#I never thought I’d get more than like a dozen people to follow me

[averysmolbear]

I don’t know how this happened but there’s a bunch of you now and I am very happy to have you all here. And I’m getting so close to 100! If I do any kind of event, it’ll be at 100 so we’ll see how long it takes to get me there. And I apologize for not writing nearly that much unless it’s about my selfships. I love talking about my selfships. I vaguely apologize for it.

[astridthevalkyrie]

your match is made | xavier x reader

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.” “Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—” “I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.” “Stop,” you whisper. But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

cw: fluff, like that's it that's literally it this is so fluffy

word count: 6.6k

a/n: lyric credits used in this fic: téir abhaile riú by celtic woman <- fire song btw, listen to bless your ears, it also sets the vibe of this fic very nicely tbh. jeremiah's my favorite boyfailure.

Lanterns hang from every available line in and around the town square, brightening any block lucky enough to fall under its horizon. In every corner and roadblock, there are carts littering the streets, dozens upon dozens of merchants calling out their best prices on their finest goods, all the way from fabrics stitched by the very same threads used for the royals’ robes, to common sweet chocolates that all the teenagers are purchasing in bulk to share with their friends and younger siblings. There is room to move around, but there is not a single area that is not bustling with people, either trying to purchase steamed corn from the stalls or simply enjoying the festivities with their families. And in the center of it all, the bards play with such finesse that their fingers may as well be the source of the music rather than the instruments. 

Such is the celebration of lights, a celebration of the light. Of Philos, of this miracle that humanity has been gifted with. Every year without fail, the people gather in the town square to commemorate this historic occasion, and every year without fail, it is the grandest jamboree you have ever bore witness to.

“C’mon, Xavier,” Jeremiah protests out loud, “what would be the point of having the crown prince with us if he refuses to pay for our meals?”

Xavier simply shakes his head, the serene smile never leaving his face as he denies Jeremiah for the third time tonight—he clearly derives great pleasure from doing it. “I’d hate to rob you of the chance to participate in Philos’ market tonight of all nights.”

Jeremiah groans at his right, and from Xavier’s left, you giggle. It’s the same routine every single year, and at every occasion to be honest, and yet Jeremiah never stops trying to emphasize the difference in his wealth versus the royal family’s. Xavier, who you think would give his last dime to an ant if it looked hungry enough, looks like he loves refusing Jeremiah more than participating in any one of the activities tonight. 

The spicy aroma of rice cakes fills your senses then, and you let out a longing sigh as you look to the stall decorated with steaming bowls on all sides. “I’m starting to get hungry too, now.”

Both of them follow your gaze, where the vendor is hurriedly turning this way and that to discuss prices and accept payments, while three of his chefs work in the back, delivering more as the demand increases. Xavier hums quietly, then takes out a small black pouch from his pocket.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to eat.” He holds out the bag for you to take, but before you can, Jeremiah scoffs, loudly.

“Oh, that’s sick.” He points an accusing finger at the prince. “That’s sick! If you keep playing favorites, you’re going to get betrayed when you take the throne, I hope you know. I swear I’m going to lead a revolution against you myself.”

“Do you really think my grandis knight would ever let you harm me?” Xavier shoots back, and you beam as Jeremiah rolls his eyes, snatching the pouch straight out of his fingers.

“I’ll take this, and I’m going to get two”—he holds up two fingers for emphasis—”two bowls, and I’m not sharing. Your grandis knight can split her portion with you.” With that, he stomps off in a huff, leaving Xavier with his head tilted and a confused expression on his face.

“I don’t understand. There should be enough coins for three bowls.”

“He’ll get you a bowl.” You raise your voice enough for Jeremiah to hear as he walks. “He’s very grateful that you offered your money, isn’t that right, Jermy?”

Jeremiah makes a rude gesture without even turning back to face you, and you laugh, grabbing Xavier’s wrist to follow him. If it were any other member of the royal family, they’d be getting swarmed right about now, and would likely require at least ten guards to stand around them at all times to ward people off. That is how the king and queen sit, a few blocks away from the main festival, up on a platform elevated high enough that no one could think to climb it, with Lightseekers both in front of them and on the ground, safe and observing the celebration from a distance. Philos’ crown prince is different. Xavier is out in the town with the common folk so frequently that he’s almost lost all the celebrity status his title comes with. Of course, that makes him popular in an entirely different way. The people in the market always seem happy that someone of such high status would lower himself enough to walk and talk amongst them.

His hand slips lower as the two of you go after Jeremiah, warm fingers intertwining with yours. You think little of it, reckoning he doesn’t want to get separated with so many people around. Xavier isn’t one to shy away from touch, at any rate. Once you spar with someone enough, it’s only natural to become physically comfortable with one another. He places his hands on your shoulders when he wants to guide you somewhere, bandages your cuts with his own calloused palms, presses his lips to your forehead to check whether you’re sick or not. In the face of all that, him holding your hand while running through a bustling crowd is hardly surprising.

Jeremiah is waving the pouch in the air hopelessly, trying to be noticed amongst the rest, when the vendor spots the two of you. “Xavier!” he calls happily. “Good timing, I have a fresh bowl ready just for you!”

“Unbelievable,” your chestnut-haired friend mutters under his breath, elbowing you as you laugh at his misfortune. Xavier steps closer, and you see him hold up two fingers to ask for more. When he points over, you wave to the vendor, who waves back before calling out instructions over his shoulder. In almost an instant, he has three steaming bowls filled with rice cakes ready for you to take. Your mouth almost waters at the sight. 

Xavier picks up one of them to offer to you, which you take gratefully. Taking a few steps to the side to avoid crashing into anyone, the three of you find a relatively less crowded place to dig in. 

Before you can take a heaping sip from the spoon, he gently takes your wrist and blows on the hot broth, meeting your eyes with a soft, concerned look. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” you remind him teasingly, but blow some air of your own onto the spoon before finally digging in. As the flavors explode inside your palate, you hold back a moan at how good it tastes.

“Miss Knight!” a high-pitched voice calls out, and you turn in time to see a tiny pink blur moving past people’s legs. 

“Adelaide!” You hand your bowl to Jeremiah, who passes it to Xavier without even blinking, and kneel down to catch the blur in your arms. “Look at you, you look so pretty! I love your dress!”

The little girl’s eyes light up at the compliment. “Thank you! Miss Knight,” she bounces up and down eagerly, “I made something for you!” In her hands, she holds out a product of one of the several craft stalls set up for the children during the festival, a simple but elegant flower crown that she holds out like a grand prize. And from how your heart melts, it may as well be. 

“Oh, how beautiful. Thank you so much. Would you put it on for me?” You tilt your head down, and she places it on with all the care a child of six years would have. You know you’ll have a difficult time getting it out in a while after the flowers tangle with your hair, but you don’t mind at all. Adelaide is your favorite person to visit whenever the three of you come to town, the daughter of the seamstress who makes your uniforms, and you’d do anything to see her smile the way she is now.

“You look like a princess,” she says in awe. Your cheeks warm, and you stand up, gesturing to the other two.

“Speaking of which, you remember Xavier and Jeremiah, don’t you?”

Her small hands grip your dress robes as she hides behind your legs, peeking out at them. Xavier, with both his hands occupied holding your bowl and his own, merely smiles encouragingly at her, while Jeremiah waves. “Hiya, Adelaide. Your dress looks awesome!”

From the corner of your eye, you see her face turn bright red, and right as you’re about to coo inwardly about her adorable little crush, you hear someone calling her name. All your heads turn, as an older blonde boy, out of breath, almost pushes past people in his rush to run to her. 

“I told you not to run off like that! You could get lost—oh.” He stops short when he sees you, blinking as the color returns to his cheeks after his run. “H-hi there.”

“Hi, Neville.” You smile at Adelaide’s older brother, who’s almost always around when you visit. “Enjoying the celebration?”

“Definitely—I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, I was helping Mother with her stall, a-and I didn’t know your master would give you the night off.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And the grandis knight is at the king’s side, he could hardly stay to train me on such an important night.”

“Right.” He stands with his hands on Adelaide’s shoulders, only staring, seemingly forgetting why he’s there in the first place. For a few moments, no words are said at all.

Right when you’re about to cough awkwardly, he snaps back to attention. “Um, would you like to dance?”

“She can’t,” Xavier says immediately, almost making you jump. He’s almost right behind you, looming over your shoulder and staring Neville straight in the eyes with an expression you’ve never seen on him before. 

“Xavier!” The blonde bows clumsily (and unnecessarily) before straightening up, an unspoken question in his eyes. He looks between you and Xavier, and while you hadn’t been planning to agree to his request in the first place, you look at Xavier curiously as well. He’s never before dictated what you do during the celebration, whether you’re with him and Jeremiah or with some of the others in your class. 

“She can’t,” he says again, a bit more softly, “she can’t, because…” He takes one glance at you, then down at the two bowls in his hand, then looks back up. “She’s already going to dance with Jeremiah.”

“What?” both you and your supposed dance partner question at the same time. 

“You’ve been meaning to ask her to dance the whole night.” Xavier’s blue eyes fall on Jeremiah, with a pointed gaze. “This song is about to end, I think now is as good a time as any.”

“But I’m eating!” he whines, shaking the bowl in his hands as though to beg Xavier to take pity on him.

“I’d be happy to dance with her before Jeremiah steps in—” Neville offers, but he’s cut off by Xavier again, and this time his voice is icier, and his eyes are narrowed on Jeremiah who’s pouting at him.

“No, I think Jeremiah should do it now before it’s too late.”

Whatever message he’s trying to get across, Jeremiah clearly understands it, groaning and taking one last sip before grabbing your hand and tugging you to the main grounds. You’re only slightly irked that no one actually waited for your answer on whether you wanted to dance or not. But you’re more confused than anything else. Just a few minutes ago, both of them were fine, what could have happened so soon to make Xavier sound so cold?

“Have you really been meaning to ask me to dance all night?” you try asking, but Jeremiah only rolls his eyes.

“Please shut up. I already have to deal with His Majesty the Oblivious Idiot tonight, I can’t deal with both of you.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Miss Grandis Knight!” one of the bards, the violinist, waves to you. You’re momentarily distracted, smiling at her. It’s quite nice, if maybe a bit egotistical, to hear anyone call you what you’re trying so hard to be even when you haven’t achieved it yet. “Coming to dance?”

“I am!” you shout back cheerfully. “Give me a good one!”

She thinks for a few seconds, then makes a motion to the other musicians. Placing the violin against her collarbone delicately, she begins to pluck a familiar tune, one that has you lighting up and has the crowd cheering. Even Jeremiah grins as the two of you face each other, both of you well versed in proper dance etiquette from taking the same classes growing up. 

First, he bows, mimicked by the other men in the large circle that’s formed, extending a hand to their dance partners. Then you, and the other ladies, curtsy, and with a light step you take his hand and begin the dance. The bards begin to sing the contagious melody, as you and Jeremiah step in place, back and forth, your arms extending then coming together, before he twirls you under his arm. Both of you are laughing for no real reason, perhaps aside from how frivolous this is compared to the fighting techniques you’re usually partaking in together.

The song builds, and builds, and his hands slip to your waist, helping you leap across him before he ducks his head dramatically. The violinist calls your name, pointing at you to sing the next verse. Through your giggles, your cheeks warm at the attention, but you oblige.

Swishing your dress around you, you bounce off Jeremiah, pointing at him with a flourish. “Come now and follow me down, down to the lights of Galway where—” Your eye catches Xavier’s, who’s watching you as though you’re the main event. With everyone else’s attention already on you, you’re not sure if you can possibly take any more, but something about his gaze makes your chest feel lighter, as though in this celebration of lights, the real light is the one staring at you, the one who has eyes for no one else. “There's fine sailors walking the town, and waiting to meet the ladies there!”

The bards take over the song again, yet the spell doesn’t break. As Jeremiah twirls you again and hands you off to the next man, switching dance partners easily, you beckon Xavier towards you, urging him to join. 

The night is young, you try to convey to him wordlessly, and I don’t want to be without you.

He steps forward, as you switch dance partners again. While you hadn’t meant to dance in the first place, it makes you feel lightheaded in a good way. The movements you have to do are light as opposed to rough and unforgiving on your muscles, and the alternating hands on your body handle you as gently as possible instead of trying to seek out all your weak points. 

Your head tilts to the side, trying to see if Xavier entered the fray or not. You’ve lost sight of him, in a different part of the circle now, and you can’t search properly without breaking the formation of the dance and ruining everyone’s fun. The next person you spin into ends up being Neville, who chuckles shyly and tells you, “Not bad, Miss Grandis Knight!”

His moves are far more stiff than Jeremiah’s, but far be it from you to judge when he hasn’t had formal training. The important thing is that he tries, and you still have fun, and besides, the song is ending now. You’re almost back to where you started in the circle, just one more spin and—

A familiar, calloused hand grazes yours, skimming down the side of your arm. You gasp at this touch, far more coarse than the others, and the only one to leave you breathless, not least because it’s accompanied by the striking blue of Xavier’s eyes. 

When he extends and brings you closer, it is more than just natural. Xavier is of royal blood, it is almost as if he was born to do this. Your feet step with his without you having to look down, so familiar with his balance and pace from years and years and years of sparring together. And not even once do you break away from his piercing gaze, because you’re nervous that if you do, he might just disappear.

The song comes to an end, with a final step forward and your hands on Xavier’s chest, and everyone erupts into cheers. The noise surrounding you makes the silence between you and him all the more deafening.

As the two of you simply stare at each other, breathing in sync, one of his hands reaches up, first resting on your cheek before then making its way up to gently adjust the flower crown that had slanted on your head while you were dancing. Once he fixes it, his head tilts down, just enough that his nose brushes against yours, and a smile forms on your lips.

“I am very pleased you joined, my liege.” Your eyes shine in gratitude.

Xavier opens his mouth to respond, and that’s exactly when Jeremiah chooses to slump against his shoulder, yawning. “Oh man, I’m spent. When do we go back to the academy?”

Xavier looks mildly disgruntled. “This is going to go on for hours,” you tell him, frowning, “we can’t leave now. Besides, the fireworks will start soon.”

“Another dance?” the crown prince suggests, sliding your palm into his. 

Jeremiah gives him an unimpressed look. “Give it a rest.”

Stepping past the two of them, you look at all the tables mostly occupied by children being distracted by someone painting little butterflies and stars on their faces or the tiny flutes that are passed out for them to blow into. One of the pastry vendors is handing out baked goods for free, and while you didn’t actually get any chance to eat earlier, you want to find something to actually do. You’re not tired after dancing; on the contrary, now you’re restless and brimming with energy. 

“Come on,” you declare readily, taking both their hands and pulling them into the ruckus. Your boys have little choice but to come along with you. Your feet will start to ache soon too, you’re sure. But for now, while they don’t, and while the way Xavier was staring at you is still burned into your mind, you want to enjoy yourself.

Once again, his fingers tangle with yours, clinging to your hand warmly—a stark difference to Jeremiah’s, which you have to grip onto harder to make sure he doesn’t get left behind. He whines and complains the whole time, telling you he’s sore all over and that the three of you should try and beat the rush by leaving early. You’re used to this routine every year, so you’re not fazed. Nor is he serious, because even though you could physically force him to stay, Jeremiah never tries to leave until you and Xavier are good and ready.

As you run, different students in your section call out to you and Jeremiah. People are just slightly more hesitant to address Xavier directly, but you’ve never understood such a thing. The last thing he is is intimidating. Well, maybe place a sword in his hand and he becomes slightly fearsome (to everyone except you). There’s still no need to pretend that Xavier ever struts around demanding everyone show him the highest respects. He’s the furthest thing from arrogant.

It makes you feel proud, really, knowing you’ll be in the service of Philos’ greatest king.

“Xavier!” someone finally calls out. For a second, you’re thrilled, until you see who it is, and your face falls.

The title of grandis knight comes with a certain authority. Not one that you actually have yet, of course, but people respect the current holder of the position, and as his prized mentee, that respect teeters down to you most of the time. 

Keyword being most.

Just a few months back, you and Lillia had been close friends. You weren’t as close to her as you were to Xavier and Jeremiah, but she was still someone you confided in. You knew a few personal things about her, and she knew a few personal things about you. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a guy, or your trainer, or one of the older students. Just another girl around your age training to become a Lightseeker.

But you should have realized that the respect you garnered by swearing to be the future king’s bodyguard came with a reasonable risk of betrayal as well. And yes, betrayal is a strong word. Technically, nothing happened. There is no accusation you can level at her. At least not without someone calling you hysterical, and that’s hardly needed when you’re already a woman seeking the highest position in the court, second only to the king himself.

It had come down to one night, with just you and her sitting and talking about nothing in particular, when she had leaned in and asked you something.

“So do you like anyone?”

It had been a quiet night, and the two of you had been the only ones awake, holed up in an old classroom, so you hadn’t thought any consequences could come from speaking truthfully—or at least, what you had genuinely believed to be the truth.

“Not really.” You’d shrugged, leaning back on the desk you were sitting on, putting your weight on your palms. “Most of the people in our section aren’t really my type.”

“Really?” Lillia had smiled slyly. “Not even Xavier?”

Your nose had wrinkled—not in disgust, just confusion. “Xavier? Why?”

“What do you mean? You two spend all your time together. You’re always sparring. Doesn’t romantic tension build up after something like that?”

“Maybe if we were equally matched,” you’d huffed, shaking your head, “I always beat him, I certainly don’t feel any tension. Besides, he’s going to be king. And I’m trying my best to be his grandis knight. We could never be in a relationship even if we wanted to be.”

“So you don’t have any interest in him?” she’d asked, a little more forcefully. You’d thought nothing of it at the time. 

“I mean…” Your stomach had twisted a bit uncomfortably and you’d averted your gaze. “If you had a sword to my neck, if I had to choose someone…”

And it had forced you to think about it. A far off scenario, if he wasn’t going to be the king, or if you weren’t going to be the grandis knight, or maybe both. It had been difficult to see Prince Xavier as anything else, but…it wasn’t impossible. If you were both just students, or partners, or even if you worked at that bakery that he loved to frequent. 

If you were just a normal person, and he was as common as everyone else, the first thing you’d thought you’d notice about him would be his eyes. It’s what you notice about him most of the time regardless. He has nice eyes. They have a sincerity in them that most people lack. And he looks at you a lot, so you would know.

He’s not bad to look at either. And he’s kind. A good leader. With a precious heart. And skilled fingers—

Blinking out of the hypnotic thoughts you’d fallen into, you’d hidden your suddenly flustered state as best you could and simply answered, “I suppose if I had to choose to love someone, I’d choose Xavier.”

And that had been that. Or so you thought. Everything had been alright, at least.

Until the next morning, when you’d walked out of your class and seen Lillia’s arms around Xavier’s neck. 

For a second, it had felt like Philos stopped turning on its axis. 

It wasn’t like Xavier had reciprocated. But that was only because he had been too polite to shove her away, and it would’ve been inappropriate to engage in anything further. Crown prince or not, he was still a guy, and obviously a pretty girl pressed into him in such a way would interest him.

And Lillia had caught your eye, and smiled triumphantly, as though to say well, if you don’t want him, then…

Even though you hadn’t said you didn’t want him. Well, you had said you weren’t interested, yes. But you had also told her that if someone held a blaster to your face if you didn’t cherish someone, then you would cherish Xavier. And maybe that hadn’t been a confession, but it hadn’t been you giving her permission to pursue him either. Not that she needed your permission, because it wasn’t like you had a claim on him, and it wasn’t supposed to make your chest burn that he, even for a second, looked at anyone else the way he looked at you.

You hadn’t confided your weak feelings to anyone else after that.

“Hi, Lillia,” Xavier says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize until now that the three of you had approached her. “What’s this booth for?”

“Oh, it’s amazing,” she gushes, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging. Your eye twitches. “She’s a fortuneteller. For just a few copper pieces, she’ll answer any one question you want to know about your life.”

“Really?” he asks softly, and all your gazes shift to the woman who bows her head to the prince, sitting in her chair with a purple drape over the small table in front of her. “I’m not sure what I’d want to ask.”

Lillia smirks in a way that makes you uneasy. “Well, I asked about my future partner.”

“Partner? For sparring?”

“For marrying, you dolt,” Jeremiah snorts, “c’mon, Xav, sit down and let’s see which unlucky soul gets to be queen of Philos.”

You’re nervous that he will, and you’re nervous that you won’t like the answer. Because it wouldn’t be you, you’re sure of that. And you shouldn’t want it to be you. That doesn’t mean you think he should be with her, either. What business did Lillia have pursuing Xavier, at any rate? She was training to be a Lightseeker too—but of course, the average knight did not have the same restrictions the grandis knight did—not that it matters because you have no say regardless—

But Xavier shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. My future partner will simply be…whoever the kingdom deems the loveliest of the lot.”

Your heart both inflates and deflates at his response. On one hand, you hadn’t wanted him to have his fortune read, for fear of heartbreak. On the other hand, a part of you had foolishly hoped that he would have the same option to love like everyone else did.

“You should do it,” Jeremiah nudges you with his elbow. Before you can protest, Lillia’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yes, you should! Here, come sit.” 

“Um, I don’t know.” Warily, you gaze over at the fortuneteller, who merely gives you a serene smile. “Is she going to give me someone’s name?”

“No, just a description. She told me my future partner would be someone of noble descent.” Lillia beams, showing off her too-perfect teeth, and suddenly you feel inadequate. You know what she’s implying, even if Xavier doesn’t. After all, there are very few people who would match that description.

So, not wanting to seem like a coward, because the king’s sword is anything but a coward, you step forward, sitting down in the leathery chair. You’re about to reach for your pocket to take out the copper pieces, when Xavier reaches over and places them in the fortuneteller’s palm, giving you an encouraging look that makes your heart sink. Perhaps you should have listened to Jeremiah earlier and called it a night.

When the woman takes your hand, she closes her eyes, running her thumb back and forth against your calluses. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you try not to move a muscle. For some reason, it feels like if you so much as twitch, you’ll get the wrong answers, and you’re not even sure what the right answers are. 

Her eyes open, piercing yours with a startling gaze. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “I see three things about your lover.”

To hear that word—lover, instead of spouse or partner, makes your entire face feel hot. Lillia giggles, saying something under her breath that you don’t catch but makes you feel violent tendencies nonetheless.

“First, he is someone held in very high regard by all around him.”

Oh no.

“Second, a longsword is his weapon of choice.”

Oh no.

“And third, you have known him all your life.”

Well, she may as well have just screamed Xavier’s name at the top of her lungs.

Everyone is silent for a few seconds. There is a heavy pause in the air, because who else could she be referring to? Who else fits that exact description? All Lillia was told was she’d be with someone of noble descent, which could be at least a few people. The painful beating in your chest is onset because there is only one person that your fortune fits. 

You know it, he knows it, even Jeremiah and Lillia know it. 

So you do the only thing you can do. You calmly stand up, offer the fortuneteller a tight-lipped smile, and turn on your heel and run.

Behind you, a few different people call your name, though you note distinctly that Xavier isn’t one of them. After that, even if other people are still recognizing you and trying to get your attention, you can barely think straight enough to identify their voices, let alone respond. You run, out of the town square, out of the festival, out of the sight of anyone who could possibly perceive you.

You run as far as you can before your legs start aching, which, unfortunately for you, takes a long time with your endurance training. By the time you feel even a twinge resembling pain, you’ve already made it a far distance away from the celebration, near the seamstress’ shop. 

With gritted teeth, you heave yourself over the fence, knowing you’re more than welcome in her garden. It’s luscious, orange and lavender chrysanthemums in the center stealing the spotlight from all the other flowers. Instead of going towards them, you curl up next to the lilies, because you already feel unremarkable enough.

It’s not that you think Xavier would be disgusted by you. The two of you are friends—but that’s exactly it, the major problem of having feelings for him. Besides the fact that you are supposed to brandish your sword in his name, you cannot like him because you’d rather die than lose your best friend. You couldn’t even say how long you’ve known him, but you do know that he’s the best part of your life. Not for anyone would you bow your head. Not for anyone would you lay your life down. You’ve observed Xavier for years and years and there is not a single other person in the royal family that you would follow into any battle, through any world, past any planet. 

You groan, burying your face in between your knees. At some point in between the months Lillia first asked you about him and now, you’ve gone beyond just considering him as more than a friend. You’ve even got past having a measly crush on him.

You’re in love with Xavier, and it’s awful.

Breathing slowly, you gaze up at the night sky, where the fireworks have still not made their appearance. The wind teases the flowers around you, making them tilt a little to the left, which is oddly how you feel too. Not uprooted, but bent, just like a flower. 

With a blade of grass in between your fingers, you follow the direction the flowers are blowing in, only to find yourself staring at shining ceruleans.

“Xavier!” you gasp, eyes widening with a start. You move to stand as a reflex, but he raises a single hand, and you stop.

There isn’t a single bead of sweat on his face. He is breathing a little raggedly, and his uniform is stained with some sap he must’ve not been able to avoid from the bushes on the way over. His face—well, his face is pristine as always, there isn’t a moment when the prince of Philos looks anything less than dreamy. But it’s not his features you’re gazing at, but the concerned expression upon them, directed straight at you, with caring eyes and pinched brows.

You almost want to cry just at the thought you’ve worried him.

“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet, cautious, fragile. Like you may break if he’s too forceful in his questioning.

“Yes, fine,” you reply automatically, though you suppose you now have to make up a story for why on Philos you ran away like a child, especially because he sits next to you, knees raised in the same manner as yours.

“I was merely…overwhelmed, by the crowd.” The explanation sounds weak even as your tongue speaks it, but you cannot think of any other reason for your actions. At least this is easier than the truth. Anything is easier than the truth.

For a few seconds, there is silence, and as uncomfortable as this already is, you can’t bear it. So you turn to look at him, and you realize with burning cheeks you realize he is staring right back. You don’t even think he’s looked at the blossoming flowers even once; his head seems to be fixated in your direction.

“I know you constantly score better than me,” Xavier says softly, “but I am not foolish.”

With a hesitant hand, as though he’s asking for permission, he reaches up to once again adjust the flower crown on your head. Your heart falls, and you really should’ve known better to think Xavier could not read you like an open book, especially after a fortuneteller quite literally did read you like an open book.

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.”

“Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—”

“I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.”

“Stop,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

Your lower lip trembles. Never once did you take him for the cruel type. There is no rule nor reasoning for this, to utterly expose your feelings even more and mock you for them, and if you sit here any longer you’re afraid you will begin to sob, and then not only will your friendship with Xavier be at risk, but your future position as well. The grandis knight cannot be weak. The grandis knight cannot shed tears for such silly matters as love. 

To preserve your role, to preserve your reputation and your dignity, you make to stand, to run even farther this time, but Xavier holds your wrist before you can, tugging you back to face him. There is no cruelty in his expression, in fact there is a tenderness as though he is somehow touched by your very clear devotion to him. 

His finger tilts your chin up, unwittingly making you demand a respect you don’t believe you deserve right now. His brow is pinched, as though he’s upset that you would let anyone, even him, turn you soft as a dandelion.

“I also know,” he breathes, “that this kingdom finds you incredibly lovely.” 

The world seems to stop.

“As…” Xavier’s hand rests itself on your cheek, and the most beautiful smile lights up his face as he murmurs, “Do I.” 

You lean in the same time he does, and faintly you hear fireworks erupt as you kiss the prince of Philos for the first time. 

The world is quiet, and so, so, so loud. Blood rushes to your face and to your ears, and you ignore it by placing both your hands on his cheeks, whimpering softly at how good he tastes. Every burning feeling and sensation you’ve felt in his presence these past few months, and really, your entire life, all seem to explode in this moment. The world is blue, and white, and Xavier.

His lips move so gently against yours, once again acting as though you are fragile, but it feels good this time, the idea of being something so precious as to require care for him. His thumb rubs soft circles into your cheek, you can barely pull away from him to assure him that he can be more forceful if he wishes, more wanting, more greedy. 

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, asking for what you aren’t sure, but you nod your head regardless, because you’d think you’d give him your very soul if he were to ask.

When you do pull back, he is looking at you so longingly it makes you more breathless than even dancing you did earlier. His gray-blonde hair nearly conceals his eyes, so you brush it from his face, breath hitching at his proximity. You’ve always known that he’s the apple of everyone’s eye, but you’ve never had the privilege to admire him so closely before.

“I don’t need a fortuneteller to tell me who my partner is.” Xavier rests his forehead on yours, eyes closing. “Whether it’s for sparring, or marriage, or anything else. You are the only one I want with me, through everything.”

You’re surprised you can even muster words when you shyly respond, “Likewise, my liege.”

His eyes shine, and the two of you finally look up to admire the fireworks bursting across the sky in incredible explosions of color. They pale in comparison to the eruption within you, but they are magical nonetheless, and you lean your head against his shoulder to watch.

A gentle kiss is placed on top of your head. “I know we only celebrate this once a year. It is a special time. Still…” He meets your gaze again, and the corners of his lips turn upwards. Tonight, there is only you and him now, you’re sure of it. “Would you mind terribly if we were to ignore the fireworks?”

Maybe one day you will learn to resist him. You sincerely doubt it, though.

“Not at all. But the seamstress and her kids will probably be back soon.” You place a begrudging hand on his chest, not wanting to stop him, but trying to act proper regardless. “Neville checks on the garden every night. He might see us.”

Xavier seems to consider this for a second. 

“Oh well,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you again, “what a shame.”

He doesn’t sound very sorry at all, and amidst the soft glow of moonlight, you surrender to him, lost in your very own little celebration of lights.

a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime i’ve written a character x reader story where they’re at a party and they dance together but then leave to have a nice moment by themselves i’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

[thebibliosphere]

I saw your post about ingram, and out of curiosity, is there some advantage to going through the whole self-publishing thing with retailers when you're just starting out? like I mean the way that fandom zines work is that they don't even bother going through ingram or amazon or whatever. they just set up a social media site (usually twitter) to gain followers, open preorders (usually 1-2 months in length) to generate the costs of printing upfront, and then sell anywhere from a few dozen to several hundred copies of their books (usually artbooks, but anthologies exist too). I've seen some zines generate over a thousand orders. they're kind of like pop-up shops, except for books. maybe the sales numbers aren't so impressive to a real author, but the profit generated is typically waaaay more than the $75+ apparently needed for Ingram Spark, so I still feel like new authors could benefit from this method too, especially if they just need some start-up cash to eventually move to ingram if they want to for subsequent runs of their book. I think authors would also have to set aside some of the pre-order money to buy an ISBN number to have printed on their book, and I'm not really sure what other differences there are, but I just wanted to ask about it in case there's some huge disadvantage I'm missing!

So, popup zines work well for some people, and I know some authors who kickstart their work successfully. But for a lot, it's just not feasible as a long-term stratedy. Or even as a means to get off the ground.

Fanzines succeed primarily because an existing fanbase is willing and ready to throw money at something they love. They’ve got a favorite writer or artist they want to support. Supporting all the others is just a happy by-product. They also take a HUGE amount of short-term but intense planning that just doesn’t always jive with how some of us work.

I, for one, would never offer to organize a fanzine. I’ll take part in them as a creator, but I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than subject myself to wrangling that many people and dealing with the legal logistics.

When it comes to authors doing anthologies, it'svery much the same. The success of the funding often hinges on having other big-name authors involved whose existing fans will prop up the project. Or having a huge marketing budget.

Most self-pub authors have zero marketing budget. I’m one of them, and I’m under no illusions that my work would not be as popular and self-sustaining as it is if I didn’t have a large Tumblr blog.

When I thank Tumblr in my forewards, I am utterly sincere. Tumblr brought fandom levels of enthusiasm to an unknown work and broke the Amazon algorithm so hard, that Amazon thought I was bot sniping my way to multiple #1 spots and froze my sales rankings.

That’s not the norm. And while I could probably kickstart my own work as an indie creator, that’s because I’ve put literal decades into building up a readership. I’ve been doing this since I was 16 and realized people thought I was funny. I didn’t know what to do with it or if I’d ever actually write anything, but it meant the groundwork was already there (thank you, past-me). I basically fell upward into my success by virtue of never being able to shut the fuck up and wanting to make people laugh. Clown instincts too strong.

New or first-time authors trying to sell their work without that will find it infinitely harder.

All of that aside, even if an unknown author somehow gets lucky and manages to fund their work, there’s still the question of shipping and distribution logistics. Are you shipping everything yourself? Better hope you’re able-bodied and have the time for it. (for reference, it took me months to ship out 300 patreon hardbacks because of my disabilites. It damaged my back and hands. I couldn’t type for several weeks after I was done.)

Are you going to sell primarily at conventions? Better hope you’re able-bodied, have the time and don’t have cripling anxiety about being in large groups...

Also, will selling a dozen to a few thousand copies in one burst be sustainable in the long run as a career? Not for me. Doing things via Ingram and Amazon means I earn a steady trickle of sales for the rest of my life provided the platforms remain and so long as I keep working and can generate interest in the series, not just when I have funds to pay for physical copies to sell. The one-time (in theory) cost of $75 to distribute through Ingram gets paid off pretty quick that way. And it doesn't require the same logistics as doing the popup/crowdfund.

Ultimately, it comes down to what you are capable of but also the type of work you’re doing. If you’ve got an extended network of fellow creatives who will back you or you’ve got a large following elsewhere, doing it like a popup might work for you.

If you’re an exhausted burnout who can’t fathom the short but intense amount of organization that sort of thing requires, not to mention doing it over and over and over... Ehhhhh. No thank you.

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #9 – Y: The Last Man - The Deluxe Edition Book One by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guera

In 2025, I am trying to read a comic or graphic novel collection every month (for basically arbitrary reasons). As next Saga hardcover has not quite been announced, I figured I would go back and give Brian K. Vaughan’s other big breakout hit a try. Against my better judgment, really – everything about the premise sends alarms blaring in my mind, but many people have enthusiastically vouched for it.

I should have trusted my gut.

Set (and written) in the early 2000s, the story follows Yorrick, the 20-something failson and aspiring escape artist of a congresswoman and an English lit professor. Due to unclear divine wrath reasons related to either a magical talisman or scientific hubris and the birth of a cloned child, every animal in the world with a Y chromosome dies, suddenly and messily – except him and his pet monkey. Over the next several months, he disguises himself and travels to DC by foot to check on his mother – and recruit government help to get to Australia and find his (working abroad) girlfriend and/or possibly fiancee. Instead he gets conscripted into trying to save the species – which involves travelling across the country to a lab in California, accompanied by the biologist behind the cloned child and a secret agent-turned-bodyguard. All while being hunted down by a murderous cult of radical feminists, who aren’t about to miss their chance to finish wiping out mankind.

Far more than any comic I’ve read recently (..ever?) this is a comic with a single protagonist, whom the entire narrative is centred around. And I just cannot stand him. Like someone tried to cast Philip J. Fry as the lead of a thematically weighty action series, except without any of the likeability or charm. Or – okay, that’s a bit harsh, but still. What were clearly supposed to be his endearing traits and jokes were, in the context of the whole societal apocalypse, just grating. And what are supposed to be his flaws are less sympathetic or compelling and more just make me wish we could be following basically any other guy instead.

Which isn’t really his fault, I suppose. I just got tired of the whole Gen X nerdy slacker failing-to-launch failson archetype a long time ago. The series does little to redeem it.

The rest of the main cast is mostly fine, but few get the space to really grow outside their role in the plot and broad archetype. Which is an issue, because there’s not all that much else to hold your interest as you read.

Gendercide stories have just never held that much interest for me – certainly not longform ones with ambitions beyond ‘thought experiment short story’. Even when the politics and worldview necessarily on display isn’t hideous (often! And difficult to ignore, when it’s so foregrounded), they inevitably to be very proud of themselves for being profound, cutting social commentary and rumination on the nature of humanity. I have yet to see one that actually deserves its self-regard.

Y isn’t nearly as offensive as I’d worried, I suppose? The gender politics on display probably did even seem fresh and cutting in like 2001. It’s fascinating how cursory and incidental a mention lesbianism and transness both get, compared to the modern discourse (hell, compared to Saga), but otherwise it’s a lot of focus on the shocking imagery of, like, woman being capable of brute physical violence or actually having conservative religious beliefs around sexuality and abortion or any of a dozen other things that might conceivably have seemed novel and shocking during the early Bush Administration.

From 2025, the ‘daughters of the amazon’ as villains are kind of funny because quite literally everything about their presentation, ideology and just general vibe is nowadays something I associate specifically with TERFs. It’s honestly a bi bewildering to see them in a story that has functionally zero interest in transness or grey areas on the gender binary in general, where the whole ‘a word without men will naturally be an egalitarian paradise’ 2nd wave radical utopianism is just presented straightforwardly as ‘so obviously they’re gonna make a whole crusade out of killing the last cis guy in the world, right?’ As far as scenery chewing four-colour cult leaders go, their leader is a pretty well-drawn one, though.

The cultural distance with the text was honestly one of the bigger surprises reading it, and one of the more interesting ones. Just one reminder after another of all these vague cultural preoccupations and references and subjects of discourse that I vaguely remember from my childhood (and the Abortion Debate, which does not seem to have noticeably changed). But like yeah, people did used to have a really idealizing-and-or-fetishizing obsession with how tough and badass Israeli female soldiers were! And ‘secret agent/assassin from a super secret spy agency that is only known about or accountable to the President’ really did used to be a much more straightforwardly uncomplicated heroic archetype.

Honestly I might have forgiven all of this and just kept reading to see if it gets better, if it weren’t for the art. Or the interior art, I guess – the covers are all quite striking and unsettling in a very compelling way. But once you actually open them...

I think I have just been incredibly spoiled by the comics I happen to have read (Monstress, 20th Century Men, Wicked and the Divine, and of course Saga). All of them are doing things with their art, are making the visuals a key part of conveying the story and themes (not to mention just usually having a page or two every issue that’s an aesthetic pleasure to regard in its own right). The page-to-page art, on the other hand is...fine. The style is a bit ugly, but it gets the job done and conveys the action. It just never does a single thing beyond that. It’s neither beautiful nor interesting, and you could rewrite the story as prose without losing a single thing of import. I’m not sure whether the credit technological changes in art production in the last 10-20 years, or the particular genius of other artists, or just the size of the production team for this one tending towards mediocrity. Whatever the case, it leaves the idea of reading any more of this just feeling like a slog.

So all in all, this was a bust. But hey, at least it didn’t include a bunch of monologues about the essence of masculinity that made me incapable of reading Vaughan’s work again! So could been a lot worse.

[thefrontofmymind]

Proof Postitve 1

WARNINGS: smut minors dni!! alcohol consumption, smoking

series masterlist

There was a sense of pride running through your veins. Seeing the band that you’d known and supported for years sweep the BRIT awards, winning all of their nominated categories. You’d been working as office support at Dirty Hit since their first album was released, you’d been with them through just about everything, every gig you helped organise, all the singles you did the logistics on, and you’d become a good friend of all of them.

There was one, though, a certain bassist that you were closest to. You and Ross had always had a sort of special relationship. There was rarely a conversation between the two of you that didn’t involve at least a base level of simple flirting; you asking him if all the things they say about bassist are true, him teasing by saying you should find out for yourself. It’d never gone all that far though, there was a boundary there that neither of you were willing to cross. And you thought that’s just how it’d be forever.

The pub Dirty Hit had rented out for the afterparty spared no expense, you made sure of that. Music was pumping, there were dozens of fluorescents illuminating the space, and the drinks were flowing–very much.

Of course, the band of the hour was everyone’s attention–you’d gotten in a quick ‘congratulations’ before they were totally smothered by the countless guests who wanted to do the same thing. Even being just on the outside of it all, it was suffocating to watch the four of them bounce around the room, never being left alone. 

You needed some air, so slinking towards the front door to take a break outside the front of the booming club–as best you could with the amount of shots you’d taken. It was still cold–not out of the ordinary for London in late February–and you wish you brought your coat with you. You breathed in and out shakily, hoping your fingers wouldn’t go numb as you scrolled through various social medias, seeing the fans’ reactions was always your favourite part of any endeavour the guys did. You were only a little acquainted with the fans, you’d mostly stayed behind the curtain, only the really deep fans knew of your existence, the ones that investigated all your socials when they put the dots together and discovered almost everyone involved with the band followed you, and you’d posted photos with them a couple times over the years. The general opinion of you was neutral, and you liked it that way, you didn’t have to worry.

In your peripheral, you saw a figure stand next to you, a veil of cigarette smoke around them. You turned your head as was met with the sight of your favourite bassist. He looked exceptionally dashing tonight with his suit and bow tie–you told him he looked like a sexy Fred Astaire, which he blushed and laughed at.

You gave him a nod to say hello, he returned it and took another drag.

“You alright? Saw you come out, thought you were leaving…” He said.

“Leave without saying goodbye? To you of all people?” You joked.

“I’d hope not, thought I’d trained you better than that!” He quipped. 

He slipped off his blazer and put it around your shoulders. You were immediately engulfed in the scent of his cologne, your goosebumps returned back into your skin and you felt more at ease than you have all night.

“I…I just…” You started. Ross looked over at you, big eyes and a smile–god, he was handsome. “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I’m really proud of you…Getting to where you are now, I’m so honoured that I’ve gotten to see it.”

“Thanks.” He gave you a sincere smile. “And it does mean a lot coming from you, you’re one of the only people around us that actually tells us the truth.”

You jokingly flipped your hair and laughed. “Well, I try…”

A gust of wind blew through the street, chilling you to the bone. Ross noticed your slight shivering, and he put an arm around you, trying to give you as much warmth as possible, even with his jacket on, the cold was coming through. Ross chuckled at the sound of your teeth chattering. Something with the chill made you giggly, with the sudden inability to speak, the best you could do was laugh with him. 

Suddenly he had a hand on your chin, lightly directing you to face him. He slightly raised his eyebrows, asking your permission. Instead of answering, you just went for it.

You gently placed a kiss against his lips, and before you could pull away too far, his hand that was still on your jaw pulled you back in, this time with much more ferocity.

One of your favourite movies of all time was The Princess Diaries, though one part that always confused you was the legendary ‘foot pop’, but now, with Ross’ mouth on yours, you finally understood.

Within minutes, he had you pushed up against the wall of the club, his tongue exploring your mouth, while his hands did the same elsewhere. It felt like all the years you’d spent in a game of oscillating cat and mouse had finally led up to this night, the time was now.

You lightened the kiss, then pulled away. “How about I go and get my coat and you order an Uber?”

“Your place or mine?” He asked between kisses to your neck.

“Dealer’s choice.” 

You patted his chest a couple times before he let go of you and you handed him his blazer, and you made your way back inside. It was getting quite late, everyone inside had begun to spiral into one big drunken mess. You quickly grabbed your coat and purse from the small corner you’d hid them in.

You were almost out the door, before you heard a yell of your name.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already!” Matty yelled, stringing an arm around your shoulder, mostly to keep himself stable.

“I am, unfortunately some of us have to work tomorrow, Healy!”

He blew a raspberry at your comment before kissing your cheek and bidding you goodbye. You all but ran out the entrance. You were met with the sight of Ross standing on the curb with the door of an unusually sleek looking Uber. You didn’t notice before, but your lipstick was smeared halfway across his face, the sight only made you more endeared.

“Shall we?” He asked, opening the door more to let you climb in.

After a polite introduction to the driver and a confirmation on the address–Ross’ place, which you preferred, you hadn’t quite tidied in a while so your flat wasn’t exactly in the right state for guests–you were off. His hand was placed firmly on your thigh, you swear you could feel electricity through his fingertips. You shuffled closer to him, and again, and again. By the end of the trip, you were practically on his lap and his hand only slid further and further up. You were worked up, to say the least.

He couldn’t open his front door fast enough, scrambling for the keys from his pocket as best he could while he was spending most of his concentration on keeping himself stood upright.

As soon as his door was open, it was shut just as fast, this time with you being held up against the inside of it. You barely had time to panic about it before he was grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you so you were face-to-face. You kissed a line from the top of his collar to the bottom of his ear. 

“So do you want me on my knees or you?” You whispered, lightly nipping at his earlobe.

You heard him sigh in response and his grip on your thighs only got tighter. 

“First I think you should have a little less clothes on?” He chuckled.

He dropped you back to your feet and in a flurry of clothes and stumbling between heated kisses, you were soon on his bed, in your underwear–thank God you had the gut instinct to wear your sexy underwear, all matching, black and lacey.

You lounged on Ross’ bed, watching as he hastily took off his shirt and trousers. You could see he was hard through his boxers. The sight of him made you salivate.

Without another thought, his mouth was back on yours and you were once again lost in his touch.

Wet, sloppy kisses were trailed down your neck, and chest, and stomach, and then peppered along the waistband of your underwear. He looked up to your face, cheeky grin on his.

“You don’t have to…” You trailed off. You’d heard the stories of women having amazing, mind-blowing orgasms when a guy would go down on them, but that hadn’t really been the case for you. More often than not, he would just get lacklustre in the middle and you’d get bored and fake it so he could be satisfied. You knew tonight was a special situation, you wanted Ross to just be as happy as possible.

“I already won tonight…” He toyed with your waistband, running the soft lace over his calloused fingertips. “Wanna make you feel like a winner too.”

You matched his smile and nodded. And he just dove right in.

He placed a light kiss to your clit over your underwear, and your body was immediately engulfed in warmth. Before long, he pulled your panties off, down your legs and discarded to some corner of his bedroom. He licked a long, wide strip up your pussy, collecting your arousal in a pool on his tongue. A wave of euphoria hit you as he sucked on your clit. Your hands immediately went to his hair, messing up his hair (that you know took close to an hour to perfect, you were there for the entire process).

You got closer and closer to the edge while he continued a cycle of suckling and licking at your clit, what you did not expect was for him to add 2 fingers into the mix. You let out a choked moan as his fingers got to work, slowly pumping in and out, in and out. You heard a small chuckle from him in reaction. Your muscles felt like they were on fire, you were so close.

“Ross…pl-please…” You got out between whines. “A-almost.”

His tongue was quickly replaced by his thumb and his face was soon by your ear. “Cum, baby…” He whispered.

At that, you did–like your body was somehow set up to answer any request from Ross, not that you were complaining. For at least a couple minutes–it could have been longer, you really had no way of telling–you were practically paralysed, just riding out the high of the orgasm Ross gave you, spurred on by a slew of “good girl”s in your ear.

Once you’d caught your breath and come back down to Earth–all under the watchful eye of Ross laying at your side–you could finally think about what just happened. One of your closest friends–a coworker–just went down on you and gave you one of the strongest orgasms of your life. There was no going back now.

You quickly moved to straddle Ross, and kissed him–taking him by surprise. You could feel his erection against your lower abdomen as you deepened the kiss. Without separating, you undid the clasp of your bra behind your back and took it off, throwing it to the side somewhere–to join the rest of your discarded clothes on the lush, carpeted floor. One of Ross’ hands instantly went to your breast, gently cupping it before circling your nipple. You couldn’t help but let out a small moan that was almost entirely muffled by his mouth on yours.

One of your hands left the side of his neck, trailing over his chest. You had to admit, you always loved his physique, big and strong but not like he tries too hard–not overly toned. Like a bear. Your fingers found his waistband and you could feel a slight grin in his kiss.

“You want this?” You asked, tentatively. You just wanted to make sure.

“Darling, I’ve never wanted something more,” he answered between chaste kisses to your jawline. “Been fantasising about this for…forever.”

That answer was all you needed for a go-ahead. Your hand dipped below his waistband. He was pretty much already completely hard, just a few pumps from you and you knew he was ready.

You both shuffled to get more comfortable, Ross shimmied out of his boxers with you still in his lap. He leaned over to his nightstand, opening the top draw and retrieved a metallic plastic square. Ross was nothing if not prepared. He slipped the condom on and you positioned yourself above him. In a smooth motion, his cock slid inside you. 

You couldn’t lie, he was bigger than you were expecting. More than pain, it just felt like an immense pressure on your pelvic floor. Ross patiently waited as you adjusted to him, listening to your deep breaths for only around half a minute. Once the pressure subsided, you were practically itching to actually fuck him properly.

You started slow, short movements; up and down, up and down, giving your leg muscles a small warm up before the workout of a lifetime. As you started, Ross closed his eyes, sighing in ecstasy. You began to pick up the pace a little, watching as Ross’ face contorted with pleasure.

Within minutes you felt like you were going full-hilt, but it just wasn’t enough. You were whining and whimpering, just on the edge but not getting any closer. Ross got the hint, thrusting up into you and meeting you in the middle of your bounces, this was it.

Ross began to circle your clot with his thumb and it pushed you into your second orgasm of the evening. You were sure his neighbours would complain with how loud you were moaning his name. Ross followed not long after in a slue of “fuck”s and gutteral moans.

You gently rolled off of him, feeling the soft, cotton bedsheets below you, stars clouding your vision. Ross discarded the condom before returning back to you. You readjusted to curl into his side, his skin was cold but covered in a thin layer of sweat–much like yours.

“So…” You started.

He chuckled. “Yeah…”

“Thanks…for that…” You said.

“Are you going home now?” He asked, anxiety in his voice.

“Do you want me to?”

“No! No…stay, please.”

And so you did. You raided Ross’ cupboards with him, looking for any snacks to replenish your spent energy. And you slept soundly cuddled into him–in one of his favourite graphic tees he let you borrow, no less.

You don’t think you’ve ever had a more peaceful sleep in your life.

[alexanderlightweight]

Can you do some more long haired shadowhunter lore?

Have a Happy Writing Wendsday!

here we go! thank you it's already off to a fun start ^_^

~ lumine

-

Magnus is absolutely positive that he’s never met the gorgeous shadowhunter he’s led to in his life, even if he apparently has. That is until he realizes who he’s meeting and recalls a vague, unimportant memory of meeting one of the Lightwood’s children on his way out of the Institute.

Magnus remembers hurrying away from the curious child, not wanting to stay in the Institute a moment longer and he regrets that now, leaving what was surely a terrible impression.

It’s with pleasure that Magnus watches Alexander comport himself with the dignity of an Elder and then he — willingly when Magnus asks — turns his back to Magnus to personally lead the way.

His hair flows long and dark behind him. Thick too, with more fluff than shine but the braids are neat and heavily charmed. If he were any less strict with his own manners, Magnus would be tempted to reach out and touch. There is something about Alexander that is intoxicating and calling to Magnus and Magnus wonders just how he’s going to woo such a stoic man.

At least, that is his thought until he’s led down a hall, past several doors brimming with magic to a large room that dips down onto wood that had to come from Idris. It is dark and old and brimming with an old, cold power.

“The wards down here are in stasis.” Magnus murmurs as he runs his hand over the lodestone tying the runes to the room. “They’re powerful but they feed off of ritual energy, which there has been little of here.”

“Okay. So do you want to fight or fuck?” Alexander asks him and Magnus is so surprised that he nearly bites through his tongue.

“Excuse me?”

“We need to charge the lodestone for the wards, right?”

“Yes.” Magnus says, still unsure what exactly is going on and wondering desperately if it means he’s going to get what he wants. “This isn’t a price you’re going to have Clarissa pay, is it?”

Alexander scoffs and shakes his head, charms rattling in his hair. “I have given permission for the ritual to be held since the clave will get information out of it, useless or not. It is my duty to ensure this space is maintained for whatever rituals take place. I owe it to my people and myself to keep them protected from any kind of shockwaves or rituals gone awry.”

Magnus knows that one of the other ritual rooms they passed could do in a snap. Literally, he could snap his fingers and change an array or to and the other room would be just as good.

Magnus specifically does not mention this, at all.

“Well, as much as I enjoy a good fight, I’d rather fuck. Sex magic is much better for protective warding after all.” Magnus is not sure who he is fooling, or if he is fooling anyone at all. He can barely get a read on Alexander being the feral competence that surrounds him like a cloak. 

Alexander smiles at him then, something soft and almost tender in his eyes and Magnus’ heart lurches, hammering against the walls surrounding it that are starting to crack.

Then he takes off his vest.

There is no buildup, no shyness.

The rest of his clothes follow into a neat pile until Alexander is standing there, naked and with his hair out of its main braid. It falls in loose waves and braid-crimped curls and smaller, tighter braids that intricately hold up dozens of charms.

Magnus swallows, mouth and throat dry and snaps his fingers, locking the door and sealing it for good measure and before he can help it, his glamour drops as well.

Alexander blinks back at him and then, with the first signs of fluster Magnus has seen on him yet, he licks his lips, pink tinting his cheeks.

It’s the most charming response Magnus has ever seen and he steps forward, confidence returned at seeing Alexander’s response to him. It’s clear that Alexander is as affected as him, but

“It’s going to take quite a bit to charge a lodestone this large.” Magnus teases, partly because he wants to get a reaction and partly because it’s true.

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that.” Alexander murmurs and Magnus is about to preen he adds, “ritual sex with a virgin should even out any power deficits it would have.”

Magnus swallows, unable to help how his pupils dilate or how he steps forward, cupping Alexander’s face with his hand.

“We definitely won’t have any problems with that.” Magnus promises and he can’t help how his hand slides down and back, until he’s gripping the nape of Alexander’s neck. His fingers clutch thick, soft hair and Alexander sighs, tilting his head as if to force more pressure. Magnus tugs, clenching his fingers tighter and Alexander groans, contentment in every line of his body as he flutters his eyes open and smiles at Magnus.

There’s an almost wistfulness to Alexander’s eyes as he reaches up and slowly untangles one of the lower braids from behind his ear.  It’s slim, perhaps the width of Magnus’ pinky nail and yet it has at least seven strands, tiny almost miniscule mithril hoops woven in.

“Can you cut it, right here?”

Magnus is asked and he’s surprised, but he does as asked without questioning Alexander’s choice.

There is a shudder, a little gasp of what might be pain and Alexander's hands come up to grip Magnus' biceps tightly for a moment.

The remaining length of the braid is still clamped by what was one of three mithril band and Magnus finds the design interesting. Especially when Alexander lets go of his arms and reaches for Magnus’ hand and then wraps the cut braid around his wrist. The two mithril clamps bind together and tiny little runes light up as the bracelet seals into place.

Alexander doesn’t say anything but Magnus has an idea of the significance of the braid around his wrist, both magically and socially. It’s with a croon he can’t help that Magnus pets the braid, sending a little pulse of magic through it and earning himself a wide, wild-eyed look.

Magnus snaps away his own clothes and then, because he’s nothing if not thorough, he backs Alexander up against the altar the lodestone is against.

“Shall we start?”

[andkeeponplaying]

So of course the attack diddy’s legal team have chosen to use on Cassie is “mutual abuse.” DARVO 101. I truly believe the 2022 Depp/Heard trial has been the most deleterious, heinous, ruinous thing to happen to happen with victim’s rights and discourse therein in the past decade and will continue to be so. I think the masses buying it with Diddy is doubtful, but it just shows how this has become the defense de jour for abusers. I was just thinking about those of us who knew from the beginning that he was irrefutably an abuser. I had heard a little bit about it before the trial, but I didn’t even know who amber heard was and I didn’t grow up with any of Johnny depp’s movies so there was no nostalgia and it wasn’t something I’d ever thought about at length. But as soon as the trial began and it was everywhere it was immediately all so obvious that people’s ingrained misogyny and abuse apologism was being courted via yt and tiktok clips and pithy commentary. I felt like I was going insane because it was so self evident but it didn’t matter to anyone and amber heard’s crying was manipulative but depp cracking jokes and hanging out with jurors was charming and showed what a good guy he was. This was really the only place where I saw and followed and was mutuals with people who got it. It was and still is extremely triggering for me because early on I related to her as a “bad, provoking” victim and even at 9 years old I had no one who empathized with me being abused by my father. The same people who practice abuse apologism with adult abuse victims oftentimes very much do believe the same thing with children. I get physically nauseous thinking about all of this. The perfect victim myth was always there but had been getting a little better with me too but every single progress was eroded in the blink of an eye and sometimes I think that the myth of mutual abuse became more prevalent than it was in the 2000s. I will never forgive and forget any celebrities let alone people working in victim’s rights for defending Depp. Hasan piker is super cringey and slimey to me to begin with but I don’t know how anyone who sincerely identifies as a feminist continues to watch him knowing he made a dozen videos during the trial, literally compared her to Alex jones, and I just found out was only months ago saying he “wished he ripped into her more.” What’s crazy too is that people who themselves had been abused were defending Depp just the misogynistic brainwashing is insane. Again I do doubt the public at large will buy this with Diddy bc there’s estimated thousands of victims but it still absolutely terrifies me.

[tenebriskukris]

Oshi No Ko Chapter 148 - My Thoughts/Analysis

I don’t think I’ve been more disappointed in an Oshi No Ko chapter as much as I have for Chapter 148, but there’s still some stuff to talk about despite said disappointment. As always, spoilers for Oshi No Ko Ch148 below.

A beach chapter??? After the absolute gut punches that were the last few chapters? No follow up to Aqua or Ruby or Hikaru at all???

Please explain to me why Minami is showing up here after being tossed like garbage for the past few dozen or so chapters? She hasn’t even been plot relevant in this arc! I know it’s because she’s connected to Ruby in some respects but if she’s not going to do anything interesting for the narrative why the hell is she even coming back to the spotlight? Really, I could say this about a bunch of side characters on the movie set but at least they actually showed up for the arc, even though they barely did anything that we could see.

Taiki mourning his car is a running gag that is funny but completely useless in the grand scheme of things. After the horrible pacing of this arc is this bit really necessary? No, and the fact that it still got pushed through when there are several other things to dwell on irks me. This is what side characters have been reduced to—comic relief.

Oh hey Gotanda! Been awhile since we’ve seen him at least. And once again Kana’s tongue strikes the director’s weak spot. Ouch. Ruby also doesn’t help things, but at least she’s known the director for longer than Kana has in order to say such things. It’s the difference between when a friend or someone you know roasts you versus someone who you’ve only met once or twice does it.

Ack! Aqua’s black star eyes. Well, I guess it was too much to hope that he’d lost them permanently. 

Huh, so the movie arc’s finished filming? I suppose that makes sense considering what we had last chapter, but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow considering that the movie barely gave us anything about Hikaru and Ai that couldn’t have been extrapolated beforehand.

Frill is a beast, as always. She takes two months off her schedule because She Can and her popularity’s going to be fine afterwards. I dunno how accurate that is to real life, but usually big shot actors and such choose which jobs to pick, but even then they also have to follow the schedules of their manager? Though with enough pull even that’s something that can be leveraged, I suppose.

Taiki oh my god. Does incest run in this family or something? It must be something in the Hikaru genes.

And Frill in a full diving suit! The gap moe is real. Melt having mixed feelings is a sign of his bad taste! Look at her legs! 

The Akane-Kana interactions are gold as always. It’s always funny to see how they both seem to change their behaviors when the other person is around.

There is an entire page dedicated to unnecessary beach scenes, but I’d like to point out the fact that Aqua is barely in any of them and Crow Girl of all people is. It’s obvious why the former isn’t there but the latter being Here At All throws me for a loop. Oh, to be a fly on the wall to hear Aqua explain why it’s so necessary for Crow Girl to be here on this outing at all.

And then there’s the eventual Akane-Aqua conversation. For all of her talk of “I’ll stop your plan, Aqua-kun.” she never really interfered with the movie. She’s just content to stalk Hikaru and hope that Aqua doesn’t decide to stab him himself. Which feels like the wrong move—if Aqua wanted Hikaru dead by his own hands, he’d have done it by now after he knew his identity.

Akane trying to talk about Aqua’s revenge scheme and trying to persuade him otherwise is something both funny and a bit too late. She’d already thrown her shot during their breakup so it’s interesting to see why she thinks she can get through to Aqua again when there hasn’t been much change in his circumstances. The movie being produced is certainly one big change, but I don’t think that this whole “social sanctions” that she’s referring to are going to take root when Hikaru has an eye on the movie through Kaburagi. Perhaps she’s just saying that to try and convince Aqua. 

The movie in-universe feels alot like a nothingburger, really. Ai wanted to be understood through this movie and Aqua used it as a vessel for revenge. And his “attempt” at revenge only dredged up a little controversy. As soon as the next fad comes around, the public’s attention is going to drift from whatever Aqua’s put in front of them. He should know this. Even Ai’s death was eventually cast aside and forgotten by the masses. Why would Hikaru being the twins’ father be any different? 

Not to mention the fact that they still can’t prove that Hikaru manipulated things so that Ryosuke could kill Ai. The movie might lean into that direction, but that doesn’t amount to anything—even businessmen and corporate executives will look the other way at illegal and morally reprehensible behavior if it benefits them. Why does Aqua think that this movie will change anything about Hikaru’s life besides letting him know that Aqua thinks he killed Ai?

Welp, that’s Kana formally bowing out of the Aquabowl. Akane hasn’t been in the running for ages now so this conversation between them might as well be her resignation. Her giving up Aqua and asking Akane to get together with him is almost certainly not the behavior of someone who’s going to win Aqua’s hand. It would undercut so much about how everyone else has struggled for the Aquabowl since the start.

Akane’s face as Kana says all this is just brilliant. She must feel so poleaxed by Kana, especially with her previous thoughts leading her in the direction that Aqua likes Kana even though at the time Aqua was in a relationship with Akane herself. Who’s in the right here? Both of them and none of them, really. Aqua likes both of you, but romance hasn’t ever been his priority since he’d been focused on his revenge plot. Trying to fix him by pushing someone else to get together with him isn’t the way to go.

This chapter was not necessary. I think the presence of a fucking beach chapter wasn’t necessary just to set up these Akane-Aqua and Akane-Kana conversations. This conversation could’ve been around the movie set, or done through a variety of flashbacks—it’s not like the manga isn’t shy about doing that sort of thing. Though maybe we’ll be getting a followup on this scene in the next chapter, but with the manga’s garbage pacing right now I doubt it.

Of course, all of this is just avoiding the elephant in the room—Ruby’s confession. I’d mentioned previously that if Aqua pushed Ruby away she wouldn’t have reacted the way she’s been multiple times after Ch143. Leaving that up in the air when both Akane and Kana are making their own plans to help Aqua and try and help him just makes this entire love triangle garbage feel even worse than it already is. 

Realistically speaking both of them have already shot their shot and failed for various reasons—so attempting to string the reader along by dredging up the love triangle angle is such a tone-deaf narrative decision. Yes, Akane wants Aqua to be happy, yes, Kana wants Aqua to be happy too. But laying it out narratively Like This just serves as a proxy to serve up this love triangle plotline that we’d already got stuffed with earlier in the manga. Bringing the spotlight back on this topic when there are already so many other more relevant topics in the movie arc that weren’t explored for some godawful reason is a kick in the teeth. I’m just hoping that we don’t get anymore screentime for these girls meandering around Aqua and instead do something that’ll actually affect him in some manner.

[dandylion-virtual-adventurer]

My Outer Worlds posts aren’t getting much attention, but I’m still hyper focused on it (and the Vicar) so I thought I’d get my thoughts out about the game! Lots of words under the cut lol

I was interested when it was first revealed, but didn’t play it because I generally do not want to play in first person perspective. Without a toggle for third person, I pretty much checked out and didn't pay attention to anything about the game for a long time. I had tried it (years ago) during a game pass trial but did not make it into Edgewater. If I had, I firmly believe I would have played it so much sooner.

I picked it up for less than $10 a few months ago and finally played it this month. Boom. It’s my new obsession and it’s very, very sad to be so in love with something that no one seems to talk about anymore.

But anyway, here’s my thoughts on the game, admittedly rambly and not well put together:

First of all, I think it’s important to know that I have not played Fallout: New Vegas. In fact, I’ve only played Fallout 4. I became pretty obsessed with that game when I played it as well. But even still, not to the level that I am now with the Outer Worlds. I write all that to say that I wasn’t comparing this game to New Vegas, as so many other players were. I was, however, comparing it very much to Starfield.

This blog of mine sees me post a lot of Starfield photography and a lot of Sam Coe. But to be honest, the game was overall very disappointing to me. And I don't even actually like Sam that much. In fact, there are aspects about him I actively dislike lol. But he seemed to be the only option for me to romance in the game. (Barrett was my beloved gay uncle idk what to tell you lol).

I think The Outer Worlds succeeded in a lot of ways that Starfield failed. The most obvious way being the tightly crafted world. Starfield's randomly generated areas have nothing on the hand crafted environments of smaller titles, and feel so hollow in comparison. TOW was such a delight to explore in that way. It was always so exciting to land on a new planet or explore a new city. The scale is so much smaller, and I do wish it was bigger...more. But what is there, satisfied that itch of what I wanted adventuring into new alien worlds. It also offered up a better attempt at creating a new universe, in my opinion. I appreciate that Bethesda was trying to create something slightly more serious with their title, but I prefer the dark humor of Obsidian's new lore and more whimsical art direction, even if I feel the former wasn't nearly fleshed out enough. I deeply wish we knew more about other colonies and about the Earth our Captain left behind.

Gameplay wise, I never really did get over the first person thing. Since the game is relatively short compared to other open world RPG’s, at least half a dozen times a play session, I found myself attempting to toggle to a third person view. The persistent problem of the forced first person perspective throughout the entire experience was a constant grating annoyance. I simply do not like it. Especially in a world like this. It is so important for me to be able to see my character and it hugely took away from my experience that I could not. It's incredibly baffling that they included a character creator at all. Even more irritating, is that there are multiple quests about clothing, dressing up, and disguises. Sure would be nice to actually see yourself in that context, wouldn't it?? I also found it frustrating that the developers clearly understood people would want to take pictures in the world they created, but did not, and have never included a photo mode. It's written right there on the option to turn off the HUD. But no, no photo mode.

I don't have much to say about combat. I played on the easiest difficulty, again not being overly familiar with fps, and didn't have many issues. I enjoyed the companion commands and found them way more useful in combat scenarios than many other titles with followers. And how refreshing to be able to have more than one at a time! Their banter reminded me more of Dragon Age than Bethesda titles where it can feel somewhat lonely with a single follower. The dialogue between the Unreliable crew was a delight, but it seems to be the only real time you will get to see their personalities playing off one another, as there are very few moments where the whole cast is together. Admittedly, I still sometimes go out with just the Vicar ;)

And oh how that Vicar so quickly became beloved! I've never read fanfiction in my life, but here I am now. I just turned 30 last year and I'm scouring the internet for fics and fanart of this man. Lamenting the complete lack of merch. Is it any wonder? I definitely feel he's the most well explored character in the game. It's a pity I couldn't explore his body. Not only do I find him attractive and fun to have around, but by the end of his quest I felt a deeper connection to him, as I saw my own journey with deconstructing religion reflected in his story. Frankly, I felt most of the other characters' quests felt like afterthoughts in comparison, and I was hoping for a little more.

There are some other rough edges to the game for me as well. I was greatly aggravated by the level cap being sat at 36. I'm playing the og version with DLC installed. I had no idea it was coming and was frustrated I couldn't tweak the characters further. And of course, combat became a waste of time as it was no longer rewarding by mid to late game. I essentially played the entirety of Peril on Gorgon and the last few missions of the main campaign without earning a single shred of xp. I appreciate that I can take certain companions to boost my skills that I'm weak at, but preferred to take companions I liked and let my clothing do the supplemental work for us. Unfortunately this was a very tedious task without a load out system or any way to sort the armor by affect. One wonderful perk I must sing the praises of, however, is the ability to travel while over-encumbered! If only the map itself weren't so darn cumbersome! I never took on any flaws in my first playthrough, and think I'll save that for my low intelligence run, so I can't comment on that system. It did not look appealing to me while playing on easy.

One last thought before I sum up my opinions here. The DLC. Peril on Gorgon was fine. I'm disappointed I didn't get an Archibald Excelsior outfit for Max, but it's fine. I think it was a mistake to play it after Murder on Eridanos though... because I LOVED Murder on Eridanos. It felt bigger, more exciting. Different. It was such a blast to play and I think it stuck out to me more than any other part of the game.

The biggest complaints one can have with The Outer Worlds somewhat slink away when you remember the limited time and budget Obsidian had. I wanted more places to explore. I wanted more fleshed out world building and companions. I wanted a longer third act. A more satisfying conclusion. I admit, I hate that the crew drifted a part. Most of these things could be addressed in the sequel, but the fact that we won't get them for the Halcyon Colony and the Unreliable Crew saddens me to my core. If they add romance in the sequel, that would be wonderful. But if I won't be romancing Vicar Max then what's the point... *sigh*

Hey, maybe we can get a game where the Unreliable crew is reunited to solve another murder mystery?

Eh, it could happen.

[bardofavon]

Hi! I just recently discovered your blog because of the post about comments.

And it was the most precious thing I ever read.

I suffer from social anxiety, and sometimes even leaving comments on fan fics makes me sweat, but I have managed to cope with it most healthily. Besides, my English has improved a lot, so I can write comments that match better my thoughts and personality.

I recently had an experience with an author,, who even reached me through Tumblr to thank me for a comment I deleted.

The thing is, I had a bad experience with an author, where I mentioned this fan fic they wrote and I enjoyed it so much, that discovering they write for another fandom I adore made me so happy. But, this author took it in the wrong way...

So, going back to the author, that reached me... I deleted my comment because, the fan fic I read of them before, is now orphanded. And, when I commented on this new fan fic (from a totally different fandom), I told them I enjoyed their other work (I even decided not to mention the name of the fan fic, just being cautious) but, I had second guesses and decided to delete my comment.

I never thought the author would send me a DM thanking me for that comment.

It was unexpected, to say the least. But sweet.

Also, I write fan fics. They don't receive a lot of comments, but I don't mind. I'm aware there are a lot of reasons for people not writing comments, but, now I need to think about if I had ever been perceived as rude, intimidating, or scary.

I have a lot to think about.

Sorry I let this sit in my ask box for so long!!!! I felt like it deserved a thoughtful response. ❤️ It was so sweet of you to tell me this. It’s been encouraging to see how many people agree with me, and simultaneously discouraging to see how many readers have had such terrible personal experiences interacting with authors. Obviously I think most authors are kind and receptive to comments, so it’s sad to see how many people might have missed out on kind and thoughtful comments because a handful of people are mean and inflammatory.

Obviously it’s such a nuanced issue, especially when you factor in language barriers, anxiety, neurodivergence, etc. it all feels so much harder than it needs to be.

It was good that author reached out and DM’d you about your comment!!!! I probably would have done the same thing tbh. even when I get triple notifications that someone’s edited their comment a few times I read all the versions and compare, lol.

It’s kind of crazy because back in the day on ffn I got some BRUTAL comments (someone told me my dialogue made my fic unreadably bad 😭) and those people were objectively assholes saying that to someone with “13 years old” in their bio. but also….I would not be the writer I am today without the criticism I received. nowadays if I was averaging dozens of comments a chapter and then I post several chapters with only a handful I have no idea if people have stopped reading/engaging because the problem is with the pacing, they don’t like the direction it’s going, etc. or if life got in the way. if saying your true reactions was still commonplace I’d be able to have a truer gage of what’s going on behind the scenes.

I’m the one posting my work online, and I’m responsible for my own emotional health in terms of reacting to what people say to me. people are allowed to leave mean comments, the internet is public. but I’m allowed to be hurt by them. but also, if I respond rudely, other people have a right to choose not to leave comments on my work in the future.

idk where I’m going with this except to say it’s hard work, both being a reader and being a writer. there’s no solution aside from everyone working together to be more loving and understanding across the board.

my post was originally just a heads up to my followers I know read my fic who might not comment about my personal preferences, not a universal “this is objective and universal for all readers and writers” so it’s been interesting to see it taken as such. crazy how many people can take a post about taking things in good faith in such bad faith!!!! so I’m very glad to hear that it hit for you ♥️ asks like this make the 10,000 angry notes in my activity feed feel worth it 😂

[spankingwishes2]

Olympics Watching Party

We got invited to an Olympics watching party - sure to be a great time!  For me, seeing the events, for my girlfriend, socializing with everyone not so interested…

and then I discovered that my ex was there…

Everyone knows you don’t want your ex-girlfriend talking with your current girlfriend - so I made a real effort to keep them separated.  I paid Dawn a lot of attention and steered her away from places my ex, Meredith, was mingling - and still managed to catch all the better moments on one of the dozen screens around the house.

That went well for awhile - until Dawn went off to the bathroom and I didn’t want to miss the Relay.  I hadn’t realized how long she’d been gone until I turned around and she and M were sitting on the couch together!!!   

By the look on her face I could bet that they had gotten to ‘how’s the whole spanking thing going?’ - which, up till now, Dawn knew nothing about!  You see, Meredith and I had… well, I’d asked her to keep me well-disciplined with spankings.  I mean, I could tell she’d be open to it (and was she ever!).  Dawn, on the other hand, I wasn’t so sure - she’s a lot more middle-of-the-road…

I’d asked M to be strict, and strict she was!  She took to it like a duck to water and dove right in.  When she decided I needed a sore bottom, she made sure I got one - and never a little bit sore, either!

I had always thought Dawn might be shocked, so I hadn’t mentioned it over these past six months - and maybe it was just that we’d been drinking, but she seemed pretty enthused!  (Meredith has that effect on people.)  I knew right away that anything M didn’t tell her right now would be covered in one or more follow-up conversations, probably over drinks and appetizers!  Things like how I’d bought her a really solid hairbrush and a cane… which she’d returned to me since she figured I’d have more use for them than I did.  The fact that I had them hidden away would probably come to light…

Or how we’d shopped together for slippers and sandals that had the right mix of style and comfort for her - and discomfort for my bottom!  Along with her ‘complete control’ (over spankings) and ‘real tears’, ‘on the bare’, and corner-time policies… let alone mentioning how aroused I get just at the prospect of being spanked - or even scolded, or threatened!  (Hopefully M would include just how much she enjoyed my ‘thanks, appreciation, and apologies’…)

And let’s not forget passwords to my Tumblr account and my video-clips folder…

[isabellebissonrouthier]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

Tagged by @queen-tashie!

Tagging @drawnecromancy @lady-grace-pens @aestatismors @mjjune @garthcelyn @coffeewritesfiction @jamieanovels

How-to: Post Seven Snippets, from different stories or the same, it's up to you. Tag seven people to play next.

I'll do a handful of snippets from my WIP @49-ibr! It's a set of three novellas, combined into one volume

***

Adonis began to laugh, as if that were all that resided in his belly. He removed his mask, tossing it into the air, catching it, before hanging it on his belt with a ragged cream ribbon.

His curls were the same midnight as his magic of the Dark, and his black-and-white eyes were speckled night skies, filled with that which the gods did not permit them to know. Stars, shimmering like diamonds, were scattered across his deep brown skin: the only visible cluster being the dozen that climbed his neck like ivy on a wall. Aveline’s eyes lingered.

***

Aveline swallowed, fiddling with her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to,” she said. “I want to give my kingdom the queen it deserves, no matter what I must sacrifice to do so.”

Thalissa huffed, but it bordered on bitter merriment. “It appears we understand each other more than we thought. I will give my kingdom the queen it deserves, no matter who I must sacrifice to do so.”

***

“Is that all you’ve got, Lucah?”

Clash. Dodge.

“The great follower of Blood. The fearsome pirate.”

Block. Clash.

“Are you more of a weakling, a fool than the rumours suggest? If you cannot battle me – hardly trying at all – who are you to follow a captain such as yours?”

Duck.

***

The dragon shifted on the spot, sending streaks of glimmering light through the shadows of the room. Every cage was caked in dirt and blood, with a stench of rot and decay.

“I am older than Beake,” it finally said. “I am older by millennia, by more than you can comprehend. And there is no longer anything new to see. Have you ever lived so long, and done all there is to do?”

“You’re… bored?”

***

She grinned with spiky teeth. “Did I scare you?” she squealed, darting all around, making his head spin. “Did I? Did I? Did I?”

Lucah glared. “No, you did not.”

Ocellia cackled even louder, her tail swishing back and forth. “I did! Oh, silly Lu. I would never hurt you!” Her grin sharpened. “I’d have to move ships. And I love Dackon too, too much!”

***

“You’re getting kinda pathetic, aren’t ya, Lu?”

Lucah jolted, his head snapping to the source of the voice.

A bed of water floated above the sea, just beside the docked ship. There lay Ocellia, with her bare chest and shimmering scales and look of sweet, sweet mockery.

Lucah scowled, slamming his flask onto the table, jolting the cards, though the inebriated gamblers hardly noticed. “Excuse me? Who are you to call me pathetic?”

***

Dackon had been his first, but Lucah could not imagine anything greater.

Well, perhaps sex after a gruesome murder – a victory in battle – would be something greater: something unlike the pleasure Dackon had already given him.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #63 – Saga, Book 1 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples

I first starting reading Saga a literal decade ago (I think literally because Rachel Maddow recommended it on a podcast? Which, god, what a 2010s sort of sentence). I absolutely loved it at the time, and read intermittently until it went on an extended hiatus. So extended, in fact, that I’d kind of assumed the series was dead and only learned it had restarted a couple years ago quite recently. So, seeing as I am now in need of a new comic, I figured I’d restart from scratch and work up to the new stuff. It holds up! (and the letters to the editor are a fascinating cultural time capsule).

The series follows Alana and Marko – star-crossed lovers who eloped together from opposite sides of a brutal and galaxy-spanning race-war – and their newborn daughter Hazel as they evade the numerous forces trying to see them all murdered before than can become an embarrassment. The first arcs of this are most one long blind panic finding transport off-world and only afterwards deciding upon a destination, it’s only in the last volume (with the pointed assistance of Marko’s parents) that there’s any thought of finding stability or a status quo. Along the way, both the family and the series collect a wider and wider circle of colourful hangers-on – and the narrative begins switching focus to give real narrative focus and character arcs to three different groups that find themselves tracking down the family. None of them are particularly happy lives, but they all make for very compelling drama.

The best way to describe this is I suppose a ‘science-fantasy dramedy’. Which sounds viscerally and violently wrong, but the comedy and the drama are both absolutely vital motors keeping it running. And this is the incredibly rare work that actually makes them work together seamlessly. It’s an incredibly vulgar book in a dozen different ways, but the characters are all plausible and compelling, and once you have granted the slightly contrived explanation for why both governments care so immensely about Marko and Alana the plot coheres enough to never take you out of the story. Which is helped by the pacing being fast and tight in a way that always kept me (at least) engaged. I do deduct points for the wise author character basically looking directly at the fourth wall and saying ‘and the profound message of my work is-’ (moreso because said message is truly eye-roll-inducingly vapid and dumb, granted), but that’s easily forgiven.

The comedy was...more hit-or-miss. There is a lot of clever wordplay and funny, high-context character beats. There are also a bunch of just absurd or striking visual gags or background details that really work. And then there is the giant with balls so big and hideous that they almost crush someone to death.

It’s been said (by people with far more knowledge of and investment in the medium than I) that mainstream American comics are these incredible wells of repressed sexuality – full of physically implausible women dressed for a burlesque and with panels framed by a particularly sleazy tabloid photographer, but oddly coy about actually talking about or including sex itself. Which tracks with my limited experiences, but might just be bullshit I don’t know – what I do know is that Saga is basically the exact opposite of that.

Which is to say, this is an intensely sexual comic, but an atypically non-sexualized one. Which is a bit of an odd distinction, but compare how Saga shows an uncensored orgy and how any given artist at a con draws prints of Power Girl and you’ll get the idea. This is on balance a very good thing, occasional junior-high-level visual gags and gross-out humour aside. Sex is a part of life, of varying importance to different people but something present and shaping the world regardless (and Marko and Alana very much do believably seem like a couple that’d have a kid together without a huge excess of planning beforehand).

Aside from Alana, Marko and Hazel (and hangers-on including a phantom babysitter and Marko’s somewhat-approving parents), the various groups hunting them get a really surprising amount of page-count – The Will, Lying Cat and Prince Robot are all basically main characters in their own right, and Gwendolyn, Sophie, Upsher and Doff aren’t fair off. It’s an immense accomplishment that a series of 28-30 page comics manages to bounce between so many characters and always keep them all moving, both physically and emotionally. (The character work and character design of this is worth at least the price of admission on its own, really).

The thing that most makes me love the comic is, I think, how it will introduce characters and tell you explicitly they are murderers and monsters – and then show them struggling and risking their life out of guilt or altruism or love, show them falling for people and being part of rich social worlds, show the trauma and baggage and shitty relationships that made them who they are. Make you care about them and root for them, want them to accomplish what they need to to get a happy ending – and then have them destroy something or kill someone else you’ve grown to care about. Aside from the really obvious stuff about intolerance and war, it’s one of the most consistent themes of the series that monsters have lives and loves too, which is frankly something I wish more stories (and just, people) took to heart.

The setting is glorious, in a ‘mural on the side of a stoner van’ sort of way. Laser guns and spaceships that are giant flying trees, a kingdom of robots with TVs for heads and the planet-sized egg of what’s basically a living black hole – nothing that’s designed to bear scrutiny, but endlessly inventive and evocative and clearly very fun for the artist.

The most striking thing is that – even for now, let alone fucking 2012 – the comic is just incredibly diverse. Even leaving aside the really weird or cartoonishy exaggerated species there’s more diversity in body type and silhouette in one crowd scene of Saga than in most Hollywood movies I’ve seen recently. Same with race and sexuality—the whole setting seeming functionally queernorm except for the one couple whose character arc requires that they come from Planet Homophobia is slightly eyeroll inducing but again, compared to the early 2010s norm it’s soaring so high above the bar you can’t even see the ground.

So yeah, have fallen entirely back in love with it. Can’t wait to start in on Book Two.

[merryjuan]

I deleted my facebook and Instagram heres the aftermath two months later

So back in May of 2021 my Facebook account was hacked and the hacker enabled 2FA. I explain it in detail here. Basically, if this happens to your Facebook account its extremely unlikely you will be able to recover your account or data. Incredible to me that a billion-dollar company would not have more caution for users’ data in this instance. So, I decided that I would not be getting a new Facebook account and even used google plus as an interim (RIP google plus). I just could not get over that Facebook would not be able to recover me my account despite multiple attempts at verifying my identity. I honestly wish for the day Facebook goes the way of myspace, why did we ever turn our back on my space? Tom, customizable websites, HTML and CSS, top friends, music on your page, way better than Facebook profiles even today granted Facebook did have some major improvements but still myspace was a good website with a lot of nice custom features and we still traded it for Facebook. In a way I felt a personal grudge against Mark Zuckerberg but continued to support him thru WhatsApp and Instagram. Up until May 2023 I had Instagram and WhatsApp. After some careful thinking I decided that I would delete those accounts too. It was something that I thought about for a while as it is a pretty big decision, but I ultimately decided this was a net positive for me. In the two months since I can say I have no regrets deleting these social media accounts. I still have twitter, TikTok and snapchat but I spend far less time on those accounts than I ever did on Facebook or Instagram, even since deleting my time spent on those apps have not changed and overall, my screen time is down to 30% less than what it was when I had Instagram and Facebook. I am considering a full social media purge but have yet to go thru with that. I will say that there are out of the nearly 1000 accounts of combined followers and following accounts there are only a few dozen people who I genuinely miss seeing there updates and ease of contact, some people who i may sadly never see or speak to again, but otherwise it has made no difference in my social life. In general the people who I don’t see often seem more happy to see me since my digital replica isn’t accessible anymore and the same goes for the people I see often. I also think that some people think I blocked them or something else and took it personal, not realizing I deleted my account for my own personal reasons that did not include any particular individual. Deleting your social media account is a big decision that you have to make for yourself, I would recommend downloading any available data before doing so. I’d also recommend reaching out to a few people personally you’d like to keep in touch with or to write a farewell post (I did the former) before closing a huge avenue of social interaction. There are still some people who I did lose contact with but that’s life, it goes on. Ultimately for me I think it has been a good decision and is another thing to add to the list of changes I’ve made during my journey of personal development. I’ve had no regrets my screen time has gone down giving me time to do other things instead and I feel more present overall in my day-to-day life.

[a-chuffed-floating-panda]

A love in the eye of the hurricane ch15 (unedited)

(Originally posted 8 August 2022. slightly better edited chapter)

Jamyang was right in her observations about Gawa being someone to get her arrows early. She’d seen her talent nurtured by the teachers at Taktsang throughout the years she visited.

Gawa’s attempt at brushing her compliments aside never worked. She tried. Jamyang would give her the kudos for that.

She’s visited quite a few times now that she thought about it. She’s filled out fifteen sketchbooks and journals with notes and watercolour paintings neatly stacked by her bookshelf. Her sibling and best friend teased her about it, but it’s among her prized possessions.

It’s in the late winter, when she’s sixteen winters and eight moons, that Gawa got her arrows at thirteen winters and four moons in the meditation caves of Mt. Agari. 

The master herself- Gawa hated it when she called her that- had invited her to be one of a small dozen of people that got to tattoo a yantra on her during the ceremony. Jamyang received the invitation in the middle of a lecture, which she later had to sneak out of to properly react to the news.

Cintsha, the flying delivery panda, gave comforting licks and nuzzles when she started panicking at the fact that she was invited to tattoo someone. Like, needle, ink and skin. Perman-no, something that lasts for years. If she messed up, then it would serve as a constant reminder until it blurred out or faded with old age.

She could draw well, paint even better, but tattoo someone? And Gawa, of all people? The thought alone started a fight between a chowder of crococats in her stomach. Jamyang wished it was the baby lemurs fighting. Those were easier to deal with; Even when they fought over custard pie, it was easier to deal with them than the crococats.

“What is it?” A hand touched her shoulder. “You left rather abruptly.” She glanced up to see Sister Jetsun’s gentle grey eyes. 

Cintsha growled when she scratched behind his ear, a weak spot of his.

“Gawa invited me to be one of the people to tattoo her during her ceremony.” She said, handing the letter over to her and placing Cintsha on her lap. Petting him to calm down.

“Is it that you don’t want to go?”

“Of course I want to go!” Jamyang didn’t get why the corners of Sister Jetsun‘s mouth quirked up. “But to tattoo someone?”

“You’re going to tattoo your students when you become a teacher, you know.”

“I know.” She huffed, “But that’s not now, and besides, it’s different.”

“How so?”

“Gawa isn’t my student. She’s my friend.” 

“Jaya’s your friend too, so is Nyima, Ghamo, Sangye…”

“It’s the same thing! If they’d asked me to tattoo them during their ceremony, I’d panic too. I’d want it to be perfect.” 

Sister Jetsun was quiet and Jamyang angrily petted Cintsha.

“You get to sketch the tattoo you want to do with paint, so think of it like you’re painting the paintings you send her every month.” She handed the letter back. “You have time to practise, too. I could show you if you want.”

Jamyang was quick to accept the offer.

She practised outside of the temple grounds since her practise required animal skin as a canvas and she didn’t want to break the rules at the temple. Sister Jetsun showed her how to apply the paint, how to hold the bamboo needle and how to tattoo. 

“You need to pay close attention when you’re tattooing.” She said, “a good outline and line work are the fundamentals of any tattoo. Most people tattoo with a specific rhythm so that it won’t be too uncomfortable for the person being tattooed.”

“What sort of rhythm?” Jamyang had painted the outline of a tree, Sister Jetsun had painted the outline of a lemur.

“There’s many. I use the 3, 4 rhythm from the poems.” She dipped the needle into a bowl filled with black ink. “It’s easier to get good line work when you’re following a rhythm or something consistent of sorts, in my opinion.” She said, “When I first tattooed someone, my lines were so inconsistent and spotty, it caused them more pain than needed when I had to redo them.” Sister Jetsun smiled wryly at the memory. At least that’s what Jamyang thought she did.

It was her turn to dip her needle into the ink filled bowl.

“But there are those that don’t need a rhythm, wanna try?”

She stared at her sketch for a couple of seconds, her fingers gripping at the bamboo absentmindedly. It’s just animal skin. You can mess up here. Why are you so nervous? 

“Yeah. Yes, I would like to try.”

Jamyang ended up messing up on the shading, and some of the line work regarding the branches. 

“Don’t be too upset. This is good for your first try.” Sister Jetsun nudged her shoulder with her fist. “Her ceremony will be during the first month of next year. Not as if the seasons change here, but it’s late summer. You have months to practice.” Jamyang stressed over her practice work, regardless of Sister Jetsun’s attempt at comforting her.

She snuck the animal skin into the temple by hiding it in the sleeves of her robe, sped over to her room, folded and hid it in between the books on her bookshelf.

The blacksmith she visited, recommended by Izumi and Oshima, gave her the most confused look when she said she wanted to have a sword made.

“Are you sure?” His voice was gruff, but his confusion made it soft. He waved his fingered at her. “But aren’t you a nomad? You’re not supposed to have swords, are you?”

“It isn’t for me, it’s for my friend.” She said. “They’re going to have their master test soon.” Technically true, they were called ‘tests’ at Taktsang. What came after was the ceremony. “And I wanted to get them a gift for when they pass.”

He thumbed his chin. “Your friend is a sword user?” Jamyang nodded, “They are.” A sword user, bo staff user, chain user and kama user, she listed off in her head. Gawa could use many more weapons to a high level of mastery- “I’m not a master Jamyang, I just know how to use them”- whereas she was content with her staff, senbon, shuriken and jian; they’re hidden in a secret compartment under her bed. She would get reigned with terror from the Elders if they found out about them.

“Well,” he said, and picked up a piece of paper and a brush. “This is an unusual request, but I accept it. What type of sword do you want?” Jamyang fumbled, having expected to argue with the blacksmith to commission the sword, but she pulled out a note from her bag after collecting herself.

“I want a changdao. It’s like the odachi or the nagamaki.” She further explained at his confused expression. “I’ve written the details here.” Jamyang handed him the note.

“Hmm, this can be quite ex-,”

“I have the money to pay the full price and a little more.” She’s sold- some visitors at the temple saw her paintings and wanted to pay, and she’s collected alms while out on trips.

Most of the money from alms trips went to the temple, but Sister Tsering allowed her to keep a small share of it. She’s always done that.

“You came prepared, huh?”

“I did.” Jamyang didn’t know how many times Izumi had assured her that this would be fine! Don’t worry about it Jamyang! 

She didn’t want to think of how many times it possibly was, either.

“How old are you?” He looked up from her note.

“I’m fifteen winters.” Jamyang paused for a moment, wondering if she should clarify; there were a few individuals who didn’t get it.

“… winters?”

“I’m technically sixteen. I was born in the late spring, but at the temple we count ages in how many winters and moons you’ve lived.”

“Ah… okay.” He looked back down at the note. “You’re the youngest that’s come to me requesting something like this. Your friend is your age then?”

Gawa was approximately three years and four moons younger than her, being born in the late summer (technically early autumn, but seasons didn’t change in the mountain range by the temple) a week after the smoke festival. Did he need to know that? Jamyang thought that he didn’t.

“They are.”

Sister Jetsun said she was becoming good at it, but Jamyang thought she was decent. ‘Decent’ still meant that she could mess up, and she didn’t want to mess up.

So she practised more. More than she probably needed to, but practice was practice. Good times to make it become muscle memory.

After a lot of deliberation with herself and many sketches, Jamyang chose her tattoo of choice to be a lotus flower, because she wished her friend well on her path to enlightenment, with some additional mantras of her liking. Gawa was nyingma-pa, so the mantra of Guru Padmasambhava was an obvious choice.

Maybe the mantra of Chenrezig, the green dölma and Öpakme too? Adding onto the mantra of Guru Padmasambhava, she could always add his seven-line prayer too.

Jamyang stared down at her half-finished sketch. How was she going to fit all of it in?

Jaya found her agonising over it in her room, put her sketch aside for her, and dragged her out.

“But I’m not done-,”

“You can finish later. We’re drinking some tea and going gliding after that.”

“… jasmine tea?” She rolled through the choices of tea in the cabinets in the kitchen. Jasmine was the current favourite.

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “who do you think I am? I know how you like your teas.”

Jamyang didn’t tell her she steeped the tea for a little too long. There was a bitter underlining flavour every time she drank some of her tea.

But Jaya looked so proud of herself, and she didn’t want to ruin that. It wasn’t too bitter. She could easily ignore it.

“It’s better than last time, right?”

Jamyang smacked her lips together after her last sip. “… yes.” Jaya steeped it for way longer the last time she made tea. It was barely drinkable, but she powered through for Jaya’s sake. But It was better this time. “It’s better this time.”

Jaya’s grin was worth some slightly bitter tea.

They flew over the clouds, and Jaya talked her into doing a risky loop. She didn’t really want to, but Jaya pouted at her from her left and Jamyang ended up doing it.

No one was immune to her pouts. 

She started a smoke trail behind her, did a big loop- Jaya ‘whoo-ed’ behind her- and spun in circles and spirals, just like apa had taught them the first time he came to visit. According to ama, she and Yara apparently got their gliding skills from him.

Jamyang didn’t see it as a skill or something special to brag about, but it explained why she and her sister learned complex gliding tricks quicker than their classmates.

She couldn’t explain it either when she was asked by her classmates how she did a trick Sister Gyalwo had done during their staff classes when they were eleven winters. 

She’d shrugged her shoulders when Norbu had asked her once. I don’t really know how to explain it. She answered. But what do you do when you fly? The thangka’s on the walls to the dining hall had just been repainted and she’d looked at them as she answered. I lean into the wind as I fly, and I don’t keep myself straight all the time. As I fly, I lean a little to the right or left. I only keep myself straight if I have to fly forward. You know the technique that’s taught at Tanah lot? I use that too, but not to the full extent, just a little. Norbu had that frown on her face that told she didn’t understand what she just said. I think I get it. 

Norbu got it after a few tries under her tutelage. Jaya, on the other hand, flew straight into one of the temple towers when she first tried it. She still almost crashes the other times she tries her way of flying, but she got by unscathed somehow.

“That was awesome!” Jaya exclaimed when they landed. “That was just- I, you were- woah!” Jamyang ducked her head at her gushing. “Thank you.” Jaya grinned and punched her shoulder. 

“Do you feel better now?” There was still an anxious buzz under her skin, but it wasn’t as bad now as when she agonised over her sketch designs. “I do, a little.” Jaya took it as a victory and dragged her over to the tower edge and sat down, urging her to sit down with her.

How could Jamyang refuse her?

“You’ll do fine, you know.” She leaned her head against her shoulder. “You’re doing the thing again where you think too much about something that you don’t need to think much about.”

Jamyang swallowed. She knew that already. “I would’ve been like this had it been you or any of my other classmates as well. I want to do well regarding the people I care for.” The thought of messing up any tattoos, something that lasted for a very long time, terrified her.

“I’ll wear whatever you tattoo on me with pride, even if you mess up too, because you, my best friend, were the one to tattoo it.” Jaya said. “I know that many people think the same.”

She would do the exact same thing if Jaya messed up a tattoo on her as well. It wouldn’t be upsetting because it was Jaya who did it. Jaya’s her best friend. It was something to laugh about and embarrass her with when they would get old. “You’re thinking loudly again.”

Jamyang sighed, leaning her head against hers. “Do you have a design in mind?”

“Yeah, sorta. Still haven’t figured out how to fit it all in, but I have the idea.” 

“Tell me about it, enlighten me if you would.” She collected her rampant thoughts, a simple lotus flower with the added mantras of her choice, but she didn’t know how to fit the mantras into the design, and nothing so far seemed to fit.

“Take a break then.” It sounded simple to do, but she tried that and only stayed away for three hours. “I’ve tried.”

“Well then, I’m helping you take a break. For three days, if I see that you’re working on something related to the design, then I’m shredding it to pieces.”

She wetted her lips as her hands fidgeted nervously on her lap. Jaya always held up her end of the deal. 

Jamyang looked up at her bookshelf. The spot she’s been hiding the animal skins in was full. The wedge between the Pearls of Laghima and The Stories of the Thunder Dragons was as clear as a stuffed lemur trying to steal more food.

She has been thinking of a couple of designs. It was tempting to pull out her sketchbook and start sketching the idea, but Jaya would figure it out. She’s had these mandatory check ups with her throughout the day to see if she’d been trying to figure out the design by checking her hands for blisters, paint splatter and charcoal dust.

Jaya didn’t need to know that most of the wedge between the books resulted from her mindlessly poking with her bamboo needle at animal skin for 1-2 hours at night after her training sessions.

There was no thinking of designs. She’d come to seeing weird shapes and patterns on the skin, and it was a good mind destresser. Almost like the walking meditation that’s taught at Wat tham suea or the ‘wu-wei’ state that Aden talked about.

Never think when you’re doing something, only do. The act is at its finest when you’re not thinking of the useless movements; he said one time when he visited and found her reflecting over a painting.

Think of your breath while you do something. Be mindful of each inhale. It feels a lot like meditation, doesn’t it? Palden’s voice, her teacher’s voice, echoed in her mind; Sister Tsering had been encouraging when she said that she’d expressed her want to have more teachers, a few others, not so much.

Palden wrote in her recent letter that she was going to be at the mask festival at Tanah lot, hoping that she would be there so that they could spar. Apa and ama wrote they would be there as well. 

Opame had also invited her last year to come next year, so Jamyang couldn’t exactly refuse. Instead of lotus flowers, Jamyang thought about what mask she was going to make. 

Oak wood maybe? Ooh, colourful mandalas around the eyes sound like a cool idea.

She woke up to little Jampo, a brownish flying panda that was gifted to her by Gawa as a birthday present for when she turned nine, curled up into a ball on her chest. Jamyang didn’t know the specifics of her birthdate, so Anzan ended up choosing May 27. As the date to celebrate her and Yara’s birthdays.

Ama had told them they were born minutes after midnight on the 28th, so he wasn’t too far off.

“Good morning.” Jampo nuzzled into her touch when she scratched his head. Hugging him close to her chest, she sat up, smiling to herself when she felt his paws reach out to grip at her shoulders.

As she stepped out of her night garments and into her daily wear - not that different from when she was younger- a mix between the robes foreign scholars and pilgrims were given to wear when they stayed at the temple and the heavier robes she’d been given as she got older; she set Jampo down on her desk and tied an orange piece of cloth around Jampo’s neck. 

He huff quacked his satisfaction of her choice.

She hadn’t been too fond of the training robes when she was a child, only wearing them when she had to. The reason was silly, now that she was older. Jamyang remembered getting looks for wearing the ‘scholar’ robes when she was younger, but then Yara wanted to wear them too and then Jaya tried them, then she saw Dolkar and Norbu alternating in between the robes when they didn’t have classes. 

Jamyang did not forget how Nyima walked into the classroom, wearing the scholar robes when they were six winters.

And then other students and teachers started wearing them too; she’d stared incomprehensibly when Sister Tsering wore them in class once.

“What would you say if I got Jaya to create a robe for you?” Jampo looked up at her, tilting his head, intrigued. “You know, robes like the little cubs wear? You get to float without doing the work.”

She floated in her training robes. That was the sole reason she didn’t like them. Her robes were big on her and it took a good thirty to forty seconds to float down when she had to jump to reach the highest shelf in the library. 

And the robes they had given them to wear now were heavy. She preferred the lighter robes from Chagri, the Northern temple in the south and Taktsang much more. But she was diligent and wore the robes given to her, even if Elder Yeshe and Sister Diki would look at her out of the corner of their eyes the times she wore a dhonka or a simple collar buttoned shirt instead of the flowy over robes that had to be belted down with a sash.

She wore the robes, dresses and underskirts, but the fact that she often disregarded the flowy over robes was apparently too much.

“Chirr.” He sat down.

“Yeah?” She buttoned her shirt up and tied a sash around her waist. There wasn’t a need to. She could perfectly go without it, but it was where she hid her pouch of senbon and shuriken. Jamyang looked into her mirror. It was a good look as well: a loose orange button-up shirt, a saffron underskirt and a red sash.

Ghamo said it was a boyish look the first time she wore that combination.

It’s a compliment. I mean nothing bad. 

… thank you? You’ve told me I’ve looked handsome from time to time. You don’t need to tell me again… I think you look pretty today. There I gave you one too.

Ema and Nyima laughed for a good ten minutes the first time it happened.

“Chirr chirr.” He climbed up her arm, perching on her shoulder.

“Jaya has made robes for her lemurs before. She’s even made a hat for Jannu. You’d look good in a robe.”

“Huff-quack.” 

It was in the late afternoon that she paused at the door entrance on her way to another tower.

Six familiar bison lazed around on the pagoda plaza. The one wearing a saddle approached her. “Hello Asahi.” She received a huff and a lick that meant ‘hello to you, too.’

“Where is she?”

Jamyang found her in the hall dedicated to the twenty-one dölmas, studying them and writing something down.

“Hey,” she greeted. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Grey-blue eyes looked up from her notes, a grin flashed her way, and Jamyang found herself engulfed in a hug.

The world apparently didn’t want Gawa to reach a height taller than her shoulder.

“You didn’t tell me that you were coming.” She rested her chin on top of her head, glancing down at her left shoulder blade, where she wanted to place her lotus flower tattoo.

“I found something that could possibly solve a mystery, so I hurried over to see if I was correct.” She answered. “The mask festival is in three days. We were supposed to meet up then, but meeting up a little earlier isn’t wrong.” Jamyang should probably let go of her now. Giving one last squeeze around her waist, she let go.

Gawa’s hands lingered on her forearms before going back to her sides.

“Tell me, what did you find?” She looked at her forehead, where her arrow would eventually be, imagining how she would look with it.

“You know sage Bhuti?” Jamyang nodded. Of course she knew him. How could she forget? The strong, indescribable feeling she was left with after the meeting was something that would stay with her forever.

His presence was that of a strong wind, and she repeatedly touched her hair during the meeting because she would feel something tussle around with it, only to find it untouched. Her fingers would twitch in her lap, holding back the urge to touch her hair after Gawa said the room was wind proof.

She left with the feeling like she wasn’t supposed to have met him. It was difficult to describe the feeling, but the closest she could compare it to was finding an old book or scroll with secrets long thought to be lost.

Jamyang knew Sage Bhuti was someone truly magnificent. “No one knows exactly what his reincarnation or  possible incarnation line is. It’s lost history to the caves.” She held up her notebook, the recent page filled with colourful drawings and hastily scribbled down notes. “But I think I’ve found a lead!”

Looking closer, Jamyang noticed that the colourful drawings looked incredibly similar to the dölma murals on the surrounding walls.

Jampo found them later that day, flying straight into her head, biting at her hair because she forgot she was supposed to meet him at the other tower.

Jaya, who’d followed him, got a weird look on her face when she saw Gawa braiding her hair.

Jamyang didn’t really understand the theories that Gawa was talking about, but she tried listening to them, regardless.

She thought it was a possible line of dölma reincarnations, which Jamyang had never heard of before; she found no records of it either. And because there were twenty-one dölma’s, they- the dölma’s or whatever omniscient being or spirit it was, because it was still a theory-, would cycle through different rebirths, hence all the colours.

Jamyang couldn’t refute that.

Gawa spent her time hopping back and forth in between her bison and Uma when they flew to Tanah lot.

“But how are you so sure, though?” Gawa pulled another notebook out of nowhere, flipped through it and pushed it right up in her face, almost shoving her off Uma.

“Look! These are names! It’s written in manyogana and tangut and I’ve not finished decrypting it yet….”

Tanah lot was a beautiful temple, bigger than she’d expected when she first visited. The main temple was carved into large offshore rocks, with the other parts of the temple being built out into the ocean throughout the years on wooden structures and wooden poles. 

Jamyang remembered thinking that it looked like a glowing spidersnake’s web when she first visited; she flew Uma up during her first visit so that she could paint the whole temple, Opame had approved with a serious nod and complimented her generously.

Similar to her own home having stairs carved into the mountain to connect the temple for visitors, Tanah Lot stayed connected to each other with wooden bridges.

Jamyang looked down into the sea below, her brows furrowing at the long, suspicious looking shadow she saw following her and Uma.

Weird, she hadn’t seen that before.

The shadow slithered beneath the waters at high speeds. The sight should probably have alarmed her, but it didn’t. 

Jamyang continued to look at the slithering shadow, watching as it sped ahead towards the temple and… ducked? Swam down? Jamyang didn’t know. A tail peeked out of the water for a second and the shadow disappeared.

Was there a cave underneath the temple? Did the shadow take refuge there? Could it be a lair of some sorts? It tempted Jamyang to swim down and see for herself. It was a terrible idea. She didn’t even know what the suspicious-looking shadow even was!

Someone zoomed past her, leaving a so nice dust trail behind them. She coughed and quickly went to disperse the dust, looking for the perpetrator who was currently mid loop right above her. 

Jamyang rolled her eyes, recognising who it was. Seconds later, Opame dropped into her saddle.

“Great greeting.”

“I know, right?” She grinned. “Welcome!”

“You haven’t taught me that yet.”

“Oh, but I will.” Jamyang wasn’t sure if she should fear her gleeful tone. “You and Yara are the first ones to understand the secrets of our flight techniques, without needing it to be explained.” She’s still grinning. “I will teach you. Be patient.”

The mask festival was very self explanatory. It’s a festival centred around masks… and spirits.

Lost spirits, to be specific.

There are many spirits at sea, Opame said when she’d first shown her around. They’re lost and angry, and confused because they don’t understand why they’re there. She pointed at a mural depicting the sea and grey people hovering above it. They didn’t have faces. So we invite them to celebrate with us and give them faces so that they’ll be happy. 

Jamyang remembered the first mask she made. It was out of the wood from coconut trees and the abbesses and abbots had helped them shape it into masks and she’d painted it similar to the tsechu masks back home. 

She’d gifted hers to a boy around her age, that she met on one of the many bridges. The mask-he’d smiled at her and gave her a long hug before disappearing.

Hey, where’s your mask? We’re supposed to drop them into the ocean so that they’ll get them.

I gave mine away. She’d pointed to the bridge where she met the boy. I gave it away over there. He gave me a hug afterward. 

Opame had given her the most confused look she’d ever seen on her, but the abbesses and abbots had paid a little more attention to her and Yara during all of their visits after that.

She put her paintbrush down, waiting for it to dry so that she could finish the layers on the mandalas around the eyes. She was almost done. It was tempting to pull a book out, but then she’ll completely forget about the mask she’s supposed to finish painting.

Her eyes roamed the room instead, watching as people painted. Palden was painting with Koko-chan and Eastern Sister Nyima, ama and papa were painting a mask together. A faint smile tugged at her lips when she saw Jaya get red and black paint over her hands and struggle to wipe her hands clean. 

After making her round, her eyes settle on Gawa, who’s sitting at a long table in front of her. Her brows furrowed as she painted the details of a flower on the mask’s left cheek.

Jamyang imagined what she’d look like without her hair and a grey blue arrow on her forehead. She’s so young. Few of her classmates had the requirements to get their arrows. She wondered what Master Shiyi would tattoo on her arrows and what prayers the wise elders and sages would inscribe on them.

Jamyang pouted and mourned the thought that she wouldn’t be able to braid her hair for a couple of months until it grew out again.

A cold, playful wind greeted her when she floated off of Uma.

She chuckled, reaching out to it. “Hello.” It whirled around her, spinning and lifting her off the ground for a short few seconds before letting her go.

“I missed you too.” The wind ruffled her hair, whooshed around and shoved her towards the Taktsang temple grounds.

“Okay, okay.” She held the cloth wrapped changdao tightly under her arm, the snow crunched under her feet. “I’m going, see?”

Jamyang was pretty sure they threw some snow at her back. She laughed. “Entertain Uma while you’re here, okay?”

Passing the frescoes and thangka’s decorating the walls, she took a turn where a pair of stone stairs would lead her down to the cave where the tattooing would take place.

She left her gift with the lay monk that greeted her at the entrance and hurried down the steps, sneaking by the masses of people and sitting down in the front.

Anzan, in his white ceremonial robes, nudged her and Jamyang was happy that she, for once, wore her ceremonial robes before she got here. “You made it.”

“I did.”

“What made you late?”

“I almost forgot my gift and had to turn back and pick it up. It set me back by two hours.” He chuckled under his breath. “And An enthusiastic wind greeted me when I got here. It’d be rude to not greet them back.”

They giggle under their breaths, quieting down when Abbot Wang Jing and Abbess Zeya spoke.

Jamyang understood around 60% of what they said, because they spoke in drukyul and Okin, a language similar to fire speech, but completely different at the same time. She knew drukyul, but still struggled immensely with Okin.

Jamyang felt bad when she faded them out. She just wanted to get the tattooing over with. She had the design figured out, and there were wedges in between most of her books. 

Her fist balled up on her knees. In, out, in, out, calm down, you’ve practised a lot, you can do this.

Anzan gripped her elbow, pulling her up -and out of her musings- when the front row rose and marched up to the lotus throne dais where they were given bamboo needles, paint and a bowl of ink. Anzan’s grip on her elbow was firm as they made their way to where Gawa was sitting in deep meditation.

“Hello.” Jamyang startled at the greeting, almost spilling over her bowl of ink. 

“Hi.”

“I was wondering when you’d come.” Anzan grinned, silently laughing at her as he applied the paint across Gawa’s collarbones.

“Ah, I- I almost forgot something and had to hurry to pick it up.” She said, writing a line from Guru Padmasambhava’s seven prayers, her writing melting into his mantra, and then she started on the lotus petals. “It set me back by two hours.” Her fingers moved fast while sketching out the lotus flower, adding the green dölma mantra on one petal, scribbling the Chenrezig mantra under it and scribbling Öpakme mantra at last. Close to the design, the girl, Sonam Dechen, beside her was sketching out.

She’d seen one of the geometrical designs and she’d seen Choda’s yantra occasionally and had been inspired.

Writing the prayers and mantra’s in circles around the lotus flower- exception being the dölma mantra which she’d placed on a lotus petal-, with Guru Padmasambhava’s mantra and prayer being the most prominent.

“I’m happy that you’re here.” Sonam smiled for some reason as she continued sketching out her design. So did Anzan and the other people around them.

“I am too.” She ignored them, picking up her needle, dipping it in the ink bowl, and started reciting a poem from Nagarjuna in her head as she started poking.

She frowned as she worked around a small bundle of scar tissue. It wouldn’t be an issue to her tattoo. But it upset her that she didn’t know it was there. 

Did she get hit with an arrow on one of her missions and not tell me?

Her practice paid off. It was a very refreshing feeling. Jamyang finished quicker than the rest of those around her and put her needle down.

“Nice design.” Sonam complimented her, sneaking a peek at it while tattooing hers.

“I struggled to come up with one, but I’m proud of this one.” She didn’t tell her of all the animal skin wedges between the books on her bookshelf. No one needed to know that.

Abbot Wang Jing and Hayma were working on the arrow on Gawa’s forehead, Amanthi was working on the one on her left arm, Ji bong was doing the one on her left. She’s not sure of the ones doing her legs, but it looked to be Fuji and Lobsang. Or maybe it was Bankei, she wasn’t sure.

She sighed, using a wooden utensil to spread a clear gel over the tattoo. Ama had given it to her the last time she’d visited. It would help with the healing process.

Anzan had bowed deeply and picked up his items when he finished. So did Jamphel. It didn’t matter where you were sitting. They bowed deeply, collected their items, and left.

So Jamyang did the same, bowing deeply, touching her forehead to the floor, collected her items, nodding to Sonam, who nodded back at her and left.

The day after, around midday, she saw her walking out of her room. It was more of a stagger, really. Jamyang approached her and was hesitant in punching her shoulder, stopping right before it, and dabbed her fist to her shoulder instead.

“So, how are you doing?” Gawa looked up at her with groggy eyes, and walked into her arms. An act that caught her off guard. “I’m tierrd and my bozi hurts.” She slurred her words, unsure of where to place her hands. They eventually settled on her waist. Sure that it was a safe zone.

Master Shiyi’s yantra made the arrow on her head look a lot like a sea serpent. Out of all the monks and nuns, she’d only seen Hayma and Bankei with that specific yantra. They’d said there were more, but Jamyang had never met them.

“It’ll get better.”

“I, I knows.” It was concerning when she swayed in her grip.

“Do you want to rest more?”

“Absolutely not!” She pulled away from the hug. Jamyang hurried to steady her when she swayed. “Isso boring.” Was it the pain or the previous fasting that made her like this? She thought, huffing when Gawa punched the air to punctuate her statement. “Ow.” and cradle her arm at the abrupt movement.

“Do you want to get something to eat, then?”

“That, that’s shounds good.”

She’d given her a plate of rice cakes, both the sweet and savoury kind.

Gawa was still out of it as she nibbled on her food, so Jamyang took the opportunity and applied some of the clear healing gel onto her head and her arms.

Gawa turned her head with the slowest movements and stared incomprehensibly at her when she first applied the gel to her left arm, but she didn’t protest and continued eating her food.

Jamyang was gentle with her movements, but the areas were still sore and swelling.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“Issokay.”

Notes:

Heyo. Sorry, I got caught up in trying to draw the roof of a pagoda and a window, so the time just slipped away from me. That's my bad. I am writing the second part of the interlude, ideas have bothered me as I wrote this chapter and I need to get it out of my system. So, what do you think? I giggled at the thought of Jamyang accidentally making it okay to wear different clothes as a child. And her not liking the training robes because she floated for too long is such a her thing to do. And yes, Gawa has six bison.   Words: manyogana: an ancient writing system that uses the Chinese characters to represent the Japanese language tangut: was used to write the extinct Tangut language of the Xixia dynasty Tanah Lot: One of seven sea temples in Bali  tsechu: are annual religious Bhutanese festivals held in each district of Bhutan on the tenth day of a month of the lunar Tibetan calendar

[lady-wildflower]

Oh I’m one of those players! So some context for anyone who hasn’t read Kotaku’s piece or who hasn’t played it, the game this is about is called Firmament.

It came out a week or two ago, and of course, because it’s a Cyan Worlds puzzle game made by the people who made the Myst series and its spiritual successor Obduction, people had high expectations, especially since it’s been in development for half a decade and had a huge Kickstarter campaign. I bought it a few days after release, and to put it bluntly, Cyan forgot how to Cyan in Firmament. There was a bug on launch (which I didn’t get) that prevented some players from hearing the weird NPC ghost narration and so they never got most of the story, but frankly they didn’t miss much because there basically wasn’t a story. I’d describe it as a backstory masquerading as a story. However it’s worth noting that so far as I know, the story itself wasn’t AI generated. They just fucked up that badly.

But the things that Cyan would normally use to introduce life to a story were. Journals and logs and letters are the lifeblood of Cyan games, there are usually dozens of them in any given game that give context and might even expose some NPCs as lying to you which has been a thing since the first Myst, like the NPC in Firmament claims she will, but she never actually does - she just omits information that couldn’t have affected your game anyway, and so I was sitting there playing the game expecting to find out that the lady had lied to me by context clues and journals and logs, and I never got it.

And then after reading maybe three books, one of which was duplicated multiple times, I get the achievement saying I read all the books. Which somewhat bewildered me, because compared to Cyan Worlds’ previous titles I had barely read anything and the story hadn’t even made itself known other than implying there was more behind the curtain... which the game itself then narrated to me that there practically wasn’t. I straight up thought that where I found the end of the game was just going to be the end of its first act. And it was a bland predictable twist followed by a monologue about how you’ve learned so much that wasn’t even close to being true, and the so-called lie (rather, omission) is lifted as if she had ever lied to begin with. The story doesn’t make sense for its ending narration, and honestly it mocks you for not having been given any choices.

The AI message flashed by too quickly for me to read, but it just made me worry from what of it I had read before it disappeared. My literal first thought was “well no wonder this sucked you used AI.” Cyan Worlds used to be brilliant at worldbuilding and stories, but Firmament failed utterly to live up to the legacy they used to advertise it with. From the creators of Myst and Obduction!! Oh, except it’s nowhere near as good as those and we used AI to generate maybe three or four pieces of text that we’re pretending is a story.

I hope Cyan learns from this, because the reputation of their previous games is what got them so many sales on Firmament, I think - and their fans will know better next time. I was excited for Firmament, I’d grown up on Myst and had played Obduction the moment I could and enjoyed it thoroughly. But I won’t be buying the next Cyan game, if there is one, unless I hear others who’ve played it confirm that there’s no AI used and that there’s actually a story worth playing it for.

And on stuff other than story, it’s an underwhelming half-baked mess. Plagued with bugs on launch, having such a prominent “Teleport to Safe Location” button in the menu is a red flag. Some of the puzzles are so crappy I was surprised to find out they were supposed to be puzzles later, and half the time the only reason I was slowed down was because I didn’t look in the right tiny nook for a control device to connect the VR-friendly widget to.

Huh - funny that.