#Textile Spares

[bevanne46]

My Spare Time

[moltengoldveins]

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[rachanasharma1028]

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[cegantheayugipi]

The Last Padisarah Pudding, Part 3

An Alhaitham Enemies to Lovers Smut Oneshot

Link to artist

Summary: You never realized an innocent date with your best friend would set off your rival like this... He never seemed like the jealous type -- until he cornered you in the kitchen, demanding to know the nature of your friendship...

Word Count: 9.4k

Part 1

Part 2 (smut)

MINORS DNI!!! BIG SMUT BELOW THE CUT!!

Tags include: Hate sex, competitive sex, aggressive sex, hair pulling, choking, biting, orgasm denial, power dynamics, spanking, I'm so sorry I'm forgetting more but the list is just too long

You dipped your spoon into the bowl of unusually colored Padisarah Pudding in front of you, taking a bite of your favorite desert and smiling from the familiar flavors.

“Your cooking is delicious as always, Nilou!” You spoke to the redhead seated across the table. The two of you were sitting at one of the small wooden picnic tables inside the Grand Bazaar, not far from the Zubayr Theater where Nilou worked.

The dancer merely laughed, “I’m just glad we have time to enjoy it together. It’s been a while since we’ve last met.”

“That’s true, it really has been a while.” You nodded, realizing you had been incredibly busy since you graduated… At least, until the chemical “incident” that had led to your house being deemed temporarily uninhabitable by Amurta Scholars. Now that your schedule was relatively clear, you had time to hang out with your friend – your best friend, in fact. You and Nilou had known each other since you were little. Once upon a time, you wanted to be a dancer like her too… but your thirst for knowledge eventually outweighed your love for dance, and you ended up choosing the other side of Sumerian society – the one that sadly disapproved of your favorite hobby.

Despite the cultural rift that separated your young adult years from Nilou’s, you still made a consistent effort to spend time with her. During your years at the Akademiya, you enjoyed coming down to the Bazaar and dancing at the theater with your best friend. It was a wonderful way to de-stress.

“Hmm…” you trailed off as you reminisced.

“Are you lost in thought again, Y/N?” Nilou asked, resting her chin on both hands as she smiled at you.

“Ah, yeah, I was just thinking about the times we used to dance together.” You responded, your tone carrying a hint of nostalgia.

“Well, the stage is available for the next couple of hours, and I have a spare outfit you can use. Why not try a dance after we’re done with the pudding?”

“That actually sounds like a wonderful idea…” You grinned. “But speaking of pudding, do you have any extras I can take with me? After all, you invented the red Padisarah Pudding, and it doesn’t quite taste the same when I try to recreate it at home.”

“Of course! Whenever we meet, I always make sure to bring extras of your favorite dessert.” Nilou nodded.

When the two of you were finished with your desserts, you stood up from the table and dusted off your clothes.

“Actually, some dancing is exactly what I need. I should really make an effort to exercise if I keep eating so much pudding, otherwise it’ll just go to my waistline.” You joked, laughing.

“Oh, shut it! You’ve always had a beautiful figure. Don’t worry about things like that.” Nilou shook her head as she stood up with you, reaching out to give you a hug. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

You blushed at Nilou’s overt compliment. “You’re too sweet, Nilou.”

The redhead withdrew from the hug, reaching up one hand to caress your cheek.

“It’s only true.” She smiled, “Now, let’s get going.”

The redhead outstretched a hand to you, and you took it as a smile broke across your face. The two of you began to walk towards Zubayr Theater together.

Meanwhile, standing beside a vendor selling textiles, a blonde head of hair tracked the two of you as you walked away holding hands.

“Sir, did you still want the broadcloth?” The vendor asked, wondering why the blonde seemed so distracted.

“Uhm, yes.” Kaveh responded, shaking his head. “I’ll take swatches in all the colors you have.”

He was still very distracted, having been thoroughly confused by what he just witnessed. Nilou and you had just hugged, then she touched your face, then the two of you walked away holding hands… Kaveh’s eyes widened as he had a brutal realization.

‘Is she… in a relationship?’

~~~

Kaveh slammed the front door to Alhaitham’s house shut behind himself, kicking off his shoes in the entryway before stalking over to the living room table and tossing down the fabric swatches he had just bought. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing back his messy blonde bangs.

“Always making a grand entrance whenever you come home.” Alhaitham sighed, flipping to the next page of the book he was reading.

“Wh-” Kaveh spun around as he realized Alhaitham had been sitting on one of the couches this entire time, his nose buried in yet another book. “And you’re always secluding yourself away like a lone wolf, preferring to spend your time reading rather than talking to anyone.”

“Is there a problem with that?” Alhaitham responded, his eyes still locked onto the page as his gaze scanned across the lines of small letters.

“Maybe if you got up and talked to people for once, you’d find out more about Y/N too.” Kaveh sighed.

“What about her?” Alhaitham shrugged. “I spoke to her just this morning. Still stubborn and indignant, as she has been for the past week she has stayed here.”

“Did you ever stop to think it could be because we fucked her while she’s in a relationship?” Kaveh spat bluntly, his voice wavering from the intense anger and panic he felt about this situation.

Alhaitham looked up from his book. This surprised Kaveh – he had never seen Alhaitham so readily stop reading like that. The scribe gave him a perplexing look… confusion, mixed with… panic?

“What?” Alhaitham muttered.

“I saw her on a date. With that dancer at the Zubayr theater. On a date, Alhaitham!” Kaveh exclaimed.

“With who? Nilou?”

“The redhead who’s always famous for her dancing, Alhaitham.” Kaveh’s description confirmed Alhaitham’s suspicion.

“There’s no way. She never gave me any hint that she was-” Alhaitham cut himself off, his eyes moving from side to side as he thought. “Where did you see them?”

“The Grand Bazaar.” Kaveh responded flatly.

Alhaitham closed his book with one hand, the cover snapping shut with force. He abruptly stood up from the couch, tossing the book onto the living room table before walking directly towards the front door.

“Who’s being dramatic now?” Kaveh scoffed, but Alhaitham was too busy running through all of his memories looking for any hint of an answer to the question.

Were you already in a relationship?

~~~

“Wow, Nilou, this outfit is gorgeous! It looks just like yours, except the color is different.” You smiled, twirling in the mirror.

“I thought it’d suit you! That’s why I kept it around even though it doesn’t quite fit right anymore.” Nilou responded, fixing the headdress and her bangs in a vanity on the other side of the dressing room. She looked up for a second, only to see something peculiar on the back of your neck.

“Y/N, are you bruised?” Nilou questioned, getting up from her seat at the vanity and walking towards you.

“A-ah,” You blushed, your hand immediately going up to the dark purple mark that stood out now that your hair was out of the way. “Well, about that…”

Nilou let out a gasp.

“Did my dearest innocent Y/N finally get intimate with someone?”

“U-uhm, yeah…”

“And you didn’t tell me about it earlier?” Nilou questioned, far more excited than offended you had withheld this information from her. She hugged you from behind, snaking her arms around your waist. “Who was it with? Is it someone I know?”

You suddenly felt extremely shy.

“It was two people…” Your voice fell to a soft murmur.

Nilou let out another gasp, her eyes going wide.

“And one of them was Alhaitham.”

“The CLASSMATE YOU HATED?!” Nilou practically screamed. “I remember when all you would do when we hung out was rant about how much you hated him! Oh, to think how the tides have turned! I’m so happy for you!” Nilou swayed on her feet. 

“I still hate him.” You grumbled. “Smug bastard.”

“Huh? You still hate him, even though you…” Nilou trailed off, tilting her head to the side with confusion.

“Forget about it, let’s just dance!” You changed the subject, twirling on your feet and watching the fabric flare around your body.

“Alright, alright, let’s go!” Nilou nodded, understanding it was something you’d rather not talk about.

~~~

Alhaitham pushed his way through the crowds at the Grand Bazaar. He hated the busy underground market, and never came here unless he absolutely had to.

And after hearing what Kaveh had said, he really had to.

The crowd of people grew thicker and thicker as he made his way towards the center of the Bazaar, where Zubayr Theater stood. Alhaitham wondered why there would be so many people standing in place, but that was until he looked at the main stage and promptly froze in shock.

There you twirled elegantly, almost professionally, stepping in time alongside Nilou. Alhaitham couldn’t even get started on what you were wearing. He had never seen you in clothing like this, something that hugged your figure and suited you so perfectly. The fabric swayed with the tantalizing way you moved. 

Alhaitham found himself enthralled by your dance. He normally never enjoyed things like this, preferring something far more interesting like a new book. Perhaps it was because it was incredibly rare to see you so at peace, so truly happy out on the stage.

For a moment, Alhaitham doubted everything he had ever known about you. If he hadn’t spent six years at the Akademiya and his early professional career butting heads with you, he would have assumed you had only ever been a dancer.

And the way you moved in sync with Nilou…

A hand trailed over your bare stomach, Nilou’s arms moving gracefully and delicately over your body as the two of you danced. After another spin, you did the same to Nilou, and Alhaitham seethed inwardly as he saw a smile grow across the redhead’s face.

Alhaitham realized Kaveh was exactly right to say what he said. The way you moved in perfect sync with the Nilou, your bodies coming within inches of each other during certain moves, it made the dance seem almost intimate.

You and Nilou finished the dance with a twirl, coming to a rest side-by-side, one arm wrapped around each other’s waist while the other waved at the huge crowd that had gathered around the stage.

The sea of people roared, cheering and clapping for the two dancers. Alhaitham saw you let out a laugh that he couldn’t hear since the crowd was far too loud. You turned to Nilou with a flushed face and spoke something, and she nodded in response. The two of you began to walk to different parts of the stage; it seemed like you were beginning another dance.

Suddenly, Alhaitham couldn’t bear to watch anymore – he turned around and stormed away, his head now filled with far too many thoughts that he didn’t want to think.

~~~

You hummed to yourself as you walked into Alhaitham’s kitchen, carefully putting away the Padisarah Pudding that Nilou had sent home with you. It was hard not to eat it all immediately – Nilou’s specialty was your favorite food, and you truly believed you’d never get sick of eating it.

First, however, you really wanted a bath. It had been a long day for you, and you were looking forward to a luxurious soak in the guest bedroom’s ensuite bath. After all, you only had two days left before Amurta scholars would perform their inspection of your old apartment to deem it habitable once again, so you felt the need to make the most of Alhaitham’s luxurious house.

You turned around to leave the kitchen when a hand came out of nowhere, landing on the cabinet beside your head with a loud bang.

You nearly jumped at the noise – looking up, you realized it came from a glowering Alhaitham.

“What are you wearing?” Alhaitham stared down at you.

“It’s a dancing outfit, why are you even asking?” You grumbled. “Have you never seen one before?”

‘Not one on you.’

Alhaitham held back his words, despite wanting so badly to say that you shouldn’t be allowed to wear something so… provocative in public. So, instead, Alhaitham decided to cut to the chase.

“What are you and Nilou to each other?” Alhaitham questioned, narrowing his eyes.

You blinked.

Well, Alhaitham was certainly getting straight to the point.

“Excuse me…?” You muttered, baffled. What on earth was he talking about?

“It’s a simple question.” Alhaitham leaned closer to you, his eyes scrutinizing the look on your face. “I saw the two of you dancing at the Grand Bazaar. What is Nilou to you?”

You scoffed as you realized what he was concerned about.

“What are you, jealous?” You smirked. ”I thought you hated the Grand Bazaar. Why were you even there?”

“Just answer my question.” Alhaitham narrowed his eyes at you, his expression growing more and more frustrated.

“Hah.” Alhaitham’s insistence confirmed it. “I’m not surprised you’re jealous of Nilou, you’re just a feeble scholar after all.”

Alhaitham seethed inwardly as he leaned in closer to your face, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s a simple question.” He spoke. All he wanted was an answer from you, so he would have to ignore your childish teasing until he got one.

“She’s my best friend, you ASSHAT!” Your voice rose into a shout.

“Then why have I never seen you two together before?” Alhaitham questioned.

“You would have if you ever bothered to visit the Bazaar.” You scoffed. “But you’re too busy acting like Academics are superior to anything else in Sumeru, with your stupid superiority complex that makes you feel like you have to run laps around your own professors to have any sense of achievement.”

“As if you aren’t the same.”

“That’s because I’m NOT!” You spat, your lips forming a bitter frown. “I used to be a dancer before I joined the Akademiya… but you’d never understand that side of Sumerian Culture.”

“Dancing is a pointless waste of time. You were far better off in the Akademiya.” Alhaitham spoke sharply.

Your eyes went wide.

“Fuck you, Alhaitham.”

The scribe didn’t realize how hurtful his words truly were to you… he was simply glad you chose to become a scholar because otherwise, he would have never met you in the first place.

“So you and Nilou really are nothing more than friends?” Alhaitham pressed further, only deepening your wound.

“Is that all you fucking care about? Asshole.” You averted your gaze from the scribe that towered over you, slipping out from where he had nearly sandwiched you against the wall.

You were done with the conversation. You were going back to the guest bedroom to take a bath like you had been planning to do after a long day in the city. 

“Wait,” Alhaitham followed after you, completely disregarding the way you made it very obvious that you no longer wanted to speak to him.

“You really never know when to stop.” You scoffed, spinning around and stalking towards him until you were face-to-face again. “Why do you feel the need to hear that Nilou and I were only ever friends? Are you really that jealous?”

“I want to make sure I didn’t force you to cheat.” Alhaitham spoke flatly, his tone unusually bland as he was finally forced to voice the worry that had been plaguing him for the whole day.

“Oooooh you SELFISH BASTARD!” You roared. “Do you really think you made me do all of that with you and Kaveh? I can make choices too! I’m not some child or some idiot you can just manipulate to feed your selfish desires, no matter how much you wish that was the case!”

As you shouted, you placed a palm flat on Alhaitham’s chest, pushing him backwards until his back collided with the wall beside a doorway.

Alhaitham was speechless at your sudden shove, having never seen you act in such a way. This time, he had his back against the wall, and you were leaning far too close to him. He could see the rage in your eyes, the indignation his questioning had caused you…

Your hands suddenly reached up, raking through his hair before pulling his head down to crash your lips into his. Alhaitham’s arms moved on impulse, slipping around your waist and pulling your body closer to his.

The kiss was aggressive, hungry, your teeth tearing at his lips. Alhaitham’s hands began to travel down your waist, his hands roaming over your body and savoring its supple curves. 

Your hands dropped from his head and pushed against his shoulders as you broke from the kiss, leaning away from him. There was still a fire in your eyes despite your swollen cheeks and flushed face.

Alhaitham was stunned as one of your hands flew up to strike him across his face.

“Fuck you.” You spat, and despite the harsh hit he had just received, Alhaitham immediately began to smirk.

“Only if you insist.”

You let out a guttural moan that could be described as something close to a growl… Your hand reached up to grab the collar of Alhaitham’s shirt, pulling him forwards so your lips could collide again.

This time, your hand snaked down the front of his torso, going for the growing bulge in his pants. You smirked as you palmed it, eliciting a groan from the Scholar.

“Only a little kissing, and you’re already this hard?” You sneered.

With something halfway between a scoff and a laugh, Alhaitham’s hands slid under the curve of your ass to grip your upper thighs.

“Jump.” He ordered, his voice cold.

You were about to argue back at him, but Alhaitham didn’t seem to care whether you jumped or not – with strength alone he lifted you off your feet, bringing your legs up to hook around his torso and give himself better access to you.

The scribe spun around to put your back against the wall this time, rolling his hips and pressing his stiff length against the clothing that hid your drooling pussy. A breathy gasp escaped your lips, and Alhaitham broke the kiss to lean back and stare into your half-lidded eyes.

“Who’s the one getting turned on now?” He smirked.

“Bastard-” You grumbled, but Alhaitham quickly cut you off by smothering your mouth with his. It felt like you were fighting against his lips, the way they seemed to devour you. His hips continued to roll, spreading pleasure like a wildfire through your body as his erection pressed near-painfully into you. You wrapped your legs around his torso tighter, your thighs squeezing his waist as he held you against the wall.

“Mmmh!” You moaned into the kiss, your eyes squeezing shut as Alhaitham ground into you again. Alhaitham used your temporary weakness to rudely invade your mouth with his tongue.

You tried your best to withhold the moan that threatened to escape as Alhaitham’s tongue swirled around yours. It felt so good – but that fact alone made you angry.

You groaned, deciding to bite down on Alhaitham’s tongue. However, he seemed to sense this coming as he withdrew from the kiss, a string of saliva hanging between the two of you.

“Hah.” You scoffed. “Are you getting off to the fact that Kaveh is home and could walk in at any moment?”

“You’re assuming that I care.” Alhaitham responded with a smirk, dipping his head down to latch his lips onto the tender skin of your neck.

“Disgusting bas- haaah-” You groaned as he bit down and sucked at your sensitive skin, the pain only adding to the growing pool of wetness in your pants. Alhaitham moved to a different spot, continuing to litter your skin with marks. As he attacked your neck with his mouth, the pain became sharper and sharper. You realized he was breaking your skin with his teeth as you let out an airy moan.

Your hands went up to the back of his head, grabbing onto his hair in order to stop him from ruining your skin any more. It took a lot of strength, but you managed to pull him away from you. Alhaitham seemed to let out a low growl as you interrupted him. 

“Stop it! Do you even care that you’re gonna leave marks?” You shouted, pulling on his hair even harder – to the point where you were beginning to pull out his hair.

“Stop pulling on me.” Alhaitham grumbled.

“No, fuck you!” You squirmed, grinding your crotch down on Alhaitham, making him grunt from the sudden stimulation.

“Let go.” Alhaitham ordered, his eyes squinting from the pain you were causing him by pulling at his hair. One of his hands shifted from under your thighs to wrap around your neck, giving the slender column of your airway a warning squeeze as he rolled his hips into you again.

With a groan, you finally let go of Alhaitham’s hair… leaving strands of gray in your hands.

You didn’t care as you tipped your head forward to mash your lips into his. You grunted, turning your head to attack at a different angle. You bit at Alhaitham’s lips, growing more and more aggressive after everything Alhaitham had done to you.

The scribe stepped away from the wall, both hands planted firmly on your ass as he began to carry you. He walked through the doorway beside the two of you, neither of you breaking the passionate kiss as you moved. As Alhaitham walked into the room, he threw his cloak onto the floor – he wouldn’t be needing it, anyway.

Alhaitham came to a stop. He suddenly pulled his head back, throwing you down. You let out a yelp as you fell backward. For a split-second you truly believed you were being thrown onto the floor. However, as extremely soft blankets stopped your fall, you realized Alhaitham had thrown you down on a bed – his bed.

“Fuck you, Alhaitham!” You reached up to smooth your hair back. Only then did you realize your hands were covered with silver strands of Alhaitham’s hair, and the scribe stared at this with ire.

“Were you trying to make me go bald?” Alhaitham questioned angrily, reaching one hand up to feel the back of his head.

“Yeah, your hair is ugly.” You joked.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you’d look far better without those clothes.” Alhaitham immediately responded.

“Hah. Did you just compliment me?”

Alhaitham replied by hooking his slender fingers around the waistband of your skirt. He gave a harsh tug, reducing the beautiful fabric of Nilou’s skirt to shreds.

“HEY!” Your voice rose into a shout. “These clothes are borrowed!”

“You ripped out my hair, so it’s only fair that I get to return the favor.” Alhaitham sneered. He reached one hand down to your underwear, pausing as he felt your soaked underwear. Pressing two fingers into the wet fabric, he forced a moan from your lips.

“Ngh, asshole!”

“Hah.” Alhaitham smirked. “You’re so wet it’s almost pitiful. Do these kinds of discussions turn you on this much?”

“I wouldn’t call them discussions. And you’re one to talk when your dick is trying to escape your pants.”

You reached down and gripped Alhaitham’s shaft tightly, your fingers digging into the fabric of his pants.

“Hah.” Alhaitham grunted as he tried to ignore the pleasure shooting up his stomach. He hooked his fingers around the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head, discarding the piece of clothing on the floor behind him. He climbed onto the bed on top of you, planting his hands on the mattress beside both of your shoulders and caging you between his arms.

Alhaitham dipped his head down for a passionate and aggressive kiss. Your teeth knocked together, tearing at each others’ lips, vying for dominance. The scribe reached down and roughly grabbed the wrist of your hand that was on his crotch, bringing your arm up beside your head and pinning it in place. He ground into you again, this time with very little clothing between the two of you.

You moaned, but you weren’t going to break the kiss – and neither was he.

It was a competition now.

You squirmed in response, pushing your hips up to roughly counter his action. It elicited a grunt from him, but he still didn’t break the kiss. You bit down on his lips hard – hard enough to taste the metallic blood that you had drawn.

Alhaitham grunted at the pain, and you felt his dick twitch against your inner thigh. You smirked into the kiss as he silently cursed you. 

As retribution, Alhaitham’s free hand roamed down your torso. His fingers trailed over your bare stomach, hooking around the waistband of your panties, ripping them clean from your body with a single pull.

“Mmmh!” Your exclamation was muffled by Alhaitham’s lips. The sudden sensation of cool air directly on your wet heat made you press your thighs together, but they were stopped by Alhaitham’s hips which were still hovering right in front of your aching pussy. You wanted nothing more than to fall fully into this incredible sensation, 

The scribe quickly freed his aching cock without you noticing – at least, not until he pressed his leaking tip against your entrance.

You froze for a moment, the sudden friction of bare skin against bare skin sending pleasure shooting through your body.

“Hahh.” Alhaitham finally broke the kiss, but you were too turned on to feel any sense of victory.

The scribe looked down at you, reveling in your pleasure-ridden expression and the way you squirmed beneath him.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” He smirked, making you seethe with anger.

“Why you- haah!” Your eyes rolled back in your head as Alhaitham pressed himself into you, stretching you with his ridiculous girth. “Stop it- Fuck!”

You tried to kick your legs out to push him away. Alhaitham pulled his hips back slightly, seeming like he was complying with you, but only pushed forwards again moments later. Your mouth fell open as you felt his tip rub against your sensitive walls, and Alhaitham reveled in the way you fell apart beneath him.

“Ahn- haaah~ Fuck yo-” You went completely silent as he bottomed out inside of you, your face contorting with pleasure.

“When will you learn,” Alhaitham spoke as he slowly withdrew from you, “That you can’t win,” Alhaitham thrust his hips forwards, “against me.” He came to a stop, fully sheathed inside of you again.

“Aahhhnn~” Your back arched as you felt him invade your painfully sensitive pussy once more. Your legs twitched, and for a moment you couldn’t control your body anymore.

The pleasure made you forget all the anger you had harbored towards him; it was pitiful how easily you came undone. Alhaitham began to roll his hips, the slow prodding against your tender walls making you lose your sense of self.

His movements grew faster and larger; a squelching noise began to fill the room as he pushed in and out of you.

“Aaah stop it you bas- nngh!” Your words quickly became garbled from the pleasure Alhaitham was giving you. He rolled his hips into you harder, pressing himself against the plush of your ass, the tip of his swollen cock reaching even further inside of you.

“Why couldn’t you have been this easy in the Akademiya?” Alhaitham’s condescending tone grated against your ears, making your eyes go wide with shock. You snapped out of your pleasure-filled haze, suddenly enraged once again.

“How DARE YOU!” Your hands shot up to his chest, pushing against the scribe. Your irascibility only made Alhaihtam more smug, and it infuriated you. Gritting your teeth, you tried your hardest to push Alhaitham off of you – he was just too heavy, and your legs were just too weak with him still fucking into you.

So, instead, you reached your hands down and pinched one nipple – hard.

“Haah- fuck!” Alhaitham groaned, his hips stuttering, overwhelmed by the sudden jolt of pleasure you gave him.

“Oh?” You murmured, pinching harder. A fierce blush grew across Alhaitham’s face.

“S-stop that.” He grunted, his movements coming to a standstill.

“Oh, so now we’re allowed to say stop?” You retorted.

Twisting your body, you used all of your core and leg strength to flip Alhaitham over. He groaned as you forced him to pull out of you, kicking his hips over and forcing him to roll onto his side on the mattress.

You practically pounced onto him, straddling his waist as you bent down and latched your lips around one of his nipples. You pinched the other with one hand, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger. Alhaitham squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, making you laugh while you swirled your tongue around one nipple.

“Look at you, power tripping over the smallest of advantages- haah!”

You bit down on his nipple, eliciting a pained gasp from the scribe. Alhaitham hated the fact that he enjoyed this – reaching up, he grabbed you by your hair and yanked your face away from his sensitive chest.

“Advantage?” You scoffed, your neck straining against Alhaitham’s grip. “I’m pretty sure you’re enjoying this.”

“I have to admit, after all our -hnng- years at the Akademiya, you’re just as -fuck!- insufferable as ever.” Alhaitham groaned, tilting his head back and letting go of your hair as you ground down on his painfully hard dick.

“You’re one to talk.” You spoke. “You were the worst classmate I’ve ever had.” Your voice dripped with spite as you rolled your hips again, drawing another groan from Alhaitham.

“How could I be the worst classmate when I was always the best in the class?” Alhaitham retorted, pushing his hips up into you, grinding his length against your swollen folds.

“I could give you a comprehensive list.” You quickly responded, twisting his nipple – hard. You leaned down, biting and sucking at the soft skin of his chest. You wanted to leave marks bad enough to be seen through his ridiculous sheer skin-tight shirt.

“H-gah-ahh-” Alhaitham’s movements stuttered, far too sensitive to be treated this way. “Fuck, Y/N, what are you -hah- doing to me…”

“Payback.” You lifted your head up from his chest to respond as you shifted your hips. Lining your entrance up with the head of his aching cock, you pushed yourself down and forced him inside you.

“Archons- oh fuck-” Alhaitham groaned as he felt himself penetrate you. You knew he was anything but a pious man, so to hear him call out to the Gods reassured you that you were doing something right. Alhaitham began to erratically move his hips as he tried to get any motion he could, only to cry out at a completely new sensation.

Your hand reached behind yourself to snake down between Alhaitham’s legs. Your slender fingers wrapped around his swollen balls, squeezing them hard enough to teeter on the boundary between pleasure and pain.

“Don’t even think about trying to take over.” You snapped, grinding your hips down as you dug your nails into his ever-so-sensitive skin.

“Fuck- Y/N, s-stop!” Alhaitham’s hands flew down to your hips. He held onto your plush skin with an iron grip, trying his best to hold you still, though you could feel his hands slightly trembling as he held you.

“Make me.” You sneered, squeezing his balls tighter.

With something halfway between a growl and a groan, Alhaitham bucked his hips hard. He threw you off of him and made you land on your back on the soft mattress. Before you had time to react he pinned you down, using one arm to hold both of your hands above your head and the other to hold one of your legs.

He pushed your knee against your chest as you squirmed, hating the way he so easily restrained you. However, you couldn’t help but feel turned on by the helpless feeling you had as he forced his cock into you once again.

You let out a pitiful moan as Alhaitham pounded into you, this time too angry, fed up, turned on to give you the mercy of holding back. The slapping sounds grew louder and louder as your aching pussy drooled from the penetration, sweat building on your skin from the vigorous sex.

“Why can’t you just shut that pretty mouth of yours,” Alhaitham grunted, thrusting into you, “and let me make you feel good?”

“Fucking bastard-” You groaned, his smug words infuriating you.

“Or is it that you prefer pain?” Alhaitham began to pick up his pace – his hips rammed into the plush of your ass harder and harder, until it became painful. Alhaitham’s abdomen strained as he forced himself into you over and over again, his cock splitting your walls apart as the thrusting of his hips made your entire body jolt in the bed.

“Ah! Ow- Fuck- fuck- it hurts, you asshole, it HURTS!” You cried, knowing your ass would certainly be bruised after this.

“I don’t think you deserve to complain after the stunt you just pulled.” Alhaitham spat, his breathing labored from how vigorously he was fucking you.

“F-Fuck you!” You screamed, winding your one free leg back and kicking him in the face with what little strength you had left.

Alhaitham recoiled, stunned by the blow to his face. The scribe let go of your body, withdrawing from your abused pussy. He looked down at you with an expression you had never seen before…

Was it… Anger?

“Remember that you fucking asked for this.”

Alhaitham moved fast, nearly pouncing on you as he pinned both your legs against your chest. He entered you again, this time with your body even more restricted, not allowing your legs any movement at all as he immediately began his previous pace.

At this angle, somehow, your pleasure felt even more amplified than before. Your eyes rolled back in your head as Alhaitham relentlessly pounded into you. The squelching sounds of his cock invading your drenched pussy, the way he stretched you so perfectly, the bullying of his tip deep within your walls drove you mad with pleasure.

“Nggh!- haah- oh fuck~” The snap of his hips against your already-bruising ass drove you mad with a disgusting mixture of pleasure and pain.

“It's so much better when you’re reduced to unintelligible noises.” Alhaitham grunted.

“Fucking… ass… Haah~”  You whined, but you weren’t able to do much more as your mouth hung open. Alhaitham savored the way your expression seemed vacuous, proof that he and he alone had successfully fucked you dumb.

Alhaitham slowed his thrusts almost completely, determined to torture and tease you until you were reduced to nothing. His length slid in and out of you slowly, and he could feel your swollen walls twitch and constrict from the sudden loss of friction.

However, Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for what you did next. He expected you to beg, to go insane, to promise to do anything just to come around his cock. The last thing he could ever foresee happening was for your face to return to normal, a devilish smirk growing across your lips.

“Fuck you.”

You spat out those words as you twisted your torso, one hand snaking around his back. Your legs shifted to wrap around Alhaitham’s torso as your fingers slipped into the cleft of his ass, making sure he was stuck there as you invaded his tight asshole.

“What are you- HEY!” Alhaitham exclaimed, prepared to force you away from him again, but completely caught off guard by the new sensation he felt.

“Wha- ngh! Ahn-” He groaned. You reveled in the way his face suddenly contorted with pleasure, making sure to ingrain this expression in your memory forever. Your smirk turned into a wicked grin as you pressed your forefinger further into his virgin ass.

The pleasure was foreign, but it was so intense that Alhaitham lost control of his limbs temporarily. He fell on top of you and you took this chance to wrap your legs around his torso, holding him in place as you began to pump the finger in and out of him.

“Haah- Y/N, wh-what is this-”

You cut Alhaitham off with another aggressive kiss, biting at his swollen and bloody lips as you drove him crazy with one single finger.

You could hear Alhaitham’s breathing become erratic as you continued, the scribe still unable to move due to the sheer volume of overstimulation. To make sure you truly drove him mad with pleasure, you added a second finger, probing further into his ass as you pumped in and out of him.

“Aahn~” Alhaitham broke from the kiss, his composure completely dissolving as he let out a whine. You’ve never seen him reduced to such a blubbering mess, and you made sure his whimpering and moaning would be etched into your memory permanently.

Alhaitham couldn’t hold up his head any longer – he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking as he failed to prop himself up on his arms. You felt the full weight of Alhaitham’s body as he came undone from two fingers alone.

“No- fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!” You heard his voice crack while blubbering the mantra of curses as dick twitched and throbbed red-hot inside of you. You could feel his tight hole constrict around your fingers, making you pump into him harder as he whined. Your eyes went wide as you felt something warm spread across your walls. You withdrew both of your fingers from him, suddenly irate.

Alhaitham just came inside of you.

“Are you so incompetent that you just came inside of me?” You questioned, grabbing Alhaitham’s hair and pulling his head up so you could meet his eyes.

You stared for a moment at Alhaitham’s face – his eyes were unfocused, glazed over, a flush tinting his cheeks a deep red. There was a trail of saliva dripping from one corner of his mouth, his lips hanging open, along with smears of spit all over his chin as he tried his best to recover from what you had just done to him.

“Nghh…” Alhaitham groaned, his arms straining as he slowly picked himself off of you. “That’s what you get for invading my ass.”

“Hah!” You exclaimed, “I’m pretty sure you loved it.”

“Fuck you.” Alhaitham responded, his cognition reduced to vulgar insults after such intense stimulation.

“I’m pretty sure you just tried to do that.” You sneered. “You didn’t succeed, because the only person who came was you.”

Alhaitham merely growled, pushing himself off of you and withdrawing his half-hard dick from your pussy. It was coated in a sheen of white, a vulgar mixture of both your arousal and his cum. He grabbed your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your delicate skin as he pulled you towards the end of the bed and flipped you onto your stomach. He lifted your hips into the air, his biceps flexing as he supported your body weight.

Alhaitham used one thumb to pull apart your swollen lips, admiring the sheen of your arousal and the clumps of cum that dripped from your entrance. At the thought of brutalizing your pussy and unloading inside of it, his dick was already hard again.

“What are you doing- Ahhhnnn~” Your eyes went wide as Alhaitham thrusted into you, starting at an aggressive pace that had you digging your elbows into the mattress for support. You had no control since your legs were dangling in the air off the edge of the bed, the ridiculous position only made possible by Alhaitham’s strength.

“Do you really think you can win,” Alhaitham  spoke, his voice mixing with the lewd slapping and squelching as he fucked you brutally, “when I’m stronger, I’m smarter, I’m better than you?

“Haaah~ you’re wrong-“ you gasped out, your head buried in the mattress as Alhaitham’s thrusts shook your body violently. “Aah- bastard!”

Alhaitham showed no signs of relenting as he burned with indignation. He couldn’t believe you had made him cum the way you did – it drove him to fuck you deeper, harder, to drive you insane with his cock. He ignored your whimpering and moaning, determined to teach you a lesson.

As he pummeled into you over and over, you could feel your abdomen tightening with pleasure. From this angle, he felt bigger and longer than before, and it was beginning to drive you insane. Each snap of his hips against your ass pushed you closer and closer to your climax, and you began to lose control of what you were saying as you approached the precipice of orgasm.

“Hnnn ‘Haitham… ‘so good…” You mumbled, your voice muffled from the way your head was pressed into the mattress.

“Hmm, what was that?” You heard Alhaitham speak smugly between the loud slapping of his thrusts.

“Screw you” You gave a breathless groan in response as you tried your best to hang onto reality despite being so close to orgasm. You were infuriated by how smug he was becoming even if not five minutes before he was in the exact same position. You were determined to not let him win in this competition.

However, a loud smack resounded through the room, followed by a whimper. Alhaitham had used one hand to land a harsh blow on your ass. He left behind a red handprint on your soft skin.

Alhaitham only smirked as he continued to fuck you; seeing the way your ass was in the air and your face was buried in the sheets seemed so perfect to him. He wanted to see you at his mercy, begging for his cock, calling his name over and over.

Thus, he pulled out of you suddenly, throwing your body back down onto the mattress. You rolled onto your back as you let out a whine from the sudden lack of stimulation and the harrowing sensation of emptiness within you.

“What? Wh-Why’d you stop, you asshole!” You shouted, glaring up at the narcissistic scholar.

“If you want to cum, you have to beg.” Alhaitham sneered. He got onto all fours above you, hands planted on either side of your head as he hooked your legs over his shoulders. You stared at him, half-expecting him to continue his brutal fucking despite what he had just said.

Instead, Alhaitham began to grind against your aching pussy. His thick length ran up and down your soaked slit, teasing your overly-sensitive clit.

“Hahhh… stop that!” You squirmed, but Alhaitham only ground against you harder. He dipped his head down, biting into the soft tissue of one breast, leaving a dark purple hickey as he withdrew.

“Beg.”

“Like hell I will!” You responded, trying to kick your legs only to realize Alhaihtam was hovering so low above you that you had no leverage when they were hooked over his shoulders like this. Alhaitham moved to another location, leaving a painfully dark hickey again.

“Ugh, stop it!” You reached your hands up, pulling at Alhaihtam’s hair to try to make him stop leaving hickeys.

Alhaitham’s lips parted from your chest with a popping sound, a string of saliva hanging from his lips as he reached one arm up and grabbed both of your hands. Pinning them above your head, he rocked his hips against you harder, making your back arch as you ached for him to fill you.

“Aagh!” You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “Stop teasing me and just fuck me already!” 

“Hmm? What was that?” Alhaitham taunted, rolling his hips again, sending small jolts of pleasure shooting up your abdomen – but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to make you orgasm.

“I said, just fuck me already!” You groaned, your pussy clenching around nothing as you grew more and more desperate to be filled.

“Hmmm… I don’t like your tone.” Alhaihtam responded coolly, “I want you to beg.”

Another slow grind against your swollen lips left you panting.

“Haahh,” You blinked, trying your best to maintain composure, “fuck me… please.”

“Begging is really not a hard thing to do.” Alhaitham teased, “Are you really that bad at understanding such a simple direction?”

“Please fuck me.” You whimpered, your voice suddenly small.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Alhaitham pushed you further as he ground against you again. The motion drew a small whimper from your lips.

“P-please, I need your cock…” You whined as Alhaitham rolled his hips into you once more, “I need your cock inside of me…”

“Very well.” Alhaitham spoke bluntly, drawing his hips back and thrusting into you with force.

You let out a shrill scream as Alhaitham’s hips came to land against the plush of your ass. The stretch felt so good, the way he filled you so perfectly made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

However, Alhaitham came to a stop like that. He didn’t move any more, keeping his hips settled against your ass. Your eyes blinked open as you came back to your senses, and you realized Alhaitham was staring down at you with an infuriatingly smug expression on his face.

“If you want me to do anything more than this, you’ll have to be better at begging.”

“Ngh… No… Please, just fuck me already…” You whimpered, trying to move your hips to gain any sort of friction between his cock and your aching walls.

“I said beg.”

“Please, please I’ll do anything, just fuck me!” You exclaimed, tears welling up in your eyes as you grew more and more desperate.

“If you really mean you’ll do anything,” Alhaitham’s voice dripped with gratification, “Then who’s cock do you want to fuck you?”

“Alhaitham’s cock, please, Alhaitham please fuck me! Please make me cum pleasepleaseplease-”

Alhaitham drew his hips back before sharply thrusting into you a single time, his hips colliding with your ass as a loud slap echoed through his bedroom. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you let out the most lewd and pitiful whine, your body shaking from how desperately you craved stimulation.

“Look at you, so desperate for the cock of a feeble scholar.” Alhaitham sneered, “If you want it so badly, you have to finally admit that I’m better than you.”

“Ngh, no-” You were cut off by another singular thrust, “haah- ngh…”

Alhaitham grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back and exposing your throat. You moaned, somehow turned on by his painful grip on your hair.

“You’ll have to admit it if you want to cum. Trust me, I can wait all day... But I’m sure you wouldn’t like that.”

As Alhaitham spoke, he rolled his hips slightly, the tip of his dick pressing harder into your sensitive walls.

“Hahhh…” You sighed, your resolve finally breaking down. “You’re better, Alhaitham, you’re smarter and stronger and the only one who can make me-”

Alhaitham had finally heard what he was so eager to hear after all of these years. He finally let loose, allowing his desires to take over now that he won. He thrusted into you wildly, leaving all restraint in the back of his mind as he pummel into your sweet, submissive pussy.

You screamed as you finally received the stimulation you craved. Alhaitham went wild as he pounded into you, talking down to you now that your responses had devolved into lewd whimpers and screams.

“This is why the Sages chose me to retrieve the divine knowledge capsule and not you. Hahh, I’m surprised they even let you compete with me for the Auspicious knowledge capsule. You would have died at the hands of a Fatui Harbinger if it weren’t for my quick thinking… ngh…”

Alhaitham was getting far too turned on by talking down to you and hearing only garbled moans in response.

“Haaah, ‘Haitham!” You exclaimed, your eyes rolling back in your head as you grew closer and closer to orgasm. Your shouts rose into screams as Alhaitham continued to bully his quickly swelling cock into your aching and abused walls. “So good, so good, s’goo…” Your mind went blank from the pleasure as your mouth hung open, the sounds you made growing louder and louder.

“Ngh, shut up.” Alhaitham reached his free hand up to your neck, supporting his body weight on his elbows instead. He pulled harder on your hair as he squeezed your neck. He cut off your screams but at the same time stopped any access to air. Your mouth hung open silently, drool trailing from your swollen and bloody lips, your eyes going wide.

You finally, after hours of violently hateful sex, came at the mercy of your most hated rival.

And at that moment, you passed out.

Alhaitham could feel your walls convulse around his cock so tightly that his movements had to slow down – you were squeezing him so hard that it almost hurt. After a couple of seconds you suddenly went limp around him, your walls still twitching sporadically, and Alhaitham gave a few more sharp thrusts before pulling out of you and spraying his load over your chest and face.

The silver-haired scribe was panting hard as he slowly came down from his high. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling it slick with sweat from so much physical exertion. He’d never had such intense sex in his life – even though his sex life was anything but bland.

He glanced down at your unconscious form sprawled out on the bed before him, your head twisted at an awkward angle and your legs splayed on either side of you as if they were putting your leaking pussy on display. He watched as a thick stream of cum slowly trailed out of your entrance, his gaze moving up to see the mottled red and purple marks he had made all over your skin.

After a couple of moments, Alhaitham snapped out of his daze as he was suddenly wracked with guilt. He leaned over you, reaching two fingers up to your neck, waiting breathlessly as he tried to find a heartbeat.

He shook his head as he finally found one, sighing to himself.

“I’m just being irrational. Of course I didn’t kill her.” He sighed, looking back and staring at your unconscious body. He drank in the marks on your skin, the slick that spilled out of you, proud that he was the only one to ever do this to you – who ever could do this to you.

For a moment, Alhaitham wanted to stay. He wanted to take care of you, to clean you up and hold you until he fell asleep. However, he quickly rid those thoughts from his head – he had a mission to complete.

Alhaitham slipped his pants and shirt back on, ignoring his disgustingly messy body as he began to walk out of the room. On the way out he picked up his cape, slinging it over his shoulder as he shut his bedroom door behind himself.

~~~

Kaveh was trying to figure out the best materials to use for the carpet of this foyer. He was an architect at heart, not an interior decorator – but this job paid well. The more jobs he took, the more he’d get paid, and then he’d finally be able to move out of Alhaitham’s hellish apartment.

The sounds of you and Alhaitham arguing grated against his ears, but he did his best to block them out – he felt bad for you. You were the same as Kaveh… you were also stuck living here, and you got just as infuriated as him by that damned scribe.

‘Stop it! Do you even care about leaving marks?’

Kaveh frowned, his head tilting to the side as he heard your shout come from the other room. He shook his head, deciding his brain was definitely in the gutter after what had happened between the three of you a week ago. There was certainly nothing lewd going on between the two of you… right?

‘Well, you’d look far better without those clothes.’

Kaveh’s eyes went wide. Alhaitham wasn’t really saying that to you, was he? Was this one of his perverse ways of giving compliments? Kaveh knew Alhaitham was bad at speaking to women, but he never expected something this bad to come from his mouth.

Then, he began to hear moans.

“That’s it, I’m taking more jobs so I can move out even faster!” Kaveh grumbled to himself, raking his fingers through his bangs as he tried his best to focus on the task at hand. “Ahh, yeah, the colors… which colors go best with ivory again…” He grumbled, talking out loud to try to drown out the very loud sexual behavior that had begun in the room next door.

However, when he began to hear the moans that came from Alhaitham, Kaveh dropped his pencil.

‘What are you- haaah~’

Kaveh couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t ignore the growing bulge in his pants, and slowly slipped his fingers beneath his clothes to take care of the problem.

~~~

“Kaveh, I need a favor.”

The blonde jumped up from his desk, quickly adjusting his clothes before turning towards Alhaitham with a stern frown on his face.

“What is it, Alhaitham?” Kaveh couldn’t hide the venom that dripped from his voice. “You stink of sex, you mongrel.”

“Stop acting like you don’t have ears, Kaveh.” Alhaitham retorted. “And stop acting like you weren’t enjoying yourself just now, either.”

Kaveh’s eyes widened with shock and indignation.

“Why you-”

“I need you to make sure Y/N stays here while I travel to Port Ormos.” Alhaitham sternly cut off his blonde roommate. “It’s not safe for her there. Last time she nearly got killed, and I can’t have her endangering herself again.”

Kaveh’s brows pinched together with confusion.

“Is it another one of those missions the Sages send you on? Don’t they usually send the both of you on the same mission?”

“It’s highly classified information.” Alhaitham responded bluntly. “But yes – I personally asked them not to send her on these missions anymore. I assured them that I would be enough.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not going to like this when she finds out-”

“That’s why I’m leaving now. I plan to be long gone by the time she realizes.” Alhaitham cut Kaveh off once again. “And that’s why you have to do anything in your power to stop her from leaving the house.”

“I- what?” Kaveh questioned. “And you’re going to leave while smelling this foul?”

“That’s none of your business.” Alhaitham responded. “I’m entrusting her to you.”

The scribe merely walked away, as if Kaveh had already agreed to do such a heinous thing as keep you locked indoors for days on end.

Kaveh threw down his blueprints in anger, infuriated by the borderline unlivable environment of Alhaitham’s house. Then, he realized he had a deadline to meet, and awkwardly scrambled to pick back up his papers and opted to carry them out to the living room to finish them up in a different setting.

After about an hour, Kaveh was enjoying a hot cup of tea as he finished up another section of his commission. He heard the creak of a door opening – you were finally emerging from Alhaitham’s bedroom. Kaveh continued to scribble one last thing down with his free hand as he spoke to you.

“Good, you’re finally awake. Do you want some tea? I just brewed-”

Kaveh stopped mid-sentence as he looked up to see the state of you. His eyes went wide as he saw your messy hair, your bloody lips, and the purplish blotches of the hickeys Alhaitham had left all over your once-pristine skin. You were clinging to a bed sheet that you had loosely wrapped around your torso, your posture hunched over as if you were in pain.

“Archons, Y/N, you look like hel-”

“Where’s Alhaitham.” Your tone dripped with hatred.

“He’s gone.” Kaveh responded.

“He’s what?” Your eyes went wide. “I need to go after him.” You glanced around the living room.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you leave the house.” Kaveh responded.

“What?” You questioned, confused.

“Alhaitham said that if I let you leave the house, you’ll just go after him and endanger your life again.”

“Grrr, that BASTARD!” You exclaimed, spinning around and storming back into his bedroom, slamming the door shut so violently that it rattled the plates in the kitchen cupboards.

Kaveh let out a sigh of relief despite being seriously worried about the state of your body.

“At least she’s not trying to leave.” He sighed, trying his best to continue working on the paperwork.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Cowboy Like Me - Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Azriel meets his match in a contract spy while attending a barge party in the Summer Court. Together, they are tasked to investigate rogue shipments coming into Prythian. Will they be able to tolerate each other? Will they fall in love along the way?

Inspired by the queens of my heart, Taylor Swift and Sarah J. Maas.

Part 2

Warnings: Language and some suggestiveness.

These functions were odious. Hundreds of elite fae from throughout Prythian gathering to spread gossip, exaggerate how deeply their coffers ran, and boast of their latest voyeurs in both the sheets and battlefields. Yet, amidst all of the cock measuring, bits of truth revealed themselves to those with the proper skill set. So yes, while odious indeed, a lucrative affair for me.

Tonight I’d found myself aboard a pleasure barge on the Adriatic Sea. Several High Lords accepted Tarquin’s invitation to a summer soirée honoring some milestone birthday of Cresseida’s. I couldn’t remember her age, I didn’t care honestly. The information I sought was of a more confidential manner.

Whenever any High Lords made their appearance at such gatherings, nobility from their respective courts came out in droves in hopes of rubbing elbows with the upper cress of their kingdoms. Minor lords sought advantageous matches for their heirs, esteemed merchants networked to expand trade routes, tittering courtiers cozied up to nobility in an effort to advance whichever cause they were pursuing that night.

A well-trained ear and eye lusted for occasions such as this. Those Minor Lords so easily letting details slip of their needs, allowing a glean of where their courts higher nobility were failing them. The merchants whispering confidential details of questionable consignments slipped in with their usual fare.

And the courtiers, it was too simple to read in between the lines of their oh-so-cryptic conversations. The courtiers of lesser nobility who hadn’t yet mastered the art of subtlety were easy to read, even easier to trade gossip with.

My glamour skills were exceptional. Some would call the statement arrogant, but it was truth. On top of my assets as a spy, my ability to work my way into high profile events with subtle changes to my hair, eyes, and scent made spying a lucrative profession.

A contact from Adriata’s Port Authority had contracted my services for tonight. A shipment of jewels, spices, and varying textiles procured from the continent had arrived days ago with fake gems, missing rolls of fine silk, and poison laced spices that had been set aside for the royal kitchens. I’d been tasked with garnering any information that may lead to the perpetrators.

Initially it was suspected that the act had occurred before leaving the port of origin. However, Tarquin’s own contacts had accounted for everything at the port and again halfway through sailing. I had my suspicions of who was behind the act which led me to my current position, pretending to be engaged in conversation with the pompous son of some Minor Lord from Dawn.

Honestly, how many “Oh”, “Wow”, and “That’s very interesting”’s could I throw into the conversation before he realized I wasn’t paying attention.

Yet, what I saw behind the male was quite interesting. Eris Vanserra making a rare Autumn Court appearance, far too casually winding through the crowd toward the High Lord of the Night Court as the lovely High Lady shared an animated story about, “Water Wolves”, whatever those were. The story just interesting enough to garner the attention of the surrounding audience long enough for the High Lord to stride off to a more secluded area toward the bow of the ship. The same place Eris had conveniently found himself at.

Feigning ill, I excused myself from the one-sided conversation. Quickly, I glamoured myself to look a bit more pale, and padded toward the bow. Fortunately there was a blind spot within earshot perfectly hidden by a few crates of spare items for the night should any dishwear or wines run out from the various tables spread around the barge. Keeping up my ruse I leaned over the rail, quietly dry heaving.

“All I’m saying is watch your shipments. An influx of boats have been reported leaving our ports recently. He’s up to something.” Eris’ hushed voice warned.

Oh, this was very interesting. Autumn’s heir apparent heeding warning to the Night Court.

The High Lord’s voice lowly inquired, “Do you know wh-“

The atmosphere suddenly turned dark as shadows swirled next to me. Raising from his perched position in the dark stood the High Lord’s spymaster.

Shit.

“Did the oaf you were speaking with bore you to sickness or is this washed out complexion a new glamour?”

Shit!

“People are staring, Shadowsinger. Are you going to ask me to dance or should we make a spectacle of ourselves?” I smirked cooly. Unsure of how I managed to pull off the collected facade in the face of the feared, and…. devastatingly gorgeous? Spymaster of the Night Court.

He smirked - a deadly, seductive smirk, extending his hand. This was a dangerous game. “My lady, honor me with a dance?”

I stepped toward him, aware of every weapon carefully placed underneath my silken cobalt blue dress. His shadows keenly aware of them too as they swirled around the location of each hidden sheath.

Oh, they were good.

His fingers gripped tightly atop the most easily accessible of my daggers, firmly pressed to my waist as a herringbone corset would be. His opposite hand gripped mine just tightly enough that it couldn’t slip free.

“You know, beautiful, it seems you’ve got a couple of weapons under your dress. You’re quite the double threat.” his face remained relaxed but those hazel eyes promised strife if I didn’t comply.

They stepped in rhythm to the Summer Court medley that played “It takes one to know one, handsome.”

He twirled me outward and pulled me back in before I could dare consider escaping. “I’m protecting my High Lord. Weapons come with the territory. Who are you serving?”

I batted my eyes innocently “I’ll serve you if you ask politely.”

I could have sworn the slightest shift in scent invaded my senses, “Ah, but you’re not a courtier, darling. You’re a spy. And I don’t take kindly to spies listening in on my courts affairs.”,

“Luckily for me, our interests seem to align.” I countered.

He dipped me back just in time to lock stares with the High Lord, stars twinkling in his eyes as he looked down at me, “Ah, brother. Who is your lovely dance partner?”

Once again,

Shit.

And then everything went black as we winnowed.

~~~~~~~~

“Welcome to the Hewn City - My name is Azriel. Care to share your name?”

“Elyse.” I lied.

Azriel stepped forward, “No dear, I don’t believe it is. Let’s not get off on a worse foot than we already have.”

I rolled my eyes. Fine. “Y/N.”

Good girl. He purred. The heat that pooled in my core at his tone was pathetic. Traitorous body.

“Why were you spying on Rhysand?”

I was a spy for hire. Being tortured in the name of Adriata’s Port Authority was not how I was going down. So I told him the truth.

“Adriata received a shipment with stolen goods and poison laced spices. I was simply seeking information on the matter.”

“And you felt that my High Lord was involved?”

I scoffed. “No, not exactly. While your High Lord is rather cunning, he’s not one to risk sparking a Civil War. Especially against his own ally.” I looked intently to the Spymaster with a smirk, “That bastard Eris Vanserra on the other hand…”

I could have sworn amusement briefly flashed in his eyes at the statement as he sat before me. “I’ve seen you at several functions recently. You are sly, I’ll give you that. But you have tells. The way your eyes wander off of those you are in conversation with. The slight lies you give the courtiers in an effort to bring their guard down and let information slip. Your glamours are excellent but not enough to disguise you once you’ve been spotted.”

Confusion swirled in my brain at this tactic. Certainly the willingness to share was an effort of bringing my guard down.

I stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”

He raised an eyebrow “You shared information with me, I am simply returning the favor.”

“How generous of you , Azriel.” My tone was sharp. But his name… Oh how it tasted like honey on my tongue.

He shrugged. “This doesn’t have to be hard. Despite what you may have heard about me, I am a reasonable male. From what I’ve seen, up until tonight, you’ve never been a threat to those I’m allied with.”

I relaxed a bit at the statement. “You’ve watched me that closely?”

“What kind of spymaster would I be to not keep tabs on potential enemy spies?”

“I am not your enemy, Azriel.” Damn my tone for coming out so softly.

He looked at me earnestly, “I know.”

“Then why am I here?”

His gaze once again shifted to that of the infamous spymaster, “I want you to work with me.”

——————————————————————————

Thank you to everyone who voted in my poll and/or took the time to read this! I hope to post Part 2 this week. Stay tuned!

[swashbucklery]

Kit + angry to discover that she actually likes textile work

A wee circus preview and some textile sweetness for you, friend.

+

Kit was never meant to learn to mend things. She was meant - at least in her grandmother’s eyes - to have staff who might mend things for her. Money enough (from her husband) to be able to buy a new dress if one tore.

Kit has been taught, in the most begrudging possible way, the needle arts of a lady. She has been instructed on embroidering fine feather-stitch ferns, decorating handkerchiefs that were always just shy of her grandmother’s standards until her fingertips were numb and her head ached with frustration. She has only the dimmest memories of her mother sitting at the kitchen table, darning socks with her glasses on, saving the mending for midday when the light was best.

You can learn when you’re older, her mother had said, when Kit paused to watch the nimble work of her sure hands. Leave me to get this done before the matinee.

They both thought they’d have so much more time.

Now Kit is sitting by her own table; outdoors in the space meant for eating, somewhere in the wilds of Indiana. She’s got needle and thread, and tights with a run in them, and she’s so frustrated at her own clumsy work that she wants to scream.

“Kitten,” a voice says over her shoulder. Elora always jingles as she approaches; Kit must have missed the sound of it in her frustration. “What are you doing to those poor tights.”

Kit groans. “Nothing useful, I can tell you that.”

Elora sits sideways on the bench beside her. Her hair is all done up for the matinee, piled into a layer cake of curls and jewel-ended pins that turn her head into a confection. For the show she’ll add feathers: ostrich dyed rich emerald, bright magenta, coal black. She’s still wearing her own clothes, though - a soft calico dress, faded from being worn a hundred times over, her wrists heavy with bracelets in a way that Kit’s grandmother would call vulgar. It’s a familiar sort of absurdity, now.

“Who taught you how to mend, the barn cat?” Elora says.

Somehow, the teasing makes a little of Kit’s frustration lift. Elora knows, of course, why Kit couldn’t mend her way out of a wet paper bag. But she often does this. Gives Kit the kindness of forgetting. “I don’t need new ones,” Kit sighs. “It’s just a run in the leg.”

Elora takes the garment from her, runs expert hands along the outside of the cloth, turns it this way and that to get a sense of the flaw. She frowns at the clumsy stitches Kit’s put in - too lumpy, somehow pulling things tight but extending threads loose over the gap in a way that turns awkward - and pulls them out with a few swift motions. “You don’t need new ones,” Elora says. “But you’re going at it sideways. You need these for this afternoon?”

Kit’s stomach is already tight with worry; she manages a nod. “Hoping so,” she says. “They’re my best ones.”

The tights are a perfect, lurid mauve, so bright that they’re difficult to look at under the stage lights. The rest of Kit’s costume is black and cream; the whole effect highlights her legs, brings out the slowly developing shapeliness of her calves. She even found thread to match them. If she could just get her hands to -

Elora takes the mending into her own lap, and Kit doesn’t know if she wants to cry with frustration or relief. “Well, there’s no sense teaching yourself on silk like this, no wonder you’re feeling clumsy.”

She plucks a few things out of Kit’s sewing kit - a spare thread and needle, a second thimble - and clicks her tongue. Then she slings one leg into Kit’s lap.

Kit giggles. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Elora draws her gaze down, points to a tiny, fraying worn spot - less than an inch - in the patterned river of her skirt. The print of the cloth is so complicated, with so many different places for the eye to rest, that Kit hadn’t noticed. “This needs fixing,” she says, no-nonsense. “And cotton is a lot kinder to beginners. You’re going to mend my dress, and I’m going to mend your tights.”

Coming from anyone else, the invitation would make Kit stubborn. She’s still breaking old habits; reflexes from a time when her world was stifling lace and lemonade socials and croquet. But Elora is not, she knows, offering a lesson so that she can speak ill of Kit to the next ten girls who come calling. Elora is not going to give Kit the cold shoulder at the next event of the season. Elora is warm and funny and unfailingly kind, her needle and thread already halfway up the run that’s been giving Kit trouble for over an hour.

Dutifully, Kit sets her unpracticed fingers to work threading her needle.

The thread Elora has given her is a perfect crimson; the colour of the contrast patterning that makes its way across the background cloth now faded to a pale brown the colour of prairie dust. Elora - always happiest in the glitter of a big city - likes to match herself to the dirt out here in the Midwest. Once a day, she giggles and ask Willow when he’s planning to add some trick ropers for a Wild West show. Kit sticks her hand under Elora’s skirt, gathering the cloth the way she’s been shown - by Elora, by Jade - and starts to mend.

It is easier on cotton.

The cloth doesn’t shift or slither out of Kit’s grasp the way that the silk was. Elora’s dress is never going to gleam the same way under the stage lights, but it behaves in Kit’s hands, as she draws her needle in and out. It’s easier on a frayed spot, too, instead of a place where the cloth has torn altogether. Frustration blooms at the back of Kit’s neck; the stirrings of one of those headaches she used to get over embroidery.

Elora pauses in her work, suddenly, and reaches out to grip the place on her skirt where Kit is trying her best. She brings it nearer to her eyes - exposing an amount of underskirt and lace bloomer that would have shocked Kit weeks ago - and smiles. “See, you know what you’re doing, Kitten,” she says. “Just gotta make it easier on yourself.”

She hands the section of skirt back to Kit. Kit stares down at her work. Elora doesn’t say a thing more. Not a lady’s needlework can never be too perfect, not a single note on the fact that Kit’s grid is running slightly off-center to the grain of the cloth. Kit’s repair - tidy, if not perfect - is good enough.

Kit doesn’t say anything in reply. She’s not sure how, yet, to reply. But she goes back to her work smiling.

[buckets-of-dirt]

Behold! A wonky-but-finished wrist warmer

I have a new toy! Coppergate sock replica here I come (after a LOT more practice)

[elsewhereuniversity]

Ehm, I have something for the sewing kit, I suppose? This spatula has decided its calling in life is to assist in textile-related creative matters, rather than culinary. I'm not sure what help it could be, but it's steadfastly refusing to help me make my pancakes. Hopefully whoever next claims the sewing kit will find some use for it. On a related note, might you have a spare spatula on your hands? I still want my pancakes!

I'll put it in the sewing kit, in the hopes it gets to somehow live out its ambitions. In return... not a spatula to make your pancakes, but a plate to eat them on, hammered from cold iron and dented from some form of combat. May you enjoy your pancakes safe from the charms and enchantments of the Gentry.

[ask-the-denalis]

What does your coven like to do individually in your free time?

Hello love,

since you have not explicitly stated who shall have the honor of tending to your request, I feel it my responsibility to provide an answer. I am the leader of this coven, after all. As such, I speak for it in times of uncertainty.

Now, let us delve into that intriguing question, shall we? ;3

In our "free" time? Hah! What a quaint way of putting it!

...

Pardon my moment of indulgence. But, my love...if there is one thing our kind is "blessed" with, it is free time. It makes the very core of our existence.

What a charming thing...

Now, I will start with myself, simply because it is more convenient that way.

I quite enjoy mingling. Within reason, of course. I would never risk exposing our kind and endangering my family for a fleeting hanky-panky.

...Even if my sisters would surely love to argue that statement.

(Spare them no mind. Despite having wandered this earth for well over a millenium, they have yet to outgrow some of their childish whims. Especially Katrina.)

On the subject of "sisters":

Katrina seems utterly devoted to that ghastly console of hers. (When she is not off grappling with bears, that is.)

Tapping a series of buttons as you shout into a microphone at a faceless audience?

Where the allure lies in that eludes me.

Then there is my youngest sister, Irina. She is a dreamer, truly. If she is not immersed in one of her novels, you will likely find her enjoying a classic love tale on her old tube television. She cherishes that fragile thing, despite its many shortcomings. (Which have almost pushed her to toss it aside more than once.)

I find it rather...amusing.

Carmen is a passionate one. She is incredibly skilled at crafting objects of various designs and functions - textile arts, pottery, painting, and especially woodworking. The latter has blessed us with a most exquisite interior decoration.

She is truly an inspiration.

Carmen´s husband, Eleazar, is a curious soul. He is constantly searching for his next surge of inspiration, and if he finds himself with an opportunity to expand his knowledge, he is most eager to take it. As of late, he has developed a keen interest in the human anatomy...

I truly cherish our sophisticated talks.

I sincerely hope that my response has provided the answers you sought. If you wish to know more, I would be delighted to engage further.

Yours truly, 💋

- Tanya, leader of the Denali coven

[spacesapphi]

Guys... Can I talk ab the Marnie lore for the main story I'm writing for my interp of Stardew...

Too bad, doin it anyways

Marnie Lore Doc is Here!!!

This mostly goes over her backstory as in what she was like when she was younger, all the basic story points of what happened with her leading up to the parts that I'm writing about in my fanfics (there will be no spoilers here)

CW for some talks of health and death

Everything is below the cut!

Marnie and her sister Mona were born in 1959 (Stardew in my writing takes place around 2010) and grew up in the ranch house in Pelican Town. The farm had been in the family for generations now, the Yoder family taking great pride in their roots as PA Dutch people. The girls’ father instilled the ideals of working hard and taking pride in said work from a young age, having them help out on the ranch when they were as young as 5. 

The girls were each other's best friends growing up, and they grew extremely close. They knew each other's deepest secrets and biggest dreams, and supported each other wholeheartedly. Mona was the first person to know that Marnie wanted to be a textile artist instead of a rancher. It wasn’t like she didn’t like the animals, she loved them! But life in the valley felt too stagnant for her, and she felt like she could only truly excel if she made something of herself out in the world. Mona supported her wholeheartedly, giving her praises and critiques on her works, and overall being her biggest fan. Her father wasn’t exactly so excited about this, however. He worried that going out into the city would change his daughter too much, make her forget her roots. Not to mention, the ranch needed to be cared for. It took a lot of convincing from Marnie, and Mona assuring him that she’d take over the business for him to finally come to accept that choice.

She worked for the ranch through highschool and into her early 20’s to save up to go to her dream college, a fabulous arts institute in Zuzu City. It was incredibly expensive, but she managed to save every spare cent to pay for her classes. She was so proud of herself, as were her father and Mona. Unfortunately, the year before she was set to go didn’t go as planned for anyone. Their father passed away unexpectedly, leaving Mona as the sole caretaker of the ranch. Marnie offered to stay home, to push off college and help Mona with the work, but she kept insisting she could handle it, telling Marnie to pursue her goals. Reluctantly, she agreed to go forward with college, thanking Mona for being so kind and understanding. 

The first year away at college was interesting to say the least! The valley was so small and tight knit, and it was jarring seeing so many people all crammed into one place like in the city. Marnie felt like a true fish out of water. People in the city commented on her clothes, how she ‘talked funny’, and how her mannerisms were ‘odd’. She started feeling like maybe she made a mistake, and almost went home during orientation week. However, she changed her mind after meeting her roommate, Pamela Finch.

 She was an… odd woman to say the least. Pam dressed in all kinds of bright, funky clothes, wore heavy makeup and had her blonde hair teased to high heaven, the poster child of the 80’s. She didn’t seem to take many things too seriously, just ‘going wherever the wind took her’. College was her dad’s idea, as he wanted her to do something big and important with her life. But Pam? Her dream was being a trucker, driving all across the country with nothing but the open road and the radio to keep her company. Though in many ways they were opposites, Marnie grew to enjoy her company. They were both considered ‘odd’ by people in the city, just in different ways. Pam was her best friend of all time, a fun and rowdy one who got in all sorts of trouble. They were great for each other, though. Pam was able to mellow out a little and Marnie was brought out of her shell through their friendship.

On top of gaining a new friend, Marnie would soon gain another family member! She and Mona made it a point to call each other at least 3 times a week, updating each other on their lives. Marnie typically was the one with the most exciting news to share, as the valley often was not exciting, but Mona actually had something interesting to share. She was going to have a baby, and Marnie was over the moon at the thought of being an aunt. When she asked who Mona was seeing, and when she would meet the lucky man, Mona got standoffish. The man pretty much ghosted her when he found out, and Mona didn't want to talk about it. Marnie got the hint quick and wouldn’t bring it up again.

The next spring, right after the Spring semester let out, Marnie went home to meet the baby for the first time. This baby would be her little nephew Shane, and he was the cutest thing she ever saw… though she was a bit taken aback at his purple hair. The shock wore off quickly, Marnie claiming that such a unique trait was the mark of a future artist like herself! She absolutely adored and spoiled her nephew, and was so pained to leave him and Mona to go back to the city once the Fall rolled around. 

When she got back, she dormed with Pam once again, who proudly announced that she had gotten married over the Summer! The two barely knew each other for two months, but she swore they were in love. He was the man of her dreams, a wild and handsome trucker who promised to take her all over the country with him as soon as she was out of college. Her dad was not happy about this, almost disowning Pam over it, but he eventually came around to it and reluctantly accepted his daughter's choice. (Pam would only come to realize YEARS later that she was dealing with comphet, and realizes she's a lesbian when she moves back to Pelican town)

The next school year was exciting, consisting of many elaborate projects and even gallery showings for Marnie! Mona showed up to every single one she could, always telling her sister she was gonna go far with this. It gave her the motivation to keep pushing herself above and beyond, making more conceptual pieces, always inserting symbols of the culture she grew up in and loved so much. She promised her dad she wouldn’t forget her roots, and stuck by that promise. 

In her Junior year, Marnie found herself getting considered for a grand opportunity, an apprenticeship with one of the greatest artists guilds in the country. The job would almost guarantee herself a spot in the art scene. She was ecstatic, overjoyed! Pam insisted they go to a party that night to celebrate… and Marnie learned quickly that she did not enjoy the party scene, especially after she got stuck with a nasty hangover in the morning. 

She chose to work even harder on her art, improving steadily to prove that she deserved this apprenticeship, and her spot in the art world. Her dreams were coming true before her eyes, and she couldn’t possibly be more excited. Whenever she called Mona, she had the most enthusiastic voice, chattering away about all her plans and projects, everything that kept her so busy. But perhaps she was too busy, at least too busy to realize Mona was progressively beginning to sound more tired and unwell with each call. 

Mona convinced herself she was able to handle the ranch and a child, but it was becoming clear she couldn’t. The stress was taking a toll on her health, and she was already starting to go gray in her twenties. She was getting weaker as time passed, the strain of it all having disastrous effects. She refused to tell Marnie though, knowing she would drop everything to come back home, give up and turn back when she was so close to touching the stars. Marnie noticed when she came back home though, seeing how much older and tired her sister looked. She insisted she was going to stay home, Mona telling her no, and a fight broke out between the two over it. Marnie eventually agreed to go back to school and finish her degree, though she felt uneasy about it. 

Senior year was nerve wracking. All the work she had put into this degree was under intense scrutinization, the apprenticeship on the line. All those sleepless nights and days spent squirreled away in the textiles studio were finally paying off. Marnie was noticeably off her game this year though, her thoughts too preoccupied with Mona's health. She was also afraid she was going to fumble this, make a fool of herself in front of everyone and lose the opportunity. But to her surprise, and relief, she was chosen in the end. Upon graduating she would start the apprenticeship, and join the greats in the art world! This should’ve been the happiest time in her life, and it could’ve been if not for the devastating call she got just after graduation.

She and Pam were clearing out their dorm, talking about the future and all the exciting things they had planned. They had graduated just a few days ago, and the excitement was still buzzing in them (though Marnie couldn't help but feel disappointed that Mona couldn't come).

Pam was talking about starting a family with her husband, so excited about the life she saw ahead for the two of them. And Marnie would be on her way to New York, living the high life in the big city and throwing her life into her work. Pam promised to visit her if her work ever brought her to the state.

Marnie chattered on about her plans once she got to the city, getting interrupted by the phone ringing. It was a call from back home. The town doctor was on the line, informing her Mona was hospitalized, and the outlook wasn’t good. Life ground to a halt immediately. Marnie packed the rest of her things as fast as she could, rushing out the door without saying goodbye to her roommate, speeding home as fast as she could.

She didn’t leave Mona’s side once in her last moments, the two talking about life, regrets, and what the future would be like. Marnie scolded her for not opening up about how bad it actually was, and for insisting she go back to school when the stress was legitimately killing her. Mona told her she just wanted her to follow her dream, but if her dream came at the cost of her sister, her best friend, Marnie didn’t want it. Mona asked her to take care of Shane, and Marnie promised she would. By the next morning, Mona was gone.

Marnie of course had to turn down the apprenticeship, moving right back into her childhood home instead of that flashy apartment in the city she had looked forward to. Getting back into the rhythm of ranch life, and adjusting to life with a toddler was difficult, to say the least. The guilt of knowing this is just how Mona felt for so long weighed on her heart, and she promised herself she would do her best to make up for that. As time went on, life began to get easier, though it was never the same. Having no support system, no close friends or any family here was so hard. But she had her nephew, and knowing that he needed her kept her going. 

About two years later, a very familiar woman moved into town, trailer hitched to the back of a pickup truck. When Marnie realized it was Pam of all people, she was overjoyed. Finally, she had a close friend, a familiar face back in the valley with her! She had a baby of her own too, a little girl named Penny that she just adored. Pam explained how her husband had walked out on them recently, and she decided to settle back here for a simpler pace. She was going to take over the bus driving job as well, a position that had very recently opened up! The two talked about the past few years, exchanging stories of the highs and lows of it all. Neither of them expected to be here in Pelican Town, living such similar lifestyles after having such lofty goals and dreams. Pam seemed to find the humor in it though, and expressed that she hoped Penny and Shane would grow up to be good friends. (They would not </3 )

The next few years were a whirlwind. The ranch was a lot of work of course, but there was so much more too! She’d been invited to an aerobics group with all the other ladies in town, won the valley fair quite a few times, had a short, fleeting romance with the man running the saloon, her nephew came out to her as trans (Marnie was actually the one to pick out the name Shane!), the old farmer next door had struck a wonderful business deal with her, and she surprisingly found herself happy in this spot in life. 

This life wasn’t the one she had planned, that was for sure. There were still many things that she regretted, so many things she wished she could’ve done and achieved. She still grieved too, grieving the loss of her opportunity and her sister. But despite it all, and through all the future troubles and misfortunes that would befall her family, she couldn’t help but keep a glimmer of hope that everything would be okay in the end. And with time, it would be.

Pam and Marnie YEARS in the future, almost 30 years after college, will come to realize they have feelings for each other. Pam fell first but Marnie fell harder when she came to realize she also likes women. The two are married and living their best life on the ranch, very much in love

[vicomaco]

Ahoy reader, I'm here to vent. My second favorite season is coming, outside the window the sky is showering washing away the sweltering warmth and it inspires me to do the same with my suffocating self, now in pre-mid life (33) and confuse on the direction, tired of all those coats I've put on my shoulders without consent of a self now lost inside the textile. I just spent 2 or more hours of a working day cleaning my tumblr page, I made all of my past drawings private. Doing so I retraced the 10 or more years spent in this platform through different life phases and artistic epiphanies. I realized how much I forgot of myself, especially the joy I had drawing my pictures in my sparetime. Since I remember I have always had a sketchbook and a trousse of pens and pencils on me, everywhere. During elementary, college, high schools, I remember long train trips filling pages with doodles and thoughts. I stopped filling sketchbooks around eight years ago, close to my diploma, I had countless short deadlines, many white nights and a lot of stress. But I still had school assignements and side projects with friends both done in traditional techniques. No more traditional drawing for me, but still drawing for side fun projects. The school trained me to be an illustrator, more than a comic artist. To experiment and test different tools, my favorite still are inks and gouaches. Life after school became all about comics. And comics, at the - fucking long- beginning of your carreer are 90% ridiculously poor payed. The reasonable choice I took to balance that with the time spent on each page was to learn to actually make them on photoshop, safer if you have to erase, remove pages, redo faces. I didn't have much spare time, but when I had I used it experimenting brushes and learning a bit better the programs while making doodles for myself. No, actually a big changement happened: social networks. Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram and all. Part of me was doing them for myself and in order to evolve the technique, part of me was doing them to display them online. The quest for the "likes" serotonin-dispenser just started.

Now, in bigger comic projects, with bigger life events, and less daily energy I have no spare time, I'm full into professional work. Written by someone else, I'm full time into someone else's world. Comics are already life-sucking, but a life-sucking project when it's not even yours it sucks even the ground under your feet. Now I watch, I don't see, I execute, I'm unable to observe anymore. So I don't post on socials anymore, I'm being consumed by them while consuming time, brainless, zombiengly lurking memes and other distractions from the void this job created in me. I don't remember what I like, what I want to draw, what I would write on a sketchbook and god how I miss traditional techniques, I miss having my own ideas, my personal vertical projects and my personal horizontal purpose, I miss the joy behind my work, I don't remember myself. I've never been consistent, nor obsessed too much on something. I've always be in love with the act of drawing, the state of mind you have while doing it, the beautiful line, the beautiful palette. Every subject could be nicely done. I deeply respect artists with the same style, experimenting inside their comfort zone, obsessed with a subject and pursuing it year after year after year. They are coherent, awhile ago they chose one only coat and they decide to wear only that, and year after year it fits them always better. I myself I'm much better than before in terms of style, composition, lines, narration. The appearence of my style is much more solid, the inside is void. My old drawings in this blog were impressive, they could tell the joy I had experimenting. The oldest ones, the traditional ones, were the happiest. My technical traditional skills were better than my actual digital ones and the soul behind each sketch was so alive! I removed the old drawings from my blog not because I'm ashamed by them. But because I had a pity looking at this decline over and over, I wanted a -maybe?- fresh start. Fall always offers me new resolutions and will for changes, now I'm imploding, I'm sick of memes, I'm sick of stupidities, I'm sick of my poor time management. I want to come back in tumblr because it was, to my remindings, the healthier of the social networks, the less silly (at least my dashboard), the more balanced in aesthetic and content. I want to try to let it help me venting or finding myself again, I guess. Are you experiencing my same sickness of the pointless time-sucking web?

[aenor-llelo]

the first binary was woven. the first machine memory was a loom. the needle and the eye was the first 0 and 1.

the flight to the moon was calculated on textile punch cards, stored in quilts of wire and magnets, hand-sewn by knobbled weaver's fingers. astronaut suits were once sewn by tailors, and it survived them the vacuum of space.

the ancestors of these words were woven, and once upon a time, someone looked at a computer and taught it how to sing.

so if you could spare me, for a moment, the illusion that the science is rational, sterile, separate from the craft. the apollo mission's computers were woven by hand. that was nothing more or less than a labor of love, my friend.

perhaps you cannot forgive my unrefined mind for reminding you that tekhnē was the word for art itself.

As for myself, I find your programs indistinguishable from a layered tapestry of stars.

must it fill you with disgust, that someone could find it beautiful?

[hindulivesmatter]

I'm from the USA and took a lot of Indian history courses at my university. You might already know this or have guessed it, but a lot of what we learned was taught from a leftist--and at times explicitly Marxist--perspective. This was even stronger in other (but thankfully not all!) social studies departments where there were classes focusing solely on various social ills of Hinduism with regard to caste and issues of feminism, yet almost nothing negative could be said if it might be critical of Islam or Muslim figures, (Mahmud of Ghazni being a notable exception for one of my professors.) There was a whole class on British colonialism; no details were spared. Horrible famines in the Deccan, Odisha, Bengal. The decimation of the textile industry. Banning bharatanatyam. The salt tax. Accounts of how a British man kicked one of his servants to death, and another of how the poor and sick congregated outside the gates of a hospital in the south that at the time would only help Europeans. Jallianwala Bagh. But Aurangzeb? Completely whitewashed. You would think Sikhs carry a kirpan for no reason. It was only through reading additional books and documents for my essays and projects that I learned about how he tore down temples, smashed murtis (and stole valuable ones,) levied a double tax on non-Muslims, etc. I remember reading an account of a traveler going through the south at the time of the Deccan wars, remarking on how you could find entire villages empty and deserted fields full of unharvested crops because the people had fled advancing armies. In one region his forces simply killed some Telugu-speaking Brahmins serving the local king rather than force them to convert, and in another his forces captured a royal scribe, forced him to convert to Islam, and forcibly circumcized him before the man killed himself. Obviously the history of all things under the umbrella of Hinduism or any other system is not perfect, but there was a huge difference in how critical you could be of Hinduism (and even western traditions/ideas) compared to Islam.

Sometimes I daydream about what it would have been like to study Sangam literature in India or to experience Andal without needing an English translation, or going to translate old Sanskrit copies of the Mahabharata whose telling is unique to a certain village or something. But ultimately I'm glad I chose to be a research scientist instead and have a career in that, because I don't think I would have been able to succeed in academia unless I were a leftist. :\ Honestly I feel like even going to hang out with ISKCON for a few days would be a better introduction to Hinduism for the average person abroad with zero knowledge than a class called "Intersections of Gender and Caste in Hinduism" or something.

Very telling how Hinduism, and even Christianity is ripped apart in academia, yet when it comes to Islam, it is a religion of "tolerance, and beauty that respects women."

Honestly, though, it's because of how severely they react when their religion is criticized or even inspected. Apostates are given death, women who do not obey are given death, anyone who utters a word against their precious prophets is given, you guessed it! Death.

No religion is perfect, humans can be horrific creatures, and even Hinduism cannot escape that. But Islam has committed far more war crimes than any other religion.

It absolutely boils my blood to see traces of colonizers in our cities. One side of my family hails from Aurangabad, named aftre Aurangzeb, and you already know the atrocities he committed.

It's so fucking insidious to see how the youth have been told what to think. My own friend claimed to me, verbatim: "You cannot be neutral in the Israel-Palestine war. Either you support Palestine, or you support genocide."

Support Hamas? Support terrorism? The same terrorism that affects us? Has everyone forgotten 26/11?

It makes me so sad to think of the future we could have had. Sanskrit would be the most spoken language, instead of English. Gurukuls would exist, and India would still have all of its wealth.

You're right, even ISKCON is better than the propaganda they feed people about our religion.

[horselessheadperson]

LITANY AGAINST FAST FASHION: A SHORT GUIDE

2 disclaimers:

I'm not an expert, these are just my ideas. The more you can add on or correct the better, please reblog

The first responsibility in fixing these issues (there are many, it's not a single problem with a single solution) lies with the people making the big money off of this. If you feel like you already have a system for making clothing and textiles work for *you* and you don't feel up to changing anything, that's absolutely fine and you should feel good about yourself for finding something that works.

Having said that, here's the main problem as I see it:

DUE TO FAST FASHION, WE'VE ALREADY PRODUCED ENOUGH TEXTILE/GARMENTS TO LAST US FOR GENERATIONS

The term "fast fashion" really comes from the rapid circulation of collections high street brands go through. H&M famously advertises they have "something new every time you visit", you can always find new pyjamas at Primark, Pull & Bear prints new shitty tshirts every day. Obviously, not all of those clothes actually sell well and then continue to get worn until they are absolutely beyond repair. Most of those garments end up in landfills. Even the stuff that sells usually doesn't survive past a couple uses and gets thrown out.

=> What can I do in the face of this?

Cherish every bit of textile you have. Even dishcloths. Remember even though sewing machines exist every label, hem, and embroidery is hand-crafted onto your bit of fabric. Was it under $50? Then it's likely someone suffered to bring this to you. This is obviously not your fault and this is not meant to inspire personal guilt, but it might inform the way you handle fabrics. Wash something instead of throwing it out whenever you can and follow the instructions on the label. Choose the right kind of fabric for your needs so you don't have to continuously get new stuff.

Learn how to repair and/or alter stuff. This is a big one HOWEVER I feel like this advice is often thrown around without mentioning that a lot of clothing these days isn't made to be repaired. Some socks are so thin and flimsy they won't take to darning and some shoes aren't meant to be cobbled. Most hems don't have enough spare fabric to lengthen a pair of trousers these days. Once you learn about these techniques though you'll be able to more or less tell which is which before buying. I feel confident in my repairing abilities now so I only buy clothing that's sturdy enough to take a few repairs. Again, if that's above price range, don't feel bad.

BUY SECONDHAND. This is the single best piece of advice anyone can give to avoid the fast fashion trap. Always look for a secondhand option - charity shops, bespoke vintage stores, refurbished design, heck, even ebay. Buy something that has already been through circulation and don't add to the demand for new products. The way quality has declined over the last ten years, this also means you'll likely get much higher quality.

Learn to make your own stuff. This is basically a last resort as it's costly and takes a lot of effort and resources. If you're at all interested in fashion though, it's very much worth it to at least look into one or two fabric arts to pick up on the side. You'll have full control over the materials, cut, size, and finish of the garments you make yourself. If nothing else doing this will help you appreciate how much a piece of fabric or a garment is really worth in terms of labour and expertise.

Wear a piece of clothing until you can't repair it any longer. Then, turn it into rags or use it as scrap material for small projects if you do any crafts. After that, donate or re-sell what you can. No, not everything that's donated gets sold, but it's still the most responsible way to get rid of textile products you don't need anymore.

Buying more expensive garments isn't always better. I've had €500 shoes that went bust after two wears and I've had cheap tshirts that lasted for years. When you need a longer lasting item, say, a coat or a pair of boots - do some research, check second hand options, and stay critical. Don't buy based on brand. A good example is Doc Martens, whose boots have famously more or less gone to shit the past 5 or so years.

Remember, fashion is both a verb and a noun. Enjoy!