#and capturing seven accurately

[bromcommie]

the way I would kill for an M-rated howling commandos oneshot. she could’ve saved the mcu and this is 100% the hill I will die on

[justasightseer]

I have never in my life written a word of fanfic.

However, there's this Alfred fic idea that has been bouncing around in my head for months now, and I feel like I'm literally going to grow a brain tumour if I don't write it down 😭

[cutiefulism]

caleb >.< lads

imagining him keeping a lil photo of u in his wallet and on his person at all times.

it's one you would call ugly, too. your mouth is open in a wide smile, eyes crinkled and cheeks flushed with mirth. the sun, as if it was your personal ring light, catches in your eyes, making them glisten even through the wrinkled, worn paper.

caleb hasn't stopped staring at it since he got it.

it captures your essence perfectly (as perfect as a replica can, anyway. it shrivels in comparison to the real thing.), and every morning before he's called in for duty, he presses his lips to it, hoping that, one day, he'll get to find out how you really taste.

but some days, that's not enough. when his subordinates have irked his nerves or when shit has hit the fan during an expedition, that morning kiss to you doesn't calm the frustration, the anger brewing in his gut.

and caleb is just a man.

"mmph, fuck—"

his thumb glides over the little slit of his tip, catching a bead of pre and smearing it down his shaft. his fist continues to pump, that gorgeous, aged photo of you somehow still delicately held in his opposite hand.

you'd be ashamed. disgusted, even.

what you don't know can't hurt you, however, and he has no intentions of letting you know what he does with this picture. not unless you ask.

then he'll have to answer, because who is he to deny his pretty girl?

your lips are so pretty when you smile, but they'd be even prettier wrapped around his cock, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing as you struggle to take all of him. he'll help you, of course — whisper praises, sink his fingers into your hair and guide your head further, down to the hilt.

then you'd gag, big, sad tears welling up on your waterline, and he'd brush them away with his thumb.

he'd say, "'s okay, princess. you like it, right? 'm not gonna let you get hurt."

a bit of drool escapes the corner of his open mouth as his heavy balls tighten at the imaginary sound of you gagging on his dick.

caleb spits the rest of the saliva that's flooded his mouth onto his cock. it's foolish and likely biologically impossible, but he's sure yours would lubricate better.

your pussy would lubricate better, too, and that thought has caleb squeezing the head and groaning like he's in heat.

he knows these are not the kinds of thoughts a childhood best friend should have, but caleb has never thought normally. he's yearned for you, craved you, even when you forgot him.

this is nothing new to him. hell, he's fantasized with you in the next room over before.

you and those flimsy pajamas, big shirts with tiny shorts that do nothing, absolutely nothing to hide the delicious curve of your ass.

if he chopped off all the fingers and toes of his fleet members and counted them, that still wouldn't be accurate to how many times he's wanted to grope or smack, how many times he's wanted to kiss and bite.

"hah, ngh, c'mon baby..."

caleb slowly drags his hand down all seven inches before he speeds up his pumping again, faster than before, and his metal fingers just barely crinkle the photo.

you'd be so tight. your mouth, your pussy, your ass. all of it. he'd have it all, and you'd take it because you're a good girl, his good girl, and oh, fuck—

his hand is a blur as his balls draw up and his teeth sink into his lips. a long, whiny moan of your name leaves his lips, both a prayer and a curse as ropes of white stain his abs and sheets.

his cock continues to twitch, and he's but a slave to his orgasm as his head lolls back, eyes sliding shut as he strokes himself through it, milking more out of him like he knows you would do.

you're a tease, after all.

it takes him a hot minute to come down, dick jolting faintly before going limp, and caleb swallows down gasps of air.

every orgasm hits harder the longer he's away from you.

he opens one eye, his free, sticky hand fumbling for a handful of tissues. he wipes himself down, throws the soiled tissues into his garbage, and covers it with paper.

his subordinates are nosy little shits.

caleb tucks his dick back into his briefs, and he sighs, eyes wandering back to the photo of you.

his pretty baby.

he brings the yellowed paper to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your face.

"i'll make it back home to you. i swear it."

first fic heh... kinda nervous ^_^;

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the palace guards

kinktober, day seven

a/n: i am completely and utterly in love with this au.

warnings: poly!royal guards!marauders x princess!reader, smut, established relationship, secret relationship, kissing, penetrative sex, cockwarming, dirty talk, just a tender moment in the middle of a fourway

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

With a sweat-glazed forehead, you blinked up at the guard towering above your melted form in the tufted chair, his girth still snug inside of you as you clambered around him, a tender kiss to your flush cheek from one of the others at your side aided in speeding up your recovery from your second of many highs on your usual nightly visit from the castle’s uppermost security. 

Though as you laid there, panting to regain your breath, your right hand fluttered out to locate guard’s at your side, a solemn look washing over your blissed-out features. 

“What,” Remus placed a soft peck over your knuckles as he weaved his fingers with your own, “what is it, darling?”

Fuzzily tilting your head around to catch each of their eyes, you asked, “what if someone finds out?”

Tilting his head, James reached out and caressed your left cheek, “your highness, I promise you with every bone in my body that they won’t,” the soft swipe of his broad thumb across your cheekbone assisted in your digestion of his unwavering promise. 

“We are the security in this palace,” Sirius gazed down at you with a gentle tilt to his head, “you’re safe with us.”

“But what about when I no longer live here?” you felt your bottom lip begin to quiver, “I’m a princess, I can’t keep stalling marriage forever…”

“Then we will come with you,” Remus found your weary gaze, enclosing his other hand around yours as well, “or if it comes down to it and you wanna get away, leave this life behind forever, then we may or may not have already made a plan or two,” he added with a hopeful smile. 

“Nothing is gonna happen…” eyes still firm on you, Sirius turned his head to peck your leg still resting on his sturdy shoulders, the usual playful glint swiftly returning to his eye, “except of course this,” you let out a gasp as he suddenly rolled his hips, gently kickstarting his movements once more, “that’s gonna happen as much as you will let us,” he smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. 

“Heavens,” a breathy moan rolled off your tongue as you soon watched James’ fingers reach down to rub lavish circles over your clit, “what have I gotten myself into with you guys….”

“Love,” Remus pointed out with an adoring smile, “that’s what,” one that you couldn’t help but mirror because of how accurate his doting statement was. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[poolofunidentifiedfluid]

Z’s Buddie fic recs

i read an ungodly amount of buddie fics and i felt the need to document them so these are my all time favs so far

ice cream before dinner | cloudydaisies | 58.5k | T

gerrard messes with the team's schedules and eddie 'i just drove my son to flee the state' diaz is the only option to watch mara and jee-yun after school on tuesdays, which, shouldn't be a problem at all, right?)

this one is so special to me i haven’t cried about a fic in a hot second

ripples all the way down | iriswests / @fcntasmas | 57.2k | M

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

no joke this may be one of my favorite fics ive ever read. just read it trust me

burn the straw house down | rarakiplin (gmontys) / @hoediaz | 40.2k | M

buck gets stuck in time, has a break down and then, relatedly, a break through

i had never read a timeloop au before so i was skeptical at first but this was beautiful and amazing and incredible no notes. i also am extremely attached to the oc in this :,) love this tremendously

Where the light enters | june_nights / @beecauseevan | 108k | M

Chris is 800 miles away, and Eddie's house feels emptier than ever. As always, Buck is right there, ready to have his back, to catch him without hesitation if he falls. This is familiar, this is normal, this is the way they've always been.This is fine, until it isn't.Until Eddie finds himself drawn to Buck in ways he never expected—ways that might not be so new at all.

i devoured this fic so quickly and i am a slow reader (if you have religious trauma definitely read the trigger warnings)

Leave the light on (I’ll be coming home) | HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania | 44.4k | M

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

love love love. any fic that brings the will into play i love since we havent gotten that in cannon :,)

upon reflection | jeremycarver / @louisdotmp3 | 24.8k | E

Buck and Eddie get into a friends with benefits situation that quickly spirals out of control.

they are stupid idiots and i love them dearly

if you leave the light on | cloudydaisies | 27.8k | G

the check engine light comes on in Buck's Jeep, Eddie volunteers to fix it and carpool with him in the meantime, and it all breaks down from there, literally and metaphorically

‘check engine light as an extended metaphor’ is a beautifully accurate tag

Half awake if our fake empire | HMSLusitania/ @hmslusitania | 33.5k | T

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

buddie girl dads. you will see from the amount of buddie girl dads on this list and future lists that i have father issues but it makes for a great reading experience

The best lie is a truth (my best mask is my face) | letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels | 43.1k | E

The Buckleys are celebrating their 50th Anniversary, and Maddie and Buck are both expected to come. To take the heat off Maddie, Buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. Obviously, there's only one solution: bring Eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. No problem, except for the, uh. "Pretend" part. Oops.

captured the infuriating nature of the buckley parents perfectly

from the ground up | marviless / @marviless | 51.7k | T

the story of how buck discovers he has a six-year-old daughter, spirals a bit, becomes an astronaut in training, kisses the love of his life, makes lasagna, and learns that his heart might just be the perfect place to build a home, all in seven days.

once again girl dads have me in a chokehold

good pretender | likeshipsonthesea | 85k | E

an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need

therapy: expensive getting therapy through eddie diaz: free. demi eddie is so dear to me

[seelie-buddy]

Eyes only for you

summary : in this beautiful night, Wanderer captures your attention

contains : your attention drifts to Wanderer despite the beauty that surrounds you ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 420

You sat below the statue of the seven whose light shown like a beacon in the forest of Mawtiyima.

A bag of Rukhashava Mushrooms laid between you and Wanderer; it was supposed to be a short trip: come to Mawtiyima, obtain some of said mushrooms, return to the city. But the trip dragged long by the pesky electro abyss mages and slimes that infested the area, plus an unfortunate encounter with an electro regisvine.

The moon glowed behind drifting clouds, and the fluorescent mushroom twinkled. The people of Sumeru say that the heart of the forest resides in Mawtiyima, and it's magic pulses in the form of these mushrooms. The scholars however, found no evidence of such, and labelled it a fairytale.

A fairytale it might be, you wondered to yourself, because there was a magical spell in the air. The crystalflies– glittering with the hue of dendro– floated around the statue underneath which you rested.

Wanderer, having noticed the smile on your face, outstretched his hand gently towards one crystalfly; and you found it utterly unfair how quickly it came to rest at the tip of his finger. You felt the need to scold him for his show of uninterest as he sat with his elbow on his knee, chin resting on his palm, but chose to roll your eyes at him.

You tilted your head, watching as the crystalfly batted its wings, producing what appeared to be a trail of glitter. A soft laugh left your lips as you watched, amazed with how such a small, delicate creature could produce such fascinating illusions to the eye.

You turned your head towards Wanderer, ready to gush about the little elemental lifeform, but the words died at the tip of your tongue.

In your reverie, you hadn't noticed how many crystalflies gathered around you; or more accurately, around Wanderer. They drifted about him as a butterfly would to a flower. Their soft glow emanated a soft halo around him, the fluorescent mushrooms of the forest only adding to the magic of the moment.

"Beautiful," you whispered, the smile on your lips growing as the view took place in your mind, and finding its way to your heart.

His eyes met yours for but a moment before fluttering back to the crystalfly on his finger, just in time to watch it take flight.

"What?" He asked as his eyes trailed the crystalflies that took flight around the two of you.

"The night is beautiful," you said. 'Because you're by my side'.

a/n: I felt like I didn't write for wanderer for a while; but funnily this drabble doesn't even have all that many dialogues

p/s: this was supposed to be like those multi-character posts, but then I thought it would work as a separate drabble

Enjoyed this drabble? Then be sure to check out my latest drabble !!

[warsofasoiaf]

I know there's War of the Roses parallels with I&F, but do you think Westeros might be more France than England? I ask because you have written about the feudal levies in I&F, but a book I read about Crecy says that the French actually had a peasant levy supporting knights & mercenary archers, as opposed to the English force. Also, where English WotR lords had estates all over the country, French nobles actually seem to have ruled blocks of territory, on map I saw racefortheironthrone post.

I think these are less modeling after medieval France and more about GRRM's creative choices for storytelling and in building the world of Westeros for simplicity.

The Seven Kingdoms being more or less contiguous blocs without exclaves or strange dual-hatting where an English king can do obeisance to the French king specifically in the scope and purview of being the Duke of certain French provinces while maintaining his own independent Kingdom of England is because that's a very complicated political arrangement. Since that sort of arrangement doesn't really drive the plot at all, GRRM just made Westerosi feudalism simpler for the sake of reader digestion. It may not be accurate to period feudalism, but it is much easier for the modern layman to pick it up, read it, and understand it. "This territory is the Vale, everyone in it are vassals of the Arryns." Easy to draw a map for it, easy to understand when Lysa Arryn refuses to engage in the War of the Five Kings to know exactly *which* houses are staying out, because they're all neatly listed in the appendix, one right after the other.

GRRM's ahistorical overreliance on the peasant levy has less to do with preferring to pattern the military system after England than France, since France itself also had its own semi-professional and quasi-professional soldiers classes with varying degrees of irregular training and kit, and more to do with his experiences as a conscientious objector and Vietnam War protester. It's not wrong to say that his experiences during that period of time are a great influence on him and he wanted to capture the feeling of the conscriptee being sent to Da Neng in passages like the Broken Man Speech. The experiences of the unraveling of the social fabric and the devastation that the war brought is central to the story in A Feast For Crows and GRRM wanted to use what he knew, a similar sense of a torn apart world that felt betrayed by LBJ and Nixon.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[blathannabeaga]

.☽༊˚ january writing; family tree

deacon kay x reader

feat. 50-squad!reader, established relationship, fluff

Most people would understandably take a seven-thirty wakeup call with more than a pinch of salt, especially if they’d only gotten off work at eleven the night before - all bar Deacon, whose bright smile lights his whole face up as he waits for you to file away all your gear so he can take you home.

Your night shift hadn’t been without excitement, but treated you well enough all the same. An attempted robbery of a convenience store and a marked unit spooking a counterfeiter with a warrant into a chase had left you tired but whole, and more than ready to fall into Deacon’s lure of breakfast at your favourite diner and a slow morning at home to catch up on your missing sleep.

In quiet cohesion, you shed your equipment and Deacon sorts it neatly away where it belongs. Tenderness is imbued in everything he does, from how he loosens the straps of your vest over your shoulders to how he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear as he helps take your earpiece out. As accustomed as you are to his love after so long spent together, it never stops softening you even in the coldest of moments.

Down to your uniform-issue jumpsuit, you press gently past him to go wash your face. You hear the creak of your locker door opening - the code having long since been Deacon’s own birthdate - and the soft swishes of fabric unfurling as he pulls out a set of clothes for you to change into. The cool water wakes you up almost immediately, and it’s only when you twist the tap off and go to dry your face does it occur to you that it sounds like he’s stilled. A peek around the corner at your ajar locker door offers a slim view, and of it you see the strong line of Deacon’s back and his elbows settled against his sides, like he’s holding whatever he’s looking down at.

“What?” Confusion rises in you, worsening the closer that Deacon examines the offending article. Errant water droplets splatter against the porcelain of the sink as you sluice your hands, and hurriedly plead your case. “God, please don’t tell me Rocker actually printed the photo of me napping in the Gurkha. It was just for ten minutes on an overtime shift, swear.”

He raises a brow, shooting you a humoured look that makes warmth pool in the pit of your stomach. Your footsteps echo quietly as you pad back over to him, and rest a hand on his shoulder as you peer down at what he’s so interested in.

It’s a drawing of Sam’s from kindergarten, a thin strip of tape still attached to the top where you keep it stuck to the inside of your locker door. Against a blocky, crayon-drawn iteration of the house are seven people - Annie, blonde hair flowing and work suit recreated as being as he could manage, Sam and his siblings lined up in varying stated of accuracy, Deacon in all his silver glory - and then, stick-hands joined with Deacon’s, is you.

“You kept it.” He thumbs over the lightly worn paper like it’s something holy, looking down at you in much the same way. It’d been two months since Sam had toddled out of school touting the picture, proudly waving it for you to see as you waited for him at pick-up.

“ ‘Course I did.” A little knot of emotion catches in your throat as the memory reemerges, but you swallow it down. Hands finding their way to the curves of his arms, you squeeze him gently as you flash a sweet luck invasive smile. “It’s not everyday an artist so accurately captures my lovely smile and the way my forehead wraps all the way around.”

Deacon makes a noncommittal sound under his breath as he sticks the drawing back onto the metal of the door. Taking you into his arms even as you grumble in mock protest, his cheeks grow rosy under the bleak lighting above.

“I love you.” His hands settle warmly on your back, finding purchase in the divot of your lower back. The love in his eyes is as pure as you’ve ever seen. “So, so much.”

Warmth rushes to your cheeks, but you hold his gaze all the same. “Even with my two different sized eyes and an arm coming out of my neck, for some reason?”

He laughs, and it’s still your favourite sound to date. “Especially that.”

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Content Warnings: Adult content (video of a MMM threesome, d/s dynamics, praise kink), mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator ( hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy. Taglist: @alohastitch0626, @jspidey5

Your thoughts have been straying to them more often than you'd like to admit.

From the moment Prongs subscribed to you, they've been a persistent presence at the back of your mind. Their comments, their likes, their messages—all carrying an undercurrent of something that piques your curiosity. You've never been one to pay too much attention to specific followers, but these three...they're different.

Is it the way Prongs flirts without crossing boundaries, his words always respectful yet suggestive? Or perhaps it's Padfoot's bravado, his messages imbued with a confidence that makes you want to learn more about the man behind the screen. And then there's Moony, ever present and yet so elusive, his own brand of mystery stirring questions within you.

The knowledge that they are creators as well is inescapable. It was made evident when Prongs subscribed to your OnlyFans, and the content on his free feed has not gone unnoticed by you. You hesitate to watch any of it, afraid of what you might feel if you do, yet curiosity gnaws at you with persistent teeth.

The temptation to find their profiles on the free porn sites has been there since the beginning, a low hum in the back of your mind. You know they have them—Prongs mentions his in his bio, and it would be strange if Moony and Padfoot didn't as well. But you've held yourself back, created an unspoken rule: just because they consume your content doesn't mean you need to consume theirs.

Today, that rule is harder to follow. Your curiosity is piqued, not just by what they've said but by the mystery of them. The way they speak, the things they like... it paints a picture you're desperate to see filled in. You want to know what their voices sound like, how they move, the dynamic between them that's hinted at in every message, and if you’re being honest, the thought of seeing them together on screen sends a thrill through you that's hard to ignore.

You power up your laptop, the screen's glow casting long shadows across your desk. It doesn't take long to find what you're looking for—their online identities are well known in certain circles, their usernames public, their content tantalisingly explicit.

The thumbnail image of the first video you find is eye-catching; as always, their faces are hidden, their identities preserved by careful angles and strategic cropping, but there's an intimacy to the way their bodies entwine that speaks volumes, even in this tiny preview.

Your pulse quickens as you hover over the play button. You've watched countless videos before—you create adult content yourself, after all—but there's something different about this one. Perhaps it's the fact that you've interacted with them, shared a few messages, imagined them watching you perform with the same intensity you're about to direct at their on-screen display.

You click play.

The video starts mid-scene, the three of them already engaged, their bodies tangled. It's not the polished product of a professional studio; there are no theatrical lights or artificial poses. Instead, it captures a scene that feels stolen from someone's private moments—intimate, raw, and achingly real.

You can't see their faces, as expected, but somehow that doesn't detract from the allure. If anything, it enhances it, allowing your imagination to fill in the gaps, painting a picture that's more personal than any explicit detail could provide.

Prongs is on his knees on the bed, holding Padfoot's hips as he drives into him from behind. Their movements are fluid yet intense, a testament to familiarity and desire woven together. Even without seeing Prongs's face, you can hear his heavy breaths punctuated by soft grunts, each one matching the rhythm of his slow, deliberate thrusts. Padfoot is on all fours, his head buried in the sheets, but his participation is far from passive. Every now and then, his back arches, a low moan escaping him and getting absorbed into the fabric beneath.

Then your gaze shifts, and you find Moony.

He's positioned at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs spread wide. One hand rests in Padfoot's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands while guiding him where he wants. Padfoot's mouth works eagerly on him, the sound of slick movement barely audible over the ragged breaths filling the room. Moony's other hand lies idle on his thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns on his own skin, a stark contrast to the control he exerts elsewhere. Despite the fervor with which Padfoot services him, it's clear who sets the pace, who holds the reins of this encounter.

His voice is the first to reach your ears—steady, low, a soothing balm that belies the tension beneath. And yet, there's something else in his tone, an edge that prickles at your senses and sends shivers down your spine.

"Good boy," Moony murmurs, the words slipping out like a caress. "Just like that, Pads."

You lean closer to the screen, breath hitching as you hear him—really hear him—for the first time. His voice is just as you imagined it: firm but not harsh, commanding without needing to raise its volume. It's clear who holds the reins here, even if Prongs is the one driving the action.

Prongs grunts softly, the sound reverberating through the room as he buries himself deeper into Padfoot. He moves with calculated precision, each thrust gaining momentum as he finds his rhythm. There's a restraint in his movements, a sense of control teetering on the edge of release. You can almost feel the anticipation coiling within him, waiting for the signal to let go. Despite being the one physically leading, it's obvious he's not the one calling the shots.

"Such a greedy boy," Moony's voice coos, a softness there that contradicts the rough pull of his fingers through Padfoot's hair. He tugs lightly, guiding Padfoot's movements with a firm but gentle hand. "You need it so much, don't you?"

The sound that rumbles from Padfoot's throat is all the answer he needs, and Moony chuckles.

Prongs makes a sound, half-growl and half-gasp, as he thrusts into Padfoot. His grip appears to tighten on Padfoot's hips, fingers digging into firm flesh. The rhythm is relentless, driving them both towards a precipice they can't yet see but can feel looming ever closer.

"Fuck," Prongs breathes, the word barely audible over the slick sounds of their bodies moving together. "So fucking tight."

Padfoot whimpers, the noise muffled by the length filling his mouth. His body rocks forward with each of Prongs's thrusts, pushing him further onto Moony.

It's too much—the sight of them, the sounds they make, the raw intimacy of this moment. It's like watching a dance only they know the steps to, a silent understanding passed between them with every move. You feel like an outsider here, looking in on something sacred and private.

Yet you can't tear your eyes away.

The camera angle shifts, bringing into sharper focus the way Moony's hand rests in Padfoot's hair, fingers rhythmically tightening and loosening as if conducting an orchestra of pleasure. It's a subtle show of power, one that belies the calm detachment in his voice. Yet there's a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, a soft hum of approval when Padfoot's moans grow louder and Prongs's breath hitches with each slow, deliberate thrust.

"Fuck, Moony... can I—" Prongs's voice is strained, the words barely more than a breathless rasp against the backdrop of flesh meeting flesh.

"No." The denial is swift, Moony's voice steady even as it curls around the edges with a hint of amusement. "Not yet. You wait until I say."

A low groan rumbles from Prongs's throat, but he doesn't protest further. His hands tighten around Padfoot's hips, guiding him with an urgency that borders on desperation. Yet even as he seeks release, there's a restraint to his movements, a conscious effort to hold back the tide that threatens to sweep him under. It's as though he's fighting against the current, struggling to stay afloat while Moony's words pull him deeper into uncharted waters.

The sounds of Padfoot's pleasure grow in volume and urgency, mingling with the wet noises of his mouth working over Moony's length. His breath hitches as he tries to keep pace with the onslaught of sensation, giving himself over entirely to the moment.

You watch, entranced by the scene playing out before you. There's a rawness to it, yes, but also an unexpected intimacy in the way their bodies respond to one another. This is more than just sex; it's a display of trust, of need, a manifestation of a bond that runs deeper than skin.

A low groan ripples through Moony, his fingers flexing against Padfoot's scalp. He tugs the dark curls, pulling Padfoot’s head back, forcing him to look up. The camera angle still shields Padfoot's face from view, but there's no mistaking the tension coiling in Moony's frame, the tremor in his voice as he speaks.

"You're doing so well for us, Pads," Moony murmurs, his voice barely audible above the rasp of cloth and skin. His hand moves from Padfoot's hair, disappearing from view but its destination is clear — a gentle caress against a cheek that goes unseen but not unfelt. "You want to come, don't you? You've been such a good boy."

Padfoot makes a sound, half-choked and desperate, as he nods. The motion is sharp, almost frantic, and the camera holds steady, capturing the raw edge of need that vibrates through him.

A soft chuckle rumbles from Moony, and the camera pans out slightly, bringing Prongs back into view. He’s straining, holding back with visible effort even as he drives into Padfoot with a steady rhythm. “What do you think, Prongs? Has he earned it?”

Prongs groans, the sound thick with need. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

You can't see Moony's face, but you can hear the satisfaction in his voice as his hand returns to Padfoot's hair, guiding him back to his waiting erection. "Come for me, Pads."

The command sends a ripple of anticipation through you, and you watch as Padfoot's body stiffens, his hips jerking in sync with the low moan that escapes his lips. The sound is muffled by Moony's cock, but it's loud enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Prongs lets out a deep grunt then, his rhythm faltering as he reaches his own climax. His body trembles against Padfoot's, the two of them caught in the throes of ecstasy under Moony's watchful gaze.

"Good boys," Moony murmurs, his hand still buried in Padfoot’s hair.

The video cuts out then, leaving behind only the image of them lying there together, bodies still moving in small, unconscious ways from the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. It feels intimate, like something you shouldn’t be seeing but can't tear yourself away from.

As the screen goes dark, you lean back in your chair, your heart racing and your skin tingling from what you've just witnessed. You’ve seen plenty of porn before, and made hours of it yourself, but this… this was something else entirely. More real, more visceral. There’s a connection between them that’s hard to put into words, a bond that transcends the physical act they’ve just performed.

You close your laptop, letting the images settle in your mind. You've heard their voices now, seen them in action, and it's only fuelled your curiosity, your interest. You wonder how they would react if they knew you were watching too, with the same intensity they've been watching you.

For now, you let the moment linger. You've stepped over a boundary today, one that feels both exhilarating and dangerous, but there is no regret. Only anticipation for what comes next.

[talonabraxas]

A B R A C A D A B R A

The word Abracadabra is said to derive from an Aramaic phrase meaning "I create as I speak." However אברא כדברא in Aramaic is more reasonably translated as "I create like the Word."

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made."

In the beginning was the Word: the Logos, the sound frequency (vibration).

We know that speech means not just any kind of a vibration, but a vibration that carries information.

Thus, I create like the Word.

In the Hebrew language, the phrase translates more accurately as "it came to pass as it was spoken."

History:

The first known mention of the word was in the third century AD in the work Liber Medicinalis by Quintus Serenus Sammonicus, a physician to the Roman emperor, who suggests to wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle:

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A A - B - R - A - C - A - D A - B - R - A - C - A A - B - R - A - C A - B - R - A A - B - R A - B A

Abracadabra and the Gnostics:

Abracadabra was used as a magical formula by the Gnostics of the sect of Basilides in invoking the aid of beneficent spirits against disease and misfortune. It is found on Abraxas stones, which were worn as amulets. Subsequently, its use spread beyond the Gnostics.

Abraxas:

Have you ever been mesmerized while waiting for the sunrise? As you watch the horizon for that first burst of light, you get swept up in the eternal present moment. With baited breath, your sense of time is suspended, and you’re primed for a miracle. This is the “liminal zone,” the threshold between night and day, between here and there, between this and that. It’s the crossroads where anything is possible. And then the dawn breaks through, like a sudden burst of inspiration, like an act of creation: “Let there be light.” That is the magic of Abraxas, an enigmatic name that has perhaps always been closely associated with the power of the sun. This strange, mysterious name captures that magical, suspended, timeless moment: “all of time as an eternal instant.” Abraxas is the power of infinity—the promise of endless possibilities, the “cosmos” itself. In mythology, Abraxas is the name of a celestial horse that draws the dawn goddess Aurora across the sky. The name suggests a power that is not properly ours but rather a gift from another world.

But what of the name’s origin? It is likely, as an etymologist posited in 1891, that Abraxas belongs “to no known speech” but rather some “mystic dialect,” perhaps taking its origin “from some supposed divine inspiration.” Yet scholars, of course, search for a root. There are speculatory shreds of evidence which suggest that Abraxas is a combination of two Egyptian words, abrak and sax, meaning “the honorable and hallowed word” or “the word is adorable.” Abrak is “found in the Bible as a salutation to Joseph by the Egyptians upon his accession to royal power.” Abraxas appears in “an Egyptian invocation to the Godhead, meaning ‘hurt me not.’” Other scholars suggest a Hebrew origin of the word, positing “a Grecized form of ha-berakhah, ‘the blessing,’” while still others speculate a derivation from the Greek habros and sac, “the beautiful, the glorious Savior.” The name has appeared in the ancient Hebrew/Aramaic mystical treatises The Book of Raziel and The Sword of Moses, and in post-Talmudic Jewish incantation texts, as well as in Persian mythology.

An interesting occurrence of Abraxas is found in a papyrus from late antiquity (perhaps from Hellenized Egypt, though its exact origin is unknown). The papyrus contains “magical recipes, invocations, and incantations,” and tells of a baboon disembarking the Sun boat and proclaiming: “Thou art the number of the year ABRAXAS.” This statement causes God to laugh seven times, and with the first laugh the “splendor [of light] shone through the whole universe.”

The Basilideans, a Gnostic sect founded in the 2nd century CE by Basilides of Alexandria, worshipped Abraxas as the “supreme and primordial creator” deity, “with all the infinite emanations.” The god Abraxas unites the opposites, including good and evil, the one and the many. He is “symbolized as a composite creature, with the body of a human being and the head of a rooster, and with each of his legs ending in a serpent.” His name is actually a mathematical formula: in Greek, the letters add up to 365, the days of the year and the number of eons (cycles of creation).

“That a name so sacredly guarded, so potent in its influence, should be preserved by mystic societies through the many ages . . . is significant,” notes Moses W. Redding, a scholar of secret societies. Redding suggests that only in Freemasonry has this “Divine Word” been “held in due reverence.”

In Kabbalah:

As a carpenter the creator employs tools to build a home, so G'd utilized the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit (the Hebrew alphabet) to form heaven and earth. They are the metaphorical wood, stone and nails, corner­posts and crossbeams of our earthly and spiritual existence. As in abracadabra "Αύρα κατ' αύρα" אברא כדברא, as he, she, it created the universe with; the Letter, The word, and the number.

As Kabbalist sages say G'd created the alef-beit, before the creation of the world. "The Maggid of Mezritch" explains this on the basis of the first verse in the Book of Genesis “בראשית ברא אלקים את השמים ואת הארץ—In the beginning G'd created the heavens and the earth.” Beresheet Barah Elokim Et (in the beginning God created the) The word את, (es or et) is spelled with an aleph, the first letter of the aleph-beit, and a tav, which is the last. The fact is, את, es, is generally considered to be a superfluous word. There is no literal translation for it, and its function is primarily as a grammatical device. So why is “es” present twice in the very first line of the Torah? It suggests that in the beginning, it was not the heavens and the earth that were created first. It was literally the alef-beit, aleph through to tav. The alpha and the omega, Without these letters, the very Utterances with which G'd formed the universe would have been impossible the Baal Shem Tov explains the verse, “Forever the words of G'd are hanging in the heavens.”

The crucial thing to realize is that G'd, creator, source did not merely create the world once. His Her It's words didn’t just emerge and then evaporate. Rather, G'd continues to create the world anew each and every moment. His Her It's, words are there constantly, “hanging in the heav­ens.” And the alef-beit is the foundation of this ongoing process of creation.

According to Kabbalah, Cabbalah and Qabbalah sages and scholars, when the same letters are transposed to form different words, they retain the common energy of their shared gematria. Because of this, the words maintain a connection in the different forms. We find a classic example of this with the words (הצר, hatzar, troubles), (רצה, ratzah, a desire to run passionately into the “ark” of spiritual study and prayer) and (צהר, tzohar, a light that shines from within). All three words share the same three letters: tzaddik, reish and hei in different com­binations. The Baal Shem Tov, explains, the connection between the words as follows: When one is experiencing trou­bles (hatzar), and one runs to study Spiritual txts and pray with great desire (ratzah), one is illuminated with a G'dly light from within (tzohar) that helps him or her transform there troubles into blessings, as it is said that the source of the twenty-two letters is even higher than that of the Ten Commandments.

As it states: “With you, is the essence of G'd", בך means “with you.” The (Beit which has a gematria of 2) and the (kaf = 20) added together equals 22. Through the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit, we are all connected to the monad, G'd, Allah الله, the source, and each other through our words and language as words hold power as that which makes us All unique is language as language weaves everything together. These are the teachings of our holy teacher, as the The Zohar affirms that every sentence, every phrase, every word, and even every letter of the Bible exists simultaneously on several levels of meaning. This sacred work clearly declares, “Woe unto those who see in the Law nothing but simple narratives and ordinary words! . . . Every word of the Law contains an elevated sense and a sublime mystery.”

[Except from Path of the Sun Keepers by Paul Francis Young]

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men's actions.” --Sigmund Freud

[solstices-dreams]

— 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐬.

#𓅓 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬.

This is focused on book accurate character looks and characterization. This was a dr I had before the show came out and it’s another dr that focuses more on healing my inner child. I always wanted to meet Percy and Annabeth and go on the fun adventures with the 7. So I made it a dr :)

This book also brings in people from the different series, I can meet Sadie, Walt, Carter, Alex, and Magnus, people who aren’t present in the show, including all of Camp Jupiter. My friend group is the seven and Nico, whereas in my pjo dr it’s the camp counselors group

In this dr I don’t have a scripted s/o but I feel like it’ll probably be poly percabeth or any mix from the seven. (definitely annabeth) I also am apart of the prophecy and get to be on the Argo, following a timeline in the heroes of Olympus series rather than the first one.

#⚚ - 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧.

This dr is completely show based off the show’s character looks. The personalities of some of the characters will also be mixed more with their actors, mostly the main trio. It’s set in camp half blood only, without camp Jupiter existing and I’m reworking the canon of the 1st series to make it more fun but also with a little bit of plot. (And scripting out obvious deaths and Luke turning.)

I will rework some ages of people and let it be more of a summer camp experience with a few quests, with obvious safety scripted in. Also, a lot of the people from the 1st series will be there, specifically Lee Fletcher (my bestie !!) castor, Pollux, silena, and beckendorf. In my heroes of Olympus dr I won’t get the chance to be with them so I want to in this one. My s/o is Luke :))). I love his actor so much and I was excited when they cast him!! So ofc he’s my baby <3. He’s genuinely so important to me.

Also, if I’m doing the prophecy and all this other stuff I won’t get to experience camp halfblood as much. I want to do capture the flag, chariot racing, all this stuff the little fun stuff I’ll be to busy to do in HoO, which is my reason for the two drs.

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 8/8 - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

EIGHT

A YEAR LATER

                The sound of the hammer hitting hot metal is soothing background noise now, and he sits there, sleeves rolled up in deference to the heat coming from the forge, a whole bunch of essays in front of him for marking. He could be at home, but he’s actually come to enjoy spending time in the forge while Jake is working. The view of course is what got him here in the first place, and sometimes he’ll find himself just staring at Jake, watching his arm muscles flex, watching him wipe sweat and leave a trail of soot instead, his ass when he bends over. There is no part of Jake that he doesn’t find attractive in some way and it’s how he knows he’s got it bad for him.

                That and he now has an appropriate period-appropriate costume and he knows enough about the village that he’s taken impromptu tours. He’s the school master, they’ve even built a bigger classroom and outfitted it with historically accurate props and Bradley hadn’t realized they were doing six-month anniversary presents but apparently the blow job he’d given Jake in the classroom that night and then fucking him over the desk had been more than sufficient.

                Their first summer together had been great, Bradley’s days filled with running baseball trainings and then going to games. He’s looking forward to this coming summer, more of the same but his circle of friends has solidified and he feels a lot more settled. Plus he’s got a big change happening. Jake asked him to move in, his house on the ranch actually his whereas Bradley has a lease that runs out in June. So that’s when he’ll officially move in. He’s looking forward to it, knows Jake is as well, taking things from Bradley’s apartment and then putting them on display in his own place. He grins at the memory of finding a picture of his parents suddenly appearing on Jake’s bookcase, and he knows the students essays he’s currently marking are definitely benefiting from his good mood today.

                “Hey handsome… you almost done?”

                “Yeah, three to go,” Bradley says with a relieved smile.

                “Good. Cause I was going to threaten to throw them in the fire if you weren’t…” Jake says with a grin and Bradley shakes his head at the empty threat. It’s close to closing; Jake only covering because George needed to take his grandkids because another of his grandkids was demanding to be born. Jake reaches up to run a hand over his face, leaving a smudge of soot. Jake wears gloves, Bradley has no idea how his hands get quite so dirty, not that he minds Jake leaving marks all over him, ones he can wash off or otherwise.

                “You’ve, uh, got a little… something.”

                “Do I?”

                “Yeah, just uh, there…”

                “Did I get it?”

                “No. You somehow made it worse… come here.”

                Jake steps closer, and there’s still the wooden barrier to keep visitors away from the forge while it’s in use. He licks his thumb and swipes over the mark, tries to ignore the heated smirk Jake is giving him which is promising all sorts of things. Then Jake is leaning forward, and Bradley meets him, captures Jake’s mouth in a kiss, not caring that technically the village is open. He pulls back sooner than they’d both probably like, licks his lips, can taste the sweat where it’s transferred from Jake’s skin, sees Jake’s eyes track the movement and he swallows, can’t help but lick his lips again and Jake groans low in his throat, eyes dark.

                “Hi Coach B…”

                Bradley is so glad his back is to whoever just spoke, but still a little terrified of who might be with them. Most of his students know Jake’s his boyfriend, none of them care. A few parents are a little less warm. He’s pretty sure no one but Jake hears the quiet fuck he says on an exhale and he turns, smile pasted on his face and is immediately relieved to see only three people, Anthony and his moms. They are all failing badly at hiding their amusement but he’s just glad it was them.

                “Hi Anthony… Jenny, Liz.”

                “Mr Bradshaw.”

                “Hi Mr Seresin…”

                “You can just call me Jake… not like I’m one of your teachers.”

                Anthony is of course filled with questions, and with his moms’ permission Jake brings him the other side, shows him all the tools up close and Bradley wonders if it would be rude to try and mark the last few essays. They have under thirty minutes, so not really, but he could maybe get one done. Instead he ends up making small talk, plans they have for summer. He doesn’t mind, they’re nice people and good parents. Then the school bell is ringing, indicating the village is shutting in five minutes and Anthony rejoins them, grin wide.

                “See you tomorrow Coach!”

                “See you tomorrow Anthony.”

                “Uh, Mr Bradshaw… you’ve… got a little something on your face,” Liz says, gesturing toward his face while clearly trying not to laugh before she turns around and follows her wife and son. Bradley murmurs his thanks under his breath, mortification complete; knows the ground won’t open up and swallow him but a part of him still wishes for it. He wonders when he’ll stop feeling embarrassed every time someone catches him making out with Jake.

                “Come here…” Jake says, and Bradley goes, a bit more relaxed now knowing that there isn’t going to be a repeat of someone walking in to interrupt them. Jake smells… like sweat and soot and heat and leather. It’s so fucking good and Bradley knows he’s developed a Pavlovian response to smelling the forge or leather, the combination is fucking lethal to his self-control.

                “I think you have a thing for me in leather Mr Bradshaw…”

                “Like that’s news… You get off on calling me Mr Bradshaw. Lucky it’s only you saying it that gets me hot, otherwise I’d have lost my job by now…”

                Jake laughs against his neck and Bradley pulls away, because as nice as this is he still has three essays to grade and he’d much rather continue this at home where they can lock the doors and take as long as they want.

…            …            …

                Jake is pretty fucking happy with life. Bradley has moved in, their lives slotting together like two cogs in a clock; their friends and families are all cogs around them and it all just works. Bradley is happy, Jake is very happy, three of his pieces being included in an exhibition in MOMA, and they have a weekend away planned for them for the opening. He has a plan. Assuming he doesn’t get cold feet.

                Which is why he finds himself dragging Bradley by the hand through MOMA, the bright lanyard around his neck declaring him an artist and permitted entry to the exhibit before it officially opens. He’s grateful for several reasons.

                “There’s just one piece I really want to show you okay?”

                Definitely the smallest and most intricate things he’s ever made, but he’s proud of them and he’d had this idea tickling away in the back of his mind. When the curator had asked him what the piece, or pieces rather, were called he’s simply replied One Day. And now along with two other much larger pieces, they’re in MOMA, on display with works from other metal artists from around the world and his intentions are there for the entire world to see.

                “We’re coming back right, you’ll let me take my time and have a proper look?”

                “Yeah yeah, yes, of course I will… Just. I need you to see this first.”

                He stops them then, right beside the plinth where the map said they’d be. On the plinth, surrounded by glass are two rings; made from the same piece of wrought iron and he’d had to work on them in secret, didn’t want Bradley seeing them early. But they’re finished and on display and Bradley is staring at them, reading the information plaque, eyes shooting to meet Jake’s. He grins and shrugs, won’t get down on bended knee in MOMA because Bradley might just turn heel and walk out on him, even if there are very few people around right now.

                “So… uh… one day, I’d like to use one and ask you to marry me.”

                “Jake… why wait for one day? Ask me now…”

                “Oh. Uh. Okay. Will you marry me?”

                “Yeah. I’d love to marry you. One day.”

                Yeah, Jake likes the sound of that.

[staryingx]

Piecing together: The current timeline in Reverse 1999

CN SPOILERS up to Chapter 5 and Interlude. Long post.

The new Chapter 5 and Interlude for Reverse 1999 has shed some light on the Storm and its timeline. With all the new info, I've tried to piece it together as accurately as possible. Here's the timeline I have put together:

Let me break down my findings.

First of all, let's look at the IDM Computer with 37's Mother's prediction.

37 mentions "From 1999 to 2007, the emanation has taken place seven times". Here's how I interpret what the years mean in the Phenomenal column. It's like calling the effect of the Storm: for the first row, the 1996 Storm reverses the era 1999 to 1996. So the "1996 Storm".

The IDM only shows 6 Storms, so the 7th is the Storm that reversed to 1929. I wonder why she didn't include the 8th Storm (1929->1913), but that could be because it was the anomaly 2-day emanation that ruined the model prediction.

Here's a table I have made attempting to fill in the blanks of the IDM computer.

Let's analyze it Storm by Storm.

The 1st Storm (1999 -> 1996)

When: 23:59. December 31, 1999

Reverses to: 1996

Many sources for this, from the IDM showing 1996 to Greta, the writer of the letters in the interlude, mentioning it in her letters.

The 2nd Storm (1996 -> 1985) [Original: 2000]

When: 1996-1997.

Logs don't explicitly say when, but from the IDM we know it takes place ~1 year after the first Storm.

Reverses to: 1985.

We know this from Greta.

"Things remained unclear until time was reversed again. This time, we all witnessed that rain in the 80s. That was 1985."

She was safe in the Headquarters, witnessing the Storm reverse.

The 3rd Storm (1987 -> 1976) [Original: 2003]

When: On a 27th evening, 1987.

Greta: "The Storm in 1987 was predicted. "…but the prediction was not accomplished by LAPLACE. The captive from Manus Vindictae names the precise date of that Storm."

In Chapter 3, we learn the Foundation captured a Manus Vindictae member who gave them the date of the next Storm. Greta also mentions a captive from Manus predicted it.

Thus, this is the Storm that took place in the breakaway incident, where Vertin was 12-years old and witnessed the Storm for the first time.

Reverses to: 1976

Greta: "Finally, I made up my mind to write to [37's mother]... ... ... She died. On the same day, the first and only timekeeper who just took office, the 12-year-old child returned alone from the Storm. She told us the time in the outside world at that point." "...The last two digits in the number of the year after that Storm were exactly her name and her number: 77".

This was a bit hard to understand. I concluded the year it reversed to was 1976, as Greta said "the year after the Storm" was 77.

Original Year: 2003

Two years has passed from the 2nd Storm (1985) as this Storm took place in 1987. This fits with the year 2003 in the IDM computer. Also, when Sophia talks to Sonetto at the geometry graveyard:

Sophia: "Four years ago, my father was restored to a geometric body on his way back to the island. So was 37's mother who was also on that ship".

We know (or can at least assume) 77 is 37's mother who perished in this Storm. The current time is 2007, so four years ago is 2003.

The 4th Storm (~1976 -> 1930s) [Original: 2004]

When: 1976~1977/78

Reverses to: Some year in the 1930s

Original year: 2004

37: "In the initial four years, the emanation [Storm] has a pattern. First it brought us back to the 90s, then the 80s, and then the 70s. After that it suddenly leapt to the 30s."

When is the initial 4 years? 1999-2003, and this fits with our current pattern thus far from 90s -> 80s -> 70s. So the 4th Storm takes us to the 30s.

Sophia: "We miscalculated the impact area of the emanation. We thought the ships would be safe in the [...] current."

This confirms the Storm has a limited area it affects, where places hit by the Storm reverses to that particular year. The timeline of R1999 isn't going backwards linearly. This opens a lot of possibilities and eras we could visit.

The 5th Storm (~1930s-> 1912s) [Original: 2006]

When: Sometime in the 1930s

Reverses to: 1912

Original: 2006

37: ".... After that it suddenly leapt to the 30s. In the subsequent 3 years, [the emanation] took place twice."

When are the three years? The Storm that took us to the 30s was 2004. So the subsequent 3 years 37 refers to are: 2005, 2006, 2007.

The IDM jumps from 2004 to 2006. You can (very vaguely) make out "1912" from the year 2006. At least I think it's 1912. So the 5th Storm takes us from the 30s to 1912.

The 6th Storm (~1912s-> 1966s) [Original: 2007]

Here's where it gets interesting, and where I start to theorize things because there isn't much info yet about this Storm.

When: Theorized: 1912~1914

Reverses to: 1966

Original year: 2007

In 2007, there is a 6th Storm. This is likely the Storm before the beginning of R1999, which takes us to 1966 where Vertin meets Regulus.

Here's why I think this Storm fits with the IDM model and happens in 1912~1914, more possibly 1914.

In Chapter 1, Vertin lists down people she has met to Regulus.

Regulus: "Huh? It's Lewis. I know him!" Vertin: "Yes. I took this photo several days ago. He was selling the Hoover Upright Vacuum Cleaners in the West End, and thought photos would help his business, so he gladly took this." Regulus: "Why did you take a photo of him? How's he..."

Vertin's response is to take a deep breath.

This interaction was very interesting. Why is Regulus so surprised Vertin took a picture of Lewis? "How's he..." How's he what? Alive?

Now I'm not very familiar with historical figures named Lewis, so I could be very (and hilariously) wrong, but after researching who could be related to a business involving Hoover Upright Vacuum Cleaners, I speculate Lewis is John Spedan Lewis. His father, John Lewis, founded John Lewis, a British brand of high-end department stores.

In 1914, John Lewis hands Spedan Lewis control of a store named Peter Jones. Where is Peter Jones located? Sloane Square, London, which is in King's Road.

Vertin: "Yes. I took this photo several days ago."

This fits with the London location and timeline we know so far.  So a few days before Vertin met Regulus, she was in an area of 1914s where she met Spedan Lewis trying to get his store [Peter Jones] going.

Judging from her reaction, he got reversed by the Storm that took them to 1966. Spedan Lewis died in 1963, which is why Regulus is confused why Vertin has a picture of him taken several days ago, and why a wealthy Founder of high-end luxury stores needs a photo taken to help his business.

I thought this was a nice clue that Vertin was in ~1912s era before the 1966s, though this is all just speculation. Feel free to add your own theories who Lewis could be.

The 7th Storm (~1966s-> 1929s) [Original: 2007]

When: June 3rd, 1966.

Reverses to: February 14th, 1929.

Takes place in Chapter 0, where Vertin and Sonetto meets Regulus.

The 8th Storm (~1929s-> 1913s) [Original: 2007]

When: February 15th, 1929.

Reverses to: 1913

Takes place in Chapter 2, where Vertin meets Schneider, Druvis, and Sotheby. Manus Vindictae escalates the Great Depression to cause an earlier Storm. This era only lasts for two days.

These two Storms are straightforward since we witnessed them in game. I won't go into details about them. We're still in the year 2007 according to 37.

The Current Year in Ch 5: 1914 [2007]

Chapter 4 takes place from August 26th to October 10th 1913. The new Chapter 5 begins in 1914.

Eight storms have taken place thus far. Here's a summary with the timeline for reference:

1st Storm (1999 -> 1996)

2nd Storm (1996 -> 1985) [Original: 2000]

3rd Storm (1987 -> 1976) [Original: 2003] 

4th Storm (~1976 -> 1930s) [Original: 2004] 

5th Storm (~1930s -> 1912s) [Original: 2006] 

6th Storm (~1912s -> 1966s) [Original: 2007] 

7th Storm (~1966s -> 1929s) [Original: 2007] 

8th Storm (~1929s -> 1913s) [Original: 2007] 

The Current Year in Chapter 5: 1914 [2007]

Random thoughts:

I hope this post helped paint a clearer picture of the Storms and the possible timeline! Cause, whew, the reason I made this whole timeline was to make sense of it myself. So much lore was dropped in the new chapter.

A question that remains unanswered:

How do people predict the Storm? How can they tell the time in the outside world?

Moissan: "Since Timekeeper hasn't reported the time of this era to the Foundation, you two, as the Foundation investigators, shouldn't know what year this is."

We know 37's group predict them through patterns and math, but what about the Manus Vindictae and Vertin? Vertin just seems to... innately know through her pocket watch and Storm countdown timer on her bracer, perhaps related to her great sense of arcanum. I'm really curious about that.

Biggest Takeaways:

The Storm isn't going backwards linearly and it has a limited impact area. So that means some places not hit by the Storm remains untouched, while others get reversed to whatever era the Storm brings. The first Storm probably had the widest impact.

This means an era in the 1912, for example, could be "reversed" to 1966 if it was hit by the 1966 Storm. That's what I'm getting from all of this. Anyone in the Storm impact area just... poofs, and arcanists/humans in that time era spontaneously appear with the buildings and such. I really love this idea-story wise we could jump around eras.

Then we have places that are completely immune like the Headquarters, Suitcase, and 37's island. They are the only ones who can consistently keep track of time as they're unaffected like spectators viewing the outside world. For the Foundation, Vertin is their way of tracking time in eras: what era did a Storm reverse a place to.

Again, some of these are just speculations and my theories. If you noticed any information I missed out or a mistake, feel free to let me know whether through tags, reply, or even my asks if you're shy. Or if you would just like to talk theories or about Reverse 1999 I'm more than happy to :>

[archivist-crow]

On this day: BETTY AND BARNEY HILL On September 19, 1961, Betty and Barney Hill were driving on an isolated New Hampshire road around midnight when they noticed a light moving erratically through the sky. Seven hours later they were home. The trip normally took less than five hours. At first they had no memory of the lost time, but then alien nightmares began to haunt their sleep and unexplained marks began to appear on their bodies. Eventually they sought the help of a noted Boston psychiatrist to regain their memory of the missing time. Returning home from Canada on U.S. Route 3, they reached the White Mountains, and the light appeared to be running parallel to the car. Abruptly, it appeared directly in their path. Barney got out of the car to look at it through binoculars. He saw a row of windows with figures moving around behind them. Suddenly overcome with a fear of capture, Barney dashed back into the car and sped away. Curious vibrating noises followed the car, and Barney and Betty felt very sleepy. Later, they became conscious thirty-five miles south of where they last remembered being, and their watches had stopped. Anxiety over the lost two hours began to rule their lives. What unfolded, under hypnosis, was a sensational account of alien abduction and medical examination. A group of uniformed men surrounded the Hills, taking them from their car and to a saucer-shaped craft. Samples of the Hills' hair, fingernails, and skin were taken. The leader assured the Hills of their safety. And when Betty asked where they were from, he led her to a "star map." Later, under post-hypnotic suggestion, she drew the map, which appeared meaningless at the time. Several years later new astronomical information revealed a star cluster, near Zeta Reticuli, which rendered Betty's map amazingly accurate. Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[santoschristos]

A B R A C A D A B R A

The word Abracadabra is said to derive from an Aramaic phrase meaning "I create as I speak." However אברא כדברא in Aramaic is more reasonably translated as "I create like the Word."

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made."

In the beginning was the Word: the Logos, the sound frequency (vibration).

We know that speech means not just any kind of a vibration, but a vibration that carries information.

Thus, I create like the Word.

In the Hebrew language, the phrase translates more accurately as "it came to pass as it was spoken."

History:

The first known mention of the word was in the third century AD in the work Liber Medicinalis by Quintus Serenus Sammonicus, a physician to the Roman emperor, who suggests to wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle:

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D

A - B - R - A - C - A

A - B - R - A - C

A - B - R - A

A - B - R

A - B

A

Abracadabra and the Gnostics:

Abracadabra was used as a magical formula by the Gnostics of the sect of Basilides in invoking the aid of beneficent spirits against disease and misfortune. It is found on Abraxas stones, which were worn as amulets. Subsequently, its use spread beyond the Gnostics.

Abraxas:

Have you ever been mesmerized while waiting for the sunrise? As you watch the horizon for that first burst of light, you get swept up in the eternal present moment. With baited breath, your sense of time is suspended, and you’re primed for a miracle. This is the “liminal zone,” the threshold between night and day, between here and there, between this and that. It’s the crossroads where anything is possible. And then the dawn breaks through, like a sudden burst of inspiration, like an act of creation: “Let there be light.” That is the magic of Abraxas, an enigmatic name that has perhaps always been closely associated with the power of the sun. This strange, mysterious name captures that magical, suspended, timeless moment: “all of time as an eternal instant.” Abraxas is the power of infinity—the promise of endless possibilities, the “cosmos” itself. In mythology, Abraxas is the name of a celestial horse that draws the dawn goddess Aurora across the sky. The name suggests a power that is not properly ours but rather a gift from another world.

But what of the name’s origin? It is likely, as an etymologist posited in 1891, that Abraxas belongs “to no known speech” but rather some “mystic dialect,” perhaps taking its origin “from some supposed divine inspiration.” Yet scholars, of course, search for a root. There are speculatory shreds of evidence which suggest that Abraxas is a combination of two Egyptian words, abrak and sax, meaning “the honorable and hallowed word” or “the word is adorable.” Abrak is “found in the Bible as a salutation to Joseph by the Egyptians upon his accession to royal power.” Abraxas appears in “an Egyptian invocation to the Godhead, meaning ‘hurt me not.’” Other scholars suggest a Hebrew origin of the word, positing “a Grecized form of ha-berakhah, ‘the blessing,’” while still others speculate a derivation from the Greek habros and sac, “the beautiful, the glorious Savior.” The name has appeared in the ancient Hebrew/Aramaic mystical treatises The Book of Raziel and The Sword of Moses, and in post-Talmudic Jewish incantation texts, as well as in Persian mythology.

An interesting occurrence of Abraxas is found in a papyrus from late antiquity (perhaps from Hellenized Egypt, though its exact origin is unknown). The papyrus contains “magical recipes, invocations, and incantations,” and tells of a baboon disembarking the Sun boat and proclaiming: “Thou art the number of the year ABRAXAS.” This statement causes God to laugh seven times, and with the first laugh the “splendor [of light] shone through the whole universe.”

The Basilideans, a Gnostic sect founded in the 2nd century CE by Basilides of Alexandria, worshipped Abraxas as the “supreme and primordial creator” deity, “with all the infinite emanations.” The god Abraxas unites the opposites, including good and evil, the one and the many. He is “symbolized as a composite creature, with the body of a human being and the head of a rooster, and with each of his legs ending in a serpent.” His name is actually a mathematical formula: in Greek, the letters add up to 365, the days of the year and the number of eons (cycles of creation).

“That a name so sacredly guarded, so potent in its influence, should be preserved by mystic societies through the many ages . . . is significant,” notes Moses W. Redding, a scholar of secret societies. Redding suggests that only in Freemasonry has this “Divine Word” been “held in due reverence.”

In Kabbalah:

As a carpenter the creator employs tools to build a home, so G'd utilized the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit (the Hebrew alphabet) to form heaven and earth. They are the metaphorical wood, stone and nails, corner­posts and crossbeams of our earthly and spiritual existence. As in abracadabra "Αύρα κατ' αύρα" אברא כדברא, as he, she, it created the universe with; the Letter, The word, and the number.

As Kabbalist sages say G'd created the alef-beit, before the creation of the world. "The Maggid of Mezritch" explains this on the basis of the first verse in the Book of Genesis “בראשית ברא אלקים את השמים ואת הארץ—In the beginning G'd created the heavens and the earth.” Beresheet Barah Elokim Et (in the beginning God created the) The word את, (es or et) is spelled with an aleph, the first letter of the aleph-beit, and a tav, which is the last. The fact is, את, es, is generally considered to be a superfluous word. There is no literal translation for it, and its function is primarily as a grammatical device. So why is “es” present twice in the very first line of the Torah? It suggests that in the beginning, it was not the heavens and the earth that were created first. It was literally the alef-beit, aleph through to tav. The alpha and the omega, Without these letters, the very Utterances with which G'd formed the universe would have been impossible the Baal Shem Tov explains the verse, “Forever the words of G'd are hanging in the heavens.”

The crucial thing to realize is that G'd, creator, source did not merely create the world once. His Her It's words didn’t just emerge and then evaporate. Rather, G'd continues to create the world anew each and every moment. His Her It's, words are there constantly, “hanging in the heav­ens.” And the alef-beit is the foundation of this ongoing process of creation.

According to Kabbalah, Cabbalah and Qabbalah sages and scholars, when the same letters are transposed to form different words, they retain the common energy of their shared gematria. Because of this, the words maintain a connection in the different forms. We find a classic example of this with the words (הצר, hatzar, troubles), (רצה, ratzah, a desire to run passionately into the “ark” of spiritual study and prayer) and (צהר, tzohar, a light that shines from within). All three words share the same three letters: tzaddik, reish and hei in different com­binations. The Baal Shem Tov, explains, the connection between the words as follows: When one is experiencing trou­bles (hatzar), and one runs to study Spiritual txts and pray with great desire (ratzah), one is illuminated with a G'dly light from within (tzohar) that helps him or her transform there troubles into blessings, as it is said that the source of the twenty-two letters is even higher than that of the Ten Commandments.

As it states: “With you, is the essence of G'd", בך means “with you.” The (Beit which has a gematria of 2) and the (kaf = 20) added together equals 22. Through the twenty-two letters of the alef-Beit, we are all connected to the monad, G'd, Allah الله, the source, and each other through our words and language as words hold power as that which makes us All unique is language as language weaves everything together. These are the teachings of our holy teacher, as the The Zohar affirms that every sentence, every phrase, every word, and even every letter of the Bible exists simultaneously on several levels of meaning. This sacred work clearly declares, “Woe unto those who see in the Law nothing but simple narratives and ordinary words! . . . Every word of the Law contains an elevated sense and a sublime mystery.” [Except from Path of the Sun Keepers by Paul Francis Young]

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men's actions.” --Sigmund Freud

[lamemaster]

Kidnap Fam Gets Kidnapped

Request: @asianbutnotjapanese Listen LISTEN!! Maedhros is my favorite Alright But this is so unsettling, disturbing and the anxiety?😨 At first I was like okay it's fine ZombieMae but then I was like?????! Oh God I don't know if I love it and bury it down and forget about it.

Genre: Zombie au

Pairing: Maedhros x gn Reader

Summary: Stories told of the first of the ships arriving from Aman, its golden flags shimmering in the sunlight. Soaked in the ichor of the Valar. That was how it began, the first corruption. The last of the great eagles had spoken of it, their golden blood staining the shores of Aman.

AN: First of all sorry for how long this took. Second- this isn't the traditional zombie au but it's got the spirit. I hope you like it! I did not intend for it to be this goofy but boy do I like crack fic humor lol (somehow zombie Maedhros is pookie-coded)

The coying scent of a decaying bog filled your nose, followed by the sharp tang of monsoon pine. The contrasting smells teased at your senses, threatening to overwhelm you with a migraine.

Forests were like this, deceitful and alive with memories. They still clung to the Firstborn, their cherished ones who once walked beneath their shadows.

But this was no longer their sanctuary.

Cloaked in the dark of night, you crept through what had once been elven lands. That was before the plague. Before the disease hollowed out the dwindling numbers of the Firstborn who remained in Middle-earth.

Men, it seemed, were untouched by the plague.

The elders whispered that it had been the work of Mandos himself, the God of Death, corrupted by the relentless passage of time. Once the Prophet of Doom, Mandos had become doom itself, plunging Arda into darkness again.

Stories told of the first of the ships arriving from Aman, its golden flags shimmering in the sunlight. Soaked in the ichor of the Valar. That was how it began, the first corruption. The last of the great eagles had spoken of it, their golden blood staining the shores of Aman.

Now the Firstborn had returned to these lands, but they were no longer the elves who had sung to the stars. Their vacant eyes hid the will of Mandos.

You crouched low behind a bush, wary of the trees shuffling suspiciously nearby. Away from sight, you pulled out your map. Rivendell had to be close.

Elrond’s map was your only guide, the closest thing to an accurate depiction of the region.

The faint rustle of the Bruinen confirmed it. You had come closer than anyone had dared before.

The mission was supposed to be simple, or so you kept telling yourself.

Kidnap the minstrel son of Fëanor, the one luring the Avari into Mandos’ lair.

It sounded straightforward enough.

You groaned, forcing down your doubts with the liquid courage in your flask.

While the plague could not touch men, its victims had no such boundaries. Villages had been raided. Children and cattle taken, along with women. Only cold, lifeless carcasses were left behind.

The plague had changed everything.

Elves who once wept for felled trees had turned cannibal, their cruelty surpassing even the orcs, creatures that had once been twisted forms of their kind.

The most terrifying among them were the Feanorians.

Bound by their unbreakable oath, they were Mandos’ fiercest servants.

Many had tried to kill the Seven Doomsmen. Fire, swords, poison, even sorcery had failed. Death was Mandos’ domain, and death could not stop the plague.

The only solution had been imprisonment. The weaker ones had been chained, bound with the hymns of Varda to soothe their rage. But these methods failed against the sons of Feanor.

None of them had ever been captured.

Until tonight.

From your pouch, you pulled out the lock of Elrond’s raven-black hair, placing it in the clearing.

If anything could stir Maglor Fëanorian’s conscience, it was his adopted son, or so Elrond had hoped.

The scent was sure to draw him in. All you had to do was wait, acid ready in hand. A splash to his eyes would cripple him long enough to bind and gag him. After that, you would run to the nearest town, where your party awaited.

That had been the plan.

But the elf you picked up felt far larger than what Elrond had described.

No. This one was missing a hand.

A curtain of red hair brushed against your face, and the realization hit you. This wasn’t Maglor. This was someone worse. Maedhros.

Nelyafinwë.

There was no time to hesitate. Hauling the wrong elf onto your spooked mare, Leia, you whispered a promise to treat her later.

Maedhros, draped awkwardly in a cloak, groaned and ripped at Leia’s mane in his pain. The mare, impatient with his antics, snapped at him hard enough to draw a yelp.

“Good girl,” you muttered, gripping the reins tightly as Leia trotted through the night, her breaths sharp and uneven.

Elrond was going to kill you.

Of course, that was assuming the mountain of an elf in front of you didn’t do it first.

For now, Maedhros seemed more preoccupied with rubbing at his damaged eyes. The acid would leave him blinded for a week. A week of pain for him, and perhaps a moment of peace for you.

With his suffering eyes hidden behind a blindfold, Maedhros was still the very picture of elven beauty. The plague had failed to strip the Firstborn of their otherworldly grace. If anything, Mandos had enhanced it.

Elves were what men could never resist. With their predator’s allure cloaked in perfection, they were a trap for the Secondborn, captivated by flawless features and haunting charm.

Sitting across from Maedhros, you tried your best to feed him lembas, the closest thing to calming his mind. Yet the stupid elf kept going for your fingers, snapping like a feral creature.

Leia, your ever-patient mare, turned out to be a better disciplinarian than you. With one sharp, annoyed snort, Maedhros froze. After a reluctant pause, he finally opened his mouth, accepting the morsel of lembas.

“I know this is no substitute for Vala blood,” you muttered, guiding another piece toward him, “but trust me, you’ll want to be sober to meet Elrond.” He chewed, his movements finally more controlled.

“ You lot have traumatized him enough already. He needs a parent,” you said, your words tumbling out in a nervous ramble. “Maglor would have been better, but I think you’ll do. Maybe. Hopefully.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t kill both of us. You know what I mean?”

The question hung in the air, rhetorical. Or so you thought.

Maedhros answered it with a sickening pop of his shoulder, the sound sending a shudder racing down your spine.

Bound and subdued, Maedhros listens to the voices curling through his mind. They come in layers. His lord’s commanding presence, intertwined with the ghostly, persuasive echo of his father’s voice.

He remains pliant under your hold, his every movement deliberate, his compliance masking the storm within. The whispers weave themselves into him, insidious and unrelenting.

“Do not run, my son,” Feanor’s voice purrs, brimming with a chilling mix of affection and command. “Find their weakness, my dearest Nelyo. Uncover the fault lines of Arda’s last hold for our lord.”

This is the way. Maedhros will obey. He will do whatever is required to restore his father’s glory. Feanor, alive again, is no longer a memory but a shadow of the brilliance he once was. This existence, this chance, is a mercy granted by Mandos.

And for that mercy, Maedhros will give everything.

“Follow the mortal,” Mandos commands, his voice cutting through the whispers like a blade. Maedhros freezes mid-step, his sudden stillness sharp enough to make you glance back warily.

“You will be our mole,” Mandos continues, his tone crackling with malice. “The doom of men is near.”

The whispers grow louder, swelling until they drown out Maedhros’ thoughts completely. They dull his mind, sinking it into the numb, blissful haze of his lord’s power. This borrowed peace, stolen from the dominion of his brother, blankets his every sense. It is comforting, suffocating, and absolute.

“Bring us the fall of the Peredhel, Maedhros. Do it.”

The words burrow into him, deep and unshakable, sealing his purpose.

And so, he follows you.

In the fractured world cloaked in darkness, hidden within the fortress of doom, Mandos had unearthed the means to ensnare the Secondborn. The boon of death lay cradled in his palm, a gift as cruel as it was powerful.

The final mystery of Arda rested within his grasp, and the Children of Eru were now his. His to own. His to toy with as puppets. Mandos was no longer merely the keeper of souls; he had become the master of Arda itself.

Yet, as with every tale that shaped the fate of Arda, this one came with the most unlikely of heroes: a broken elf haunted by whispers of the past, a weary mortal clinging to the last threads of hope, and a horse whose temper could rival Tulkas himself.