have your pills, you only have yourself. You fall to your side and wrap your arms around your abdomen, fingers digging into either side of your back. You press deeply, welcoming the slight distraction.  It doesn’t last, of course. The pain in your head overgrows, consumes, until your body does what it does best.  You pass out. 

                                               ______________

“-how am I supposed to know?”  “We can’t just...dangerous-” You groan at the sound of echoing voices, doing your best to open your eyes. All you see are two figures shrouded and shadowed by the setting sun, your lashes thick and damp when you blink.  “Oh!” Someone practically shouts, a brush of wind flowing when they squat in front of you. “Are you okay?” Someone tsks, “Do they look okay, you dipshit?” “I-” You can’t even choke out the words. Your head throbs and you force yourself to bring your hands up, pushing against each temple. You groan as the world undulates, the figures turning to something akin to murky water.  There is movement. Distant voices. When a hand wraps around your arm, intent on helping you stand, you jolt.  “Don’t!” You squeeze your eyes shut.  “I’m sorry.” The person lets go immediately, “How can we help you? What should we do? Are you sick? Do you need water?” “I just need...to let it pass.” The other person kicks at the sand and when you manage to peek, they are staring at the setting sun. Contemplating, it seems.  “I’ll start a fire.” They say. “I’m tired as hell, anyway. ‘Bout time we stopped.” You let out a slow breath, glad that the one still squatting in front you isn’t going to try to do anything rash. You’d feared that they’d drag you somewhere, which would only make you feel closer to combustion.  Instead, the incoming night chill is interrupted by the flames, a new, comfortable warmth gathering at your back. There is the clanging of metal, the sound of something pouring, the rising smell of food. Your stomach grumbles loudly. Embarrassingly loud. “Ah,” The stranger has drawn close again, “You’re hungry, huh?” You open your eyes, small tidbits of relief starting to ease your body out of the tense curl you’ve been stuck in. You glance up, surprised to see them squatting again, a metal hand raised as if they were going to reach out for you. They catch your gaze and drop the hand, instead bringing it up to rub at the back of their neck.  “Yeah.” You finally respond, clearing your throat and beginning to shift. Your body aches something furious, muscles cramped. “It’s soup.” The stranger says, “Would you like my help? Can you stand?” “I got it.” You blink away the fuzz of your vision, working yourself to get to your hands and knees. You dip your head, breathing shallowly, before trying.  The stranger surges forward and catches you before you can face-plant. You grab hold of him on instinct, the throb in your head spiking before fading away again. He holds you lightly, hands fluttering as if he wasn’t sure where to place them.  “Sorry.” You go to push away but he places his hands solidly on your upper arms, brows furrowed as his face finally comes into a clearer view. The first thing you think, which you’ll surely later blame on the delirium of your illness, is that he is beautiful. You flit your eyes over his face, over the small mole beneath his eye, on his eyes themselves. How are they so damn blue? “I’ll help you.” He is saying, “That’s all. Once you’re sitting by the fire, I’ll make sure not to touch you again if you don’t want me to.” You can’t help but nod. Unfortunately, you know you won’t be able to support your own weight. So, very slowly, he rises and brings you with him. He takes small steps, his metal hand pressed firmly but gently on your hip, his other holding yours near his chest. It’s a balance, a distribution of weight so that he carries the most.  Once the fire is close he lowers you but your head still swims. If you could, you think you’d like to slam it into a fucking rock. That would at least make you focus on a new kind of shitty pain. The world tilts dangerously when he lets you go. Your face is warm with humiliation, your heart thrumming when you realize he is settling behind you once more to keep you from falling. The other person stomps out their cigarette before filling a banged up old metal bowl with soup from the small pot hanging over the fire. He practically pushes it against your chest, muttering something about it being really hot before returning to his spot across from you.  “Here.” The man behind you takes the bowl and holds it in front of you, his chin dangerously close to resting on your shoulder.  You thank him quietly before picking up the spoon, glad that at least your hand isn’t shaking quite as bad as you expected it would. The soup is a bit drab but you don’t mind. All you care about is filling your empty stomach.  “So, what’s wrong with you?” Your eyes shoot up.  “Wolfwood!” The man behind you practically gasps.  “What? I’m not bein’ rude. Just wanna know if it’s contagious.” You breathe a small laugh, “It’s not.” You can’t tell where he’s looking with the sunglasses on his face, which is a bit strange considering the sun isn’t even out. Though, you have a feeling he’s watching you closely. Suspiciously.  “What is it, then?” He asks, flicking open his lighter to start on another cigarette.  “I just get these headaches.” You pat the man’s hand and he lowers the bowl to place beside you. You do your best not to lean into his chest too much, mindful of how awkward this most likely is. “They get rough and if I don’t have my medicine, they can debilitate me.” “So, why didn’t you take your meds?” You shrug a shoulder, “I’m out. That’s why I’m headin’ to the next town. I usually get ‘em from a trader but they never showed up. I got desperate.” Smoke trails from his cigarette but finally, he looks away. He seems content enough with your answer and even if he wasn’t, you aren’t sure that you’d really care. Your stomach is full and your head is starting to return to itself, the dull throb occurring less and less. In a few hours, you think you might even be able to endure the walk again.  Behind you, the man shifts and you jump upright, not having noticed how deeply you’d pressed back into him.  “Sorry, sorry.” You gulp and scoot forward a bit, “I think I’m good now. You don’t have to sit behind me.” “Are you sure?” “Nope.” You laugh nervously, “But it’s just sand. If I fall, it’ll be nice and soft.” Wolfwood smirks around his cigarette, “Vash doesn’t mind. Do ya’, buddy?” The man, Vash, picks up your spoon and tosses it at him. It smacks him square in the chest.   But to you, he says, “I don’t mind.” You hesitate, wondering if you’d look absolutely ridiculous if you were to crawl away miserably on your knees. Your cheeks flush at the thought and so you relent, carefully leaning back, glad when it eases the tension in your neck. Which, in turn, continues to ease the tension in your head.  The two of them talk long into the night but you hardly keep up with what they say. Your eyes flutter with the need to sleep, which many would think impossible considering you’d been passed out for so long. But it’s different when it’s willing, when you don’t have to hold yourself to ward off the pain. The last thing you remember before slipping away is the twinkling stars and, distantly, the vibration of Vash laughing against you.

                                          _________________

Waking to a new day, you loathe the return of the light. You moan and bring a hand to your face, running it down the length, steeling yourself for continued solitude and miles upon miles of rolling dunes. It gets lonely and it brings a deep ache, a soul-born thing that sometimes makes you wanna sob like a kid. However, when a voice starts, you practically jump out of your skin.  “You’re up!”  Your eyes flash open and you sit up quickly, glancing around to find that the two men haven’t left. Now that they aren’t shrouded in the dark and dancing golden flames, you see them more clearly and you gulp. They’re desert-worn, rough around the edges just like everyone else on this godforsaken planet. But unlike what the grand majority would do, they haven’t left.  Wolfwood is leaning against a huge crucifix, smoke still rising from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. His ankles are crossed to match his arms, his head turned to you.  “What-” You blink at the hand extended in front of your face. You grab hold of it, finally looking at Vash when you’re on your feet in front of him. “What are you two still doing here?” Vash blinks, and blinks, and laughs.  “What?” You frown, looking to Wolfwood for an answer. “What’d I say? What’s so funny?” He waves a hand, “He’s just like that. You’ll get used to it.” Vash wipes at his eye as the laughter slowly subsides, looking down at you with a surprisingly gentle expression.  “We couldn’t just leave you behind.” He leans down and picks up his large bag, surprising you by hoisting your own over his shoulder too. “C’mon, now! We gotta get moving.” You stare at his back as he turns and starts walking toward the rising sun. It’s all red and pink and purple, wrapping Vash up in such wondrous colors. Wolfwood sighs and motions for you to follow, tilting his head, cigarette burning low as he hoists his huge cross against his back. Vash glances over his shoulder, a grin starting on his lips.  And so, with a bemused huff and the kicking up of sand as you rush to catch up to them, you follow. 

                                       ___________________

// if you like this, let me know if you’d like for it to continue in more parts! (with eventual nsfw) //

[askstormscall]

Susano embraced the cool air of mountains as they stepped outside. They sensed it earlier. Electricity crackled in their hair, their expression tense as their jaw tightly clenched. They could scarcely contain their anger as their eyes met a more dangerous and cunning set of azure blue. 

Death had made himself known; he stood proud, amused, with a smirk. The circumstances couldn't be any better. 

Two Titans in one place. 

In a different situation, they would be tearing each other apart until one was left standing. Susano had no intention of meeting their end now. But Death seemed distracted with another.

In their anger, Susano scarcely registered the other man by Death’s side, hovering protectively over a small woman. When his pair of golden eyes met theirs, Susano could hardly contain the menace from their growl. 

You. A single lethal word arrowed sharply into the mind of the man with vermillion hair. A flinch, a sign that the man heard Susano's anger. A glow to Susano’s eyes, seeing through the human ruse, the visage of a golden Ho-oh cowering away. 

“Oh, you both have a history?” Zane mused, his tone colored with amusement. “Fascinating but you appear to want to tear him to shreds.” A glance at the Ho-oh. “I cannot have you killing him quite yet. He owes me a favor I plan to collect in due time. But I believe you need to excuse us, Zhen. Me and Susano have much to catch up on.” 

Zhen wasn’t a fool. He didn’t need to be told twice. To stand in the middle of the two gods would spell certain death for him and his partner. Grasping Abby’s hand, he kept her close by his side as he led them elsewhere. 

Do not think I have forgotten about you. We will have a discussion later. 

Susano’s final words as they briskly walked past. The tension in Zhen’s shoulders was enough to know the message was heard, leaving the two gods alone as a chill began to settle in. 

Susano strained to keep their hands by their side. Instinct warred to fight the beast in the human ruse slowly approaching them as their nostrils flared. Death had a smell that wasn’t the least bit putrid and vile. It was of life and soil, Susano’s gaze narrowing. 

“The great god of the storm civilized before me?” Zane said, his tone incredulous. “I wonder who has tamed you.”

“No one.” With a snarl, Susano’s hackles raised. “What is it you want? Did you plan this?”

“My world does not revolve around the old ones.” A break in Zane’s facade. His eyes filled with heat. “Your energy would be oh so divine to feast on. But alas,” his eyes strayed, making note of the legion of hounds skulking about the grounds, “I hope for a moment of peace only for you both to disturb it.”

The gods stood side by side, neither making a move. Zane murmured into the air between them, his voice becoming ominous. “How long do you believe your rotten vessel can withstand? A few months? You know I can smell it. Your demise.”

Susano refused to utter a word, their features going blank.

“You have a year, Susano. Make peace with your duties, and your friends. I will be at your doorstep in a year’s time. Do try to make it a fight the both of us will remember.”

Susano swallowed their rage as Zane continued to walk into the inviting lights of the ball. 

A year. 

Susano inhaled shakily. 

Just as they felt the wonder, the drive to see how the world evolved and changed in their absence. 

I want to live… 

[punkgardener]

WERE HOME BIG GARDEN UPDATE

The strawberrys are strawbin' off (that's the biggest one in a while)

The pumpkin is doing good but has taken to beginning his declaration of war on the tomato and herb portion of the garden, the strawberries are holding the line, And LOOK! there's a female flower on there! (I'll probably make a post distinguishing the two flower sexes at some point)

The calendula seeds I planted in the garden before I left are doing good, I can now definitively say that they're calendula and not a weed (I may make a blog post talking about calendulas uses)

Salvia and lantana are doing great!

And here's my new Yarrow, already starting to bloom, I've forgotten the name of the variety but from the tag it looked like it'll be my favorite color, red!

Alas the peas are not doing well and I'm not entirely sure why, I think it may be something to do with the heat because if I remember correctly they don't like heat

And here we see a new development which has sprung up, in what I thought was a dead garden box we have thyme! I already have another variety of thyme but hey, I say more the merrier!

My bumblebee tomato is outshining everyone currently having produced two tomatoes, my delicious tomato's which are growing in the pot have made flowers but nothing has pollinated them, I think I'm going to have to go in with an electric toothbrush if this continues

And finally the American black cherry in my yard is producing A once in 5 years super crop, also referred to as a "good crop" (I like super because this thing is crazy) they aren't ripe yet, they turn solid black when they are and I'm worried they'll be at peak ripeness by the time I go on my big trip, which would suck because my friends were planning on coming over and helping me harvest them and make food. Here's to hoping though!

I have reached the limit of pictures I'm allowed to put on this post, just know that the nasturtiums are doing great (I'll make a separate post on them in the near future)

[schraubd]

The Ice Weasels Cometh

As some of you may know, Portland has been hit by a brutal ice storm this weekend that's knocked out power throughout the city. Over 200,000 customers lost power initially, and though that's now down below 80,000, my house is alas in that unfortunate cadre, with no reports about when the electricity will be restored. Since we've only been in Portland a few years, we don't have a full read on how "normal" this is (though the zeitgeist I've seen seems to indicate "not normal"). It is my growing impression that Portland weather is generally quite mild for 359 days of the year, but twice a year -- once in the summer, once in the winter -- we get absolutely blitzed with an extreme event (109 degree temperatures and chaotic evil ice storm, respectively). We've been sheltering in a hotel since Saturday afternoon, but tomorrow we're heading home in hopes that power (and with it, heat) will be restored soon-ish. If not, we'll try to find another hotel (the one we're in now has no more vacancies, alas). While the snow stopped today, it's not supposed to get above freezing until Tuesday, and (in true Portland fashion) Tuesday also is slated to see a resumption of sleet. So on top of everything else, the roads are probably going to be hell for awhile. Classes are still scheduled to resume on Tuesday, but I may have to cancel mine depending on how things go. Hope everyone here is staying warm and safe, and wish us luck as we begin our sojourn home. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/sdTJHNb

[nixnwrites]

Susano embraced the cool air of mountains as they stepped outside. They sensed it earlier. Electricity crackled in their hair, their expression tense as their jaw tightly clenched. They could scarcely contain their anger as their eyes met a more dangerous and cunning set of azure blue. 

Death had made himself known; he stood proud, amused, with a smirk. The circumstances couldn't be any better. 

Two Titans in one place. 

In a different situation, they would be tearing each other apart until one was left standing. Susano had no intention of meeting their end now. But Death seemed distracted with another.

In their anger, Susano scarcely registered the other man by Death’s side, hovering protectively over a small woman. When his pair of golden eyes met theirs, Susano could hardly contain the menace from their growl. 

You. A single lethal word arrowed sharply into the mind of the man with vermillion hair. A flinch, a sign that the man heard Susano's anger. A glow to Susano’s eyes, seeing through the human ruse, the visage of a golden Ho-oh cowering away. 

“Oh, you both have a history?” Zane mused, his tone colored with amusement. “Fascinating but you appear to want to tear him to shreds.” A glance at the Ho-oh. “I cannot have you killing him quite yet. He owes me a favor I plan to collect in due time. But I believe you need to excuse us, Zhen. Me and Susano have much to catch up on.” 

Zhen wasn’t a fool. He didn’t need to be told twice. To stand in the middle of the two gods would spell certain death for him and his partner. Grasping Abby’s hand, he kept her close by his side as he led them elsewhere. 

Do not think I have forgotten about you. We will have a discussion later. 

Susano’s final words as they briskly walked past. The tension in Zhen’s shoulders was enough to know the message was heard, leaving the two gods alone as a chill began to settle in. 

Susano strained to keep their hands by their side. Instinct warred to fight the beast in the human ruse slowly approaching them as their nostrils flared. Death had a smell that wasn’t the least bit putrid and vile. It was of life and soil, Susano’s gaze narrowing. 

“The great god of the storm civilized before me?” Zane said, his tone incredulous. “I wonder who has tamed you.”

“No one.” With a snarl, Susano’s hackles raised. “What is it you want? Did you plan this?”

“My world does not revolve around the old ones.” A break in Zane’s facade. His eyes filled with heat. “Your energy would be oh so divine to feast on. But alas,” his eyes strayed, making note of the legion of hounds skulking about the grounds, “I hope for a moment of peace only for you both to disturb it.”

The gods stood side by side, neither making a move. Zane murmured into the air between them, his voice becoming ominous. “How long do you believe your rotten vessel can withstand? A few months? You know I can smell it. Your demise.”

Susano refused to utter a word, their features going blank.

“You have a year, Susano. Make peace with your duties, and your friends. I will be at your doorstep in a year’s time. Do try to make it a fight the both of us will remember.”

Susano swallowed their rage as Zane continued to walk into the inviting lights of the ball. 

A year. 

Susano inhaled shakily. 

Just as they felt the wonder, the drive to see how the world evolved and changed in their absence. 

I want to live… 

[echoingvoice]

Okay so im redesigning loz race decigns/charecters to make then look more neat, and i got to the gorons and...

OKAY I CONFESS I STOLE @ezlo-x 's HORNS AND TAIL FOR THEM! SEND ME TO THE BRIG I'VE COMMITTED A HANES CRIME

okay fr, i took inpersation from they're goron designs since they looks cute and cool to me (follow them btw they make super neat looking art and i think they're designs for the botw charecters look so cool-)

But yeah i tweeked the designs a bit so now i shall show them off

First off with the horns they're made of luminous stone since i thought it looked rad and also cause i thought 'they mine a lot so they might have to mine at night... and its dark at night sooooo'

Heres what it looks like in light (also i gave the gorons fangs since daruks champion design sorta looks like he has fangs in the art)

And heres the horns at night, as you can see if the horns get damaged in someway they can glow less.

On to the tails

Now tails are sort of complicated, ezlos designs for the tails sorta look more crocodile/komodo dragon like, mine are ment to look more like spotted geckos, so that means that the tails fall off, and theres a sort of leveling system to the tails growing back.

The first tail is the soft/flesh tail, they never last too long since usally babys and younger gorons only have them for up to a year (at most) they're pretty sensitive and never over stay theyre welcome (well unless your yunobo-) (also i couldn't attack a photo but just think of a squishy lizard tail on a goron booty)

Next is amber (i tried drawing the amber, but failed and then just went the lazy route... dont judge me-) amber is a bit more tough then the squishy tail but till kind of senitive. also while the tail is regenerating, things can get stuck in the tail like rocks, bugs.... lizards-

Next is opal, a big more durable and strong. Usally when gorons keep this tail (as in not doing too much with the tail and not risk it falling off) its for asthetic reasons as opal tails are pretty popular for gorons since they look pretty and also its rare to have one for super long, like if your 30 and you still have a opal tail thats a bit of a big deal.

Topaz is next, heres where we start getting into the elemental tails. This one of the least popular out of the three since its yellow color and electric powers aren't super useful (as you can't quite camouflage a bright yellow tail like you can with ruby, nor is it super effective against fire enimes like sapphire)

Its seen as the sort of awkard stage of the tails.

Now we have ruby, like i said cause of its firey crimson color its great for camouflage and also its the second most liked tail when it comes to appearances.

Up next is sapphire, usally gorons with sapphire tails are given jobs to either get rid of fire enimies (red chuchus, red lizalfos) and also sent off to gerudo city to sell other jems since gorons with sapphire tails can take the dessert heat the best.

And now we finally have diamond, the strongest and most durable tail out of all of them, it can pack a mean punch... er swing or something... YOU GET THWAKED WITH ONE OF THESE BAD BOYS ITS GONNA HURT REAL BAD. Its pretty difficult to get a diamond tail to fall off as you'd have to be using it A LOT.

But alas it is still possible for diamond tails to fall off, nub/no tails are exactly what they sound like. And once a diamon tail is gone gorons can't regenerate another tail. Some gorons think that theres another tail after the diamon tail but since most gorons that lose they're diamond tail are like 60+ years old nobodys ever seen it, whether or not thats true ill leave up to you.

On the next episode of ann info dumps about gorons tm, we get to see yunobo daruk and bludos redesign and some back story for yunobo!

[naniyou]

@All the northerners making fun of Texans rn:

Our houses are not built for temperatures below 30°F. They’re also designed to shed heat. Good design for when it regularly gets to 100°F in the summer and winters are mild.

Homes here generally do not have furnaces. We rely on heat pumps and resistance coils, the former of which is not effective below 25°F, and the latter of which use lots of electricity

The electrical infrastructure is designed to meet demand in the afternoons in the heat of the summer, not frigid winter nights. Also, while we have a shit ton of wind and solar capacity, it’s currently crippled by frozen turbines and snowfall.

Combine all of the above and the electrical grid usage is astronomical, even when people are barely reaching 50°F indoors. The stress on the system and reduced generating capacity has caused ERCOT to start rolling blackouts as a way of preventing a mass uncontrolled blackout ala the Northeast in 2003. So that means no heat in houses that naturally shed heat, when it’s 7°F out.

Since we live in a warm place, many people don’t have clothing for this level of cold. Means a lot of people are really, really cold, and their houses are already losing heat fast.

Speaking of homes shedding heat, this also means pipes are not heavily insulated, and without proper measures taken (which many people are unaware of) that means no water.

We don’t generally keep equipment like ice scrapers and snow shovels handy. Most hardware stores don’t stock rock salt for ice. Meaning we can’t leave our homes and go anywhere if the car and roads are covered with ice. The cities don’t have snow plows. Nobody here has chains or snow tires to be able to drive safely either.

As if all of this is not already bad enough, the local plants are not evolved for this kind of freeze, including snow. So many trees are breaking under the weight and causing damage.

We’re not wimps. We’re simply not built for it, don’t have the gear for it, and don’t have instinctual level response of what to do in these situations. It’s like how the Northeast had a lot of issues after Hurricane Sandy.

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Blackout in Ukraine

My dear kittens and puppies! 

I know I promised some of you to share Anakin Sim this month, but alas... The reality decided against it. As you may know, this Autumn russia began to bomb our civil infrastructure massively. Due to constant shelling our energetic system suffers a lot and we experience total blackout during days. Without electricity, water and heating. And we're expecting it to get much worse. Without doubt, this winter will be the hardest for Ukraine since the days of it's independence. 

That's why, I'm physically not able to share Anakin this month and I don't know if I have any opportunity to share him on December. Of course, I'll do the best I can to keep up updating my blog here and my Patreon, but you must understand if there will be long pauses between posts. Also, I would like to ask you not to demand sims from me in the private messages. During this winter (and probably till the end of this war) there's nothing I can do to give them away instantly. Sharing sims, alas, takes time,  internet, electricity and (no less importantly) my good spirit I might not have. 

I want to thank everyone who's supporting me during these dark times. Every dollar means a lot to me. On the money you so kindly donated, I managed to support my army, buy power banks, weekly dry food and water supplies and candles to keep me and my family alive. Bombs can still hit my house, though. But if you see a new post from Wistful Poltergeist - know that I'm still breathing. 

With love, Yours Poltergeist 

[leggerefiore]

*me, knowing full well what I’m doing*

so how would you go about corrupting angel Emmet?

cw: 18+ content, AFAB reader, angel AU, no weird dicks alas

You groaned as the feathers of his wings tickled your skin. He chuckled, but continued his groping around your body. How could an angel have such a dirty mind? He was more of a demon than Elesa could ever hope to be. His tongue licked up your neck before he nipped playfully at it. With how devastated Ingo was with his fall, you were amazed with how much Emmet seemingly craved the corruption. His hips ground against yours with a soft cry leaving him.

“He'll be enraged by this,” his hand pressed into your shorts, “I am angry, too. I am verrrry angry.” A finger breaches your folds to rub around your clit. You moan as he returns to lavishing your neck in bites and kisses. He humps against you while playing with your clit. How were you corrupting him? It was more of him corrupting you. A hardness grew within his white robes. He pulled away and turned you around from the window to stare at him. His pale eyes were half lidded as he hummed. “My brain simply disallows me to fuck you,” he explained while shrugging off his robes, revealing the peachy skin underneath, “So, you must put my dick inside of you.”

You almost laughed from his terrible phrasing, but you were stopped by the sight of his cock. It was flushed and a slight bit a precum dripped from the tip. Your hand reached out to touch it, which made Emmet whined. He was a virgin and likely had never masturbated. You pumped it a few times, which led to more cries from the man. Eventually, you pulled away to strip away your own clothing.

Pushing him down against the couch, you hovered above his dick for a moment. His anticipation was nearly palpable. The moment his cock head pressed into your entrance, you groaned. Slowly, you went down the length until he bottomed out inside. His eyes watched the action with an intense gaze. The moment he was fully engulfed, something switched. He sat up and grasped your hips. You moved up with his help and then slammed back down. The loud slapping of skin was hypnotising. Pleasure was electric in both of your veins.

With each thrust inside, Emmet felt his light burning out faster, yet faster. It was fading from him and leaving him abandoned by his creator's comfort. His hips bucked up into you while his wings curtained around you. Unlike Ingo's, they stayed a pure white, only the fading of his halo truly showed his new banishment. The knowledge in his head, he pinned you to the couch with tears in his eyes. You moaned as he rutted roughly inside you, cock hitting a sensitive spot. Instantly, he changed to target it. “I am Emmet, and I am not holy,” he cried, forehead resting to yours, “I am free. I love you.”

You came from his words and the pleasure he fucked into you. The feeling of your walls milking his cock left him weak when mixed with the loss of his purity. A few more thrusts were bucked into you before he buried himself deep inside. A heat spread inside you before he pulled out. His smile was loopy, yet genuinely happy as he watched your combined fluids leak from you. You were panting heavily, but when you managed to regain your breath you spoke, “I think I love you, too…” Emmet giggled and grasped your hand. For a moment, you both rested on the couch together.

Suddenly, Emmet sat up with a wide smile and lidded eyes, “Mmm… Not sure if it entirely worked. We should do another round to be safe.” You could already tell he was going to be much worse than Ingo.