#but at least the consequences and events were organic

[halfdeadwallfly]

three months until i get to go back to school. i can deal with three months.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ian Millhiser at Vox:

The Supreme Court announced on Monday that it will not hear Mckesson v. Doe. The decision not to hear Mckesson leaves in place a lower court decision that effectively eliminated the right to organize a mass protest in the states of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas. Under that lower court decision, a protest organizer faces potentially ruinous financial consequences if a single attendee at a mass protest commits an illegal act.

It is possible that this outcome will be temporary. The Court did not embrace the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit’s decision attacking the First Amendment right to protest, but it did not reverse it either. That means that, at least for now, the Fifth Circuit’s decision is the law in much of the American South. For the past several years, the Fifth Circuit has engaged in a crusade against DeRay Mckesson, a prominent figure within the Black Lives Matter movement who organized a protest near a Baton Rouge police station in 2016. The facts of the Mckesson case are, unfortunately, quite tragic. Mckesson helped organize the Baton Rouge protest following the fatal police shooting of Alton Sterling. During that protest, an unknown individual threw a rock or similar object at a police officer, the plaintiff in the Mckesson case who is identified only as “Officer John Doe.” Sadly, the officer was struck in the face and, according to one court, suffered “injuries to his teeth, jaw, brain, and head.”

Everyone agrees that this rock was not thrown by Mckesson, however. And the Supreme Court held in NAACP v. Claiborne Hardware (1982) that protest leaders cannot be held liable for the violent actions of a protest participant, absent unusual circumstances that are not present in the Mckesson case — such as if Mckesson had “authorized, directed, or ratified” the decision to throw the rock. Indeed, as Justice Sonia Sotomayor points out in a brief opinion accompanying the Court’s decision not to hear Mckesson, the Court recently reaffirmed the strong First Amendment protections enjoyed by people like Mckesson in Counterman v. Colorado (2023). That decision held that the First Amendment “precludes punishment” for inciting violent action “unless the speaker’s words were ‘intended’ (not just likely) to produce imminent disorder.”

The reason Claiborne protects protest organizers should be obvious. No one who organizes a mass event attended by thousands of people can possibly control the actions of all those attendees, regardless of whether the event is a political protest, a music concert, or the Super Bowl. So, if protest organizers can be sanctioned for the illegal action of any protest attendee, no one in their right mind would ever organize a political protest again. Indeed, as Fifth Circuit Judge Don Willett, who dissented from his court’s Mckesson decision, warned in one of his dissents, his court’s decision would make protest organizers liable for “the unlawful acts of counter-protesters and agitators.” So, under the Fifth Circuit’s rule, a Ku Klux Klansman could sabotage the Black Lives Matter movement simply by showing up at its protests and throwing stones.

The Fifth Circuit’s Mckesson decision is obviously wrong

Like Mckesson, Claiborne involved a racial justice protest that included some violent participants. In the mid-1960s, the NAACP launched a boycott of white merchants in Claiborne County, Mississippi. At least according to the state supreme court, some participants in this boycott “engaged in acts of physical force and violence against the persons and property of certain customers and prospective customers” of these white businesses. Indeed, one of the organizers of this boycott did far more to encourage violence than Mckesson is accused of in his case. Charles Evers, a local NAACP leader, allegedly said in a speech to boycott supporters that “if we catch any of you going in any of them racist stores, we’re gonna break your damn neck.”

With SCOTUS refusing to take up McKesson v. Doe, the 5th Circuit's insane anti-1st Amendment ruling that effectively bans mass protests remains in force for the 3 states covered in the 5th: Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi.

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VI - One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

Summary: After marrying in the Faith of the Seven, you and Aemond are ready to consummate your marriage. But something has been troubling him about it and you are determined to get to the bottom of this before finally giving in to your desires.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 10k (on the dot!)

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; hand job; fingering; switch!Aemond (leaning more towards sub!Aemond); jealousy; referenced past SA (Aemond talks about the time Aegon took him to the Street of Silk) and it's consequences to oneself (please please read carefully)

Notes: Hello everyone! You thought this story was over, didn’t you? Well, it is not. I just took a really long time writing this chapter. Because of this, the first thing I’d like to do is apologize. I’m sorry for taking so long, I got caught up in some college work and this huge event I help organize, and it took me quite a while to finish that (and not only that, as you can see by the word count, this chapter is one chonky boi, for the more I wrote the more I wanted to write and I just couldn’t stop.) Anyway, here it is and I’m sorry once again.

TW: Please please read the warnings, this one does talk about SA and it’s repercussions and consequences to oneself, (it doesn’t happen during the story, it’s only mentions of past events). If this is something you are uncomfortable with feel free to skip this one, put yourself and your own comfort first, only read it if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Stay safe!

This story will have more parts to it, but like I said, I’ve been having a lot of work to do (a shame I can’t just write all day, but meh, c'est la vie) so I won’t be able to update weekly like with the previous chapters and updates will take a little while longer.

Also, I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

I am really proud of how this one turned out, really, I’d even dare say (throwing modesty out the window entirely) it’s one of my favorite works of mine so far. So I really hope you enjoy this one as much as I did! Thank you so so much for reading!

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Your feet were killing you. There was no other way to describe it. You yearned to finally retire to your marital chambers and take off these dreaded shoes, but alas you had to entertain the guests for a little while longer at least.

“What troubles you, ābrazȳrys?” your husband asked from beside you.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, valzȳrys.” you smiled softly at him, your heart clenching at his concern.

Husband.

After four whole moons you could finally call Aemond your husband. Twice over in fact. Not only were you married in the Faith of the Seven, as per his mother’s and grandsire’s wishes, but Daemon and your mother had organized a ceremony for you to be wed in the ways of Old Valyria (after which your step-father had jested, asking if you were to consummate the marriage already or wait until after the second ceremony at the sept, earning a slap on the shoulder from Rhaenyra and a chuckle from Laenor. Aemond had in turn blushed profusely, and you thought the pink hue that dusted his cheeks suited him, wanting to see it more often).

Laenor had stayed with you in your chambers, running his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep. He had woken you by dawn, reluctantly saying he had to go, for Daemon had arranged a ship to take him back, but he needed to leave as early as possible as to not risk being seen by anyone. You said your goodbyes with tears rolling down your cheeks, for you felt this was the last time you’d ever see him again, though he did tell you to pay him a visit in Qarth should you ever find your way to Essos before disappearing through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You barely managed to fall back asleep after that, too eager to start the day already. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent insisted on helping you get ready, you and your mother sharing complicit smiles every time your good mother referred to her son as your ‘soon to be’ husband. The ceremony itself went by without a hitch, with Aemond placing his cloak, in a mixture of both green and black colors, over your shoulders and kissing you tenderly afterwards.

The feast was grand, with almost every major house having been invited. You had saved your first dance for Aemond, but quickly switched partners and danced with Helaena, then with Baela, Jace, Luke and even with Aegon, though the last one was short lived for Aemond, not at all enjoying the sight of his brother’s grubby hands all over you, not so gently pushed him aside and resumed as your partner once more. You felt happy, happier than you had been in several years. Your family, or most of it, was reunited again, celebrating love and not fighting a senseless war like you feared they would.

And now, even though you were having a splendid time, you were counting the minutes until you could finally retire and spend some time alone with your husband. 

“I cannot believe you are going to forego the bedding.” Aegon groaned from next to you “It is tradition.” to which you had to hold Aemond back from reaching across from you and strangling his brother as the latter cackled.

In the moons that followed your betrothal you had noticed that, whenever someone who wasn’t you made any reference to anything involving your marital bed or your marital duties, Aemond would tense up. Anyone else would think the way his shoulders straightened was a demonstration of pride, a man who couldn’t wait to bed his future wife, but you had come to know him better than that. While you had no doubt he was eager to lay with you, you knew his stiffness stemmed from somewhere else, somewhere he had yet to disclose. Where most saw him preening with pride you noticed him shrinking back in on himself.

So you requested, more, begged your mother to forbid the bedding ceremony, much to Aegon’s dismay, claiming you weren’t comfortable with the situation and you were the one who wanted privacy. It wasn’t technically a lie, for you truly wanted to share this moment with your husband only, but you wanted to get to the bottom of the issue first. She was quick to agree, and anyone who complained that it entailed breaking tradition got a scorn filled glare from her and a reminder that, as Queen, her word was final. The only condition, set by some of the men in the Small Council, was that you deliver the linens to one of the maesters in the morrow as proof of your virtue.

Aemond must have noticed you slumping in your chair, tiredness seeping into your bones from hours upon hours of celebration, for he stood from his seat and extended a hand to you.

“Shall we retire for the evening, my love?”

My love. 

The moniker set your cheeks aflame as you smiled softly at him, glancing briefly at your mother, seeking her permission to be excused. She nodded softly, mentioning something about retiring as well to check on Visenya. You accepted his hand and both of you left the great hall amidst praises and cheers from the guests. 

As you approached his, now yours as well, chambers you could see him getting progressively more fidgety. If it was due to nerves or anticipation you could not tell. He opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside and take in the room, the things you had requested the servants to move from your previous quarters already in place.  

“I have something for you.” he spoke hurriedly, almost as soon as the door was closed “A wedding gift, if you will.”

“What is it?” you watched him cross the space towards a chest nestled against the wall, rummaging inside. When he turned back to you in his hands laid a sheathed sword, a large sapphire resting on the top of the handle, almost where it met the blade, catching your eye.

“I had a little help from my uncle to get the measurements correct for you.” he extended the sword to you which you took from him almost reverently, running your fingers delicately over the intricate golden designs of the sheath.

Your eyes were filled with wonder as you pulled the blade out of the sheath, noticing how smooth and shiny the metal was. There was something different about the steel, it was more vibrant than what you were used to seeing, softer, yet somehow almost… sharper.

Aemond must have seen your questioning gaze aimed at the sword for he smiled, an almost proud smirk adorning his features as he explained.

“Valyrian steel.” you whipped your head to stare at him, astonished “Jewelry from all over the realm made of valyrian steel was melted and added to the steel alloy.”

This was a lot. It was such a thoughtful gift, made just for you by your husband that it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“I know it is not the same as an actual valyrian steel sword, like Dark Sister, but those are even harder to come by.” he started rambling, taking your silence as a sign you didn’t enjoy the gift “And it is not made with the same technique, as it was lost after the Doom-”

“It is perfect.” you cut him off, gazing at him with eyes full of emotion “It is absolutely perfect, valzȳrys, thank you. How did you manage to find the jewelry?”

“I have my ways.” he shrugged, as if unbothered.

He hummed in contentment, his face softening as he took a step closer to you.

“I also had a belt made just for you.” he stepped even closer, his gaze turning slightly darker, as if he was a predator stalking its prey “So you can wear your sword around court. All day, every day.” his finger stroked the sapphire on the handle as his lips grazed your ear “I want all to know how fierce of a woman my lady wife is.”

He closed the gap between your mouths, claiming your lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. It was over all too soon as he pulled away from you, but thankfully he didn’t go far. He took the sword from your hands, resheathing it and placing the gift on a nearby table, before kissing you again.

His arms circled around your waist and clung to your back as he kissed you hungrily, like if he didn’t get a taste of your lips he would die of starvation. His kisses left you burning from the inside, wishing, craving more.

Yet, as you placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself you noticed how tense he was. You couldn’t help but take in the way his hands trembled as he started unlacing the back of your gown. 

“Aemond.” you tried pulling away, to look at him properly, but he chased after you, not wanting to be parted from your lips. He only stopped when you gently grabbed his cheeks and had to physically pry himself from you “Husband, I think we ought to talk.”

He recoiled and was out of your arms and across the room in an instant, moving so fast you barely had any time to react.

“Do you not wish to consummate our marriage?” he looked so heartbreakingly hurt for only a moment but then he steeled himself and you could sense the mask of indifference he often wore around court starting to slip back on.

“No, my love, of course not.” you rushed to his side, once again cupping his jaw urging him to look at you “I am just worried for you, is all.”

“Why should you be worried about me, ābrazȳrys?” he spoke, his tone clipped and cold, more so than it had been in a really long time. If he noticed how much his question offended you he didn’t let it show.

“Why should I not worry about you, husband?” you emphasized the last word, taking a long deep breath to steady yourself and let go of your exasperation “I just wish to know why the thought of consummating our marriage worries you so.”

It was Aemond’s turn to stare at you in confusion.

“I believe I have made it quite clear the depths of my desire for you.”

“I know, I know. And I desire you greatly as well, never doubt that even for a moment.” you sighed, worried he’d shut you out or push you away if you prodded any further, but decided to push forward regardless “It is just that, in the past few moons, whenever anyone else mentioned or even hinted at our marital duties to one another you became tense, withdrawn even.”

He looked taken aback at your words, as if he hadn’t even realized he was doing such a thing in the first place.

“I just wish to understand what ails you, my love.”

My love.

Those two words once again seemed to be what chirped at his resolve. He averted his eye, almost in shame, and turned his back to you. For a moment you feared he was going to walk out the door and leave your shared chambers altogether but he did no such thing. Instead he walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. You wondered if you should approach him or give him space, worried he’d flinch from your touch like a frightened animal, but even if he didn’t meet your gaze his body was turned towards you, open and inviting. So you took slow and deliberate steps towards him, taking your place besides him.

He stayed silent for a moment, clenching his fists as they rested on his thighs. You took one of his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a gentle squeeze in hopes of calming his nerves. You raised your free hand towards the side of his face but stopped before you could touch him.

“May I?” you asked, and you didn’t need to say the words for him to know what you meant. Only after he nodded almost imperceptibly did you remove his eyepatch, revealing the alluring sapphire that matched the one placed on the gift he had given you. 

“Aemond.” he glanced at you, something akin to guilt clear upon his features “Remember what we told each other earlier? I am yours and you are mine. Whatever it is, your burdens are now mine to carry as well.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his scarred flesh. 

“Let me help you relieve some of that burden, please.” you practically whispered, almost begging.

For a moment he said nothing. Then he turned his head slightly, placing a kiss upon your palm.

“I have something I need to tell you.” he spoke, fear clinging to his voice.

“What is it?”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, wondering what could possibly be afflicting him so badly as to react like this, but nothing came to mind. So you settled on waiting for him to speak, not wanting to rush to conclusions.

“I have laid with a woman before.”

That… is not what you were expecting.

“When?” you did not know what else to say, so you settled for asking that.

“Years ago.” he shook his head, as if trying to forget “You were in Dragonstone at the time.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. You didn’t wish to dismiss his feelings, but you couldn’t seem to understand what the big deal was.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he pulled back, almost offended 

“Yeah.” you shrugged “I fail to see what the problem is.”

“How could you say that?” he stood up, pacing back and forth in front of you in frustration.

“We were not yet involved with one another, so you were not technically bound to anyone.”

“You waited around for me-”

“I did not remain a maiden specifically for you.” you reminded him “If I were a man I, too, would probably have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Still. I should not have sullied myself like that, it was unbecoming of someone of my position and a disrespect to you, to my future wife.”

You wanted to argue further, to make him see reason, but the disproportionate reaction to something that, to you, seemed so trivial clued you in that his troubles ran deeper than you first thought. So you stopped talking, choosing to just annalyse his mannerisms. His movements were erratic, his fingers clawing at its nail beds almost to the point of breaking the skin, a habit inherited from his mother which he almost never indulged in.

He halted when he felt your hand wrapping around his arm, the leather of the doublet cold against your skin.

“You do not have to explain yourself to me. But I feel like there is something you are not telling me.” you grabbed both of his hands in your own, kissing his knuckles tenderly “I completely understand if you do not wish to share it. We can just forget this conversation ever happened and I shall not press any further, but, husband, please, I only wish to help ease your troubles.”

Aemond paused, exhaling shakily, before averting his eyes once more. Shame and guilt emanated from him in waves as he sat back down on top of the linens. You waited for his next move, smiling softly when his arms circled around your waist and brought you closer to him, standing between his parted legs.

“On my thirteenth name day,” he shuddered softly when he felt your fingers running through his scalp, his cheek resting in your stomach as he spoke “Aegon took me to the Street of Silk, as his gift to me. I did not know where we were going, ‘a surprise’ he said.”

It was your turn to shudder, your stomach churning as you felt where his tale was headed.

“He said… he said it was time for me to become a man. To become as well versed as he was, ‘a scholar in the ways of life’. I did not understand what he meant at first, but it was clear to me soon enough.”

He turned his head, hiding his face in your stomach as his hold on you tightened. The scene reminded you so much of the last time you saw him before your years-long distance, on that fateful night on Driftmark. Looking at him now you realized that, deep down, he was still that scared little boy, hiding behind the image of the fierce, impassive warrior he had created for himself over the years. 

“Aemond, ñuha jorrāelagon,” you whispered “I get it. You do not need to continue if you wish to stop.”

He shook his head in response, desperate to get it all out now that he had already started. You supposed this was the first time he was speaking these words out loud, never having dared to utter it to a single soul before. So you tried to soothe him as best as you could, pulling the band that held his hair up in its usual half updo and letting it down, giving you more room to run your fingers through his locks, untangling the silver strands. This seemed to give him enough strength to continue, shifting his head so only his forehead was in contact with you and his words were directed to the ground below him, as if he couldn’t dare to look up at you. 

“He arranged for a… a w-whore” he spit the word out like it was poison on his tongue “to take care of me in exchange for a bag of gold, and when the woman tried to give him back the excess amount, claiming it was too much, he told her to keep it. ‘For your trouble’ he told her.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest at his words. You were never too fond of Aegon, especially for the way he treated both Aemond and Helaena, but this… this was vile even for him.

“He wanted to watch.” he propped his chin on your stomach, peering up at you with a round, frightened eye that was steadily brimming with tears “I did not want him to watch. The madam tried to send him away, but he insisted, saying that he was the prince and he commanded it. Thankfully he got distracted by some other woman there and left.”

“A-and how did-” you swallowed thickly, trying to stay strong for him even though your own heart shattered for the boy he once was, the boy who shaped the man he was now “how did that make you feel?” 

He shook his head once more, his gaze becoming distant, as if he was now looking through you rather than at you.

“I do not remember much.” he whispered “I just remember the stench. The whole place stunk. It reeked of sweat and wine and something… something so sickeningly sweet it was foul. Once I left I could still feel the smell clinging to me.”

One lone tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, and then another. You cupped his cheek, your thumb catching the tears that refused to stop as he hiccuped.

“I tried washing it off. Scrubbed at my skin until it was raw and tender, but it would not go away.” his voice started to get tight “After a few days and several baths later it was still there, still lingering. I tried asking mother and even Helaena if they could feel it in me but they lied. They lied and said I smelled fine but I could feel it.” he choked back on a sob “I could feel it in me still, like it had seeped into my very bones. Sometimes when I think too hard about that night I can still feel it in my skin, like it never even left.”

His arms brought you even closer to him, almost to the point of pain, as if he was trying to completely merge his very being into you.

“I know I shouldn’t have.” his gaze focused on you once more, eye pleading for you, his tone bordering on desperation “Forgive me, please, mandianna! I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, I shouldn’t have-”

“Qȳbor, stop.” you whispered softly, not wanting to aggravate him when he was this vulnerable “You have nothing to apologize for. You were only a child.”

“Still, I should have known better than-” he started shaking his head again, the look in his eye almost crazed, like he wanted so desperately for you to see him the way he saw himself.

“Aemond.” you spoke firmly, gripping his chin to force him to look at you “You were a child.”

A moment of silence passed, only his heavy breathing to be heard. Then something dawned on him, for he pressed his face against your stomach once more and started sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his wails, your arms coming around his frame to hold him against you, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other stroking his back. He cried and cried and cried. It seemed like he finally understood, after all these years, what truly happened that night. He realized his own brother sold his innocence, something that was his to freely give to whomever he chose, for some coin. His brother and, by extension, the madam forcefully took from him something that was inherently his, that should have remained his, something he would never get back and would never not miss. It was his, it should have been him to choose what to do with it, and they took it from him.

His loathing shifted then. What was once aimed at himself, the hatred he felt for the stench that never truly went away, shifted in turn to Aegon. He slowly, very slowly, started to forgive that thirteen year old boy, the one that never left either, for the things that happened to him that night. He now realized you could not forgive him for what he had done, for the one whose forgiveness he really needed was himself. It would take him a long time, he knew, to accept his own absolution, and perhaps he never would, not fully anyway, but he could certainly try.

Once he calmed down enough, his sobs turning to mere sniffles, he raised his head to glance at you once more. You were smiling softly at him, eyes so filled with love and compassion he felt almost undeserving of it. Your fingers in his hair helped to ground him, to bring him back to this moment in your arms. Realizing what had just transpired he tried to turn his head away in embarrassment but you wouldn’t let him.

“I am glad I have earned your trust enough for you to share this with me.” you spoke with reverence, earning a shy smile in return.

He then dried the remaining tears from his face and tried to stand up, but you were quicker, pressing onto his shoulders so he would remain seated.

“We do not have to do anything tonight.” you brushed a strand of hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear “I can just prick a finger and smear some blood on the linens.”

“But I want to.” he almost whined, not wishing for you to part from him “I want to do this with you. With you I do not feel that stench, I-” he took a steadying breath before whispering “I just feel you.” 

In that very moment you felt like your heart would burst from how much love you held for this man. 

“Okay.”

He smiled brightly then, nuzzling his nose against you.

“But…” you pulled back from him, commanding his full attention “we will do only what you wish, nothing more. Whatever you want, tell me and it is yours. And if you wish to stop, at any moment, you tell me, alright?”

“Alright.” he nodded, quite enthusiastic.

“You have to promise me you will tell me if you want to stop.” you reiterated “Promise me.”

He stared up at you with so much adoration you felt like the Mother brought to land.

“I promise.”

You smiled, satisfied that he would follow through should he need to.

“Well, how do you want to start then?”

His gaze turned to one of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we cannot just jump right into it.” you jested.

“We can’t?” he looked so preoccupied at that, and your heart broke all over again. By the Gods, what had they done to this boy in that brothel?

You crouched down so your face was level with his, your noses almost touching as you whispered into his lips.

“Tell me what you want, valzȳrys.”

Aemond was at a loss for words, a world of endless possibilities presented itself to him and he didn’t know where to begin. But he supposed there was one thing he knew could be a good place to start.

“Can you kiss me?” he pleaded.

You sat down next to him on the bed, your body turned towards him, your knees bumping against his. 

“You want me to kiss you?” you spoke softly, deciding to tease him for a bit by pulling one of his hands to your lips and kissing his knuckles “Is this where you want me to kiss you?”

“No,” he shook his head “not there.”

You hummed as if confused and let your lips graze his cheek.

“What about here?”

“No.”

Your lips traveled lower, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw.

“Here?” to which he shook his head.

Going lower, your lips traced the column of his throat, earning a soft gasp from him.

“N-not there either.” he whimpered as your teeth nipped against his skin gently.

“Then where do you want me to kiss you?” you pulled back, staring at his eye “I need you to tell me.”

His cheeks lit up bright pink, embarrassment coursing through him at the thought of speaking his thoughts out loud. But he had come to learn that if there was one person in his life that he could trust, that person was you.

“On the lips.” 

You relented then, chasing his lips with your own. They were soft, only a trace of salt left behind by his tears previously shed. You kissed him gently, hands cupping his jaw as his own settled on your waist. It was tender, almost chaste, and you tried pouring all the love you felt for him into the kiss.

“I like it when you kiss me.” he whispered when you pulled back “No one else has ever done that for me.”

It was your turn to look confused, staring at him wide eyed.

“You have never been kissed before?” you questioned “By anyone other than me?”

He shook his head. That explained why he seemed so inexperienced the first few times around, because he truly was inexperienced.

“Not even…?” you didn’t want to say it, but he understood what you meant.

“No.” he denied again “It felt too intimate.”

More intimate than sex? you thought.

“After that night in the tub, before Driftmark,” you recalled that night, the night you shared your very first kiss. It was a peck more than anything, a childish attempt mostly, but it had meant the world to you “whenever I thought about doing it with someone else it did not feel right. Yours were the only lips I ever wanted to taste.”

You couldn’t help yourself, surging forward to capture his lips with your own in a heated kiss. The quiet whimper that escaped his mouth only spurred you on, seeking his touch. Your tongue eagerly tangled with his, tasting the sweet Dornish Red he had been sipping on before and something that was so inherently him. 

He pulled back then, breathing heavily against your lips, a sheen line of saliva connecting both your mouths before dissipating.

“What about you?” he questioned, still trying to regain his breath.

“What about me?”

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, averting his gaze shyly “Before me, I mean? You are quite good at it, I believe.”

“Well, I have had some practice.” it was your turn to feel embarrassed, quickly glancing away from him “For a while Jace and I believed mother would eventually marry us to one another after we left for Dragonstone. We decided to get used to each other before the inevitable happened.”

Something twisted painfully in Aemond’s chest at the thought of you, a younger you, locking lips with his damned nephew. It was almost primal, this rage he felt. You were his and his alone. You have always been his from the very moment you had come into this world, and you’d continue to be his until the Stranger came to collect your soul.  

“It was gross, really. Happened only a handful of times before we gave up trying to pretend we were not disgusted by the idea.”

Your words did little to quell his unsettling feelings. Was this what jealousy felt like? Not envy, actual jealousy? Envy was something he was familiar with, for he had felt it pretty much all his life. He envied Aegon the most, but he also envied Rhaenyra a lot as well, your brothers and hells, even Helaena sometimes even though he loathed it. This was different. 

“And I may or may not have gotten a bit too tipsy while staying on Winterfell during my travels and shared a kiss or two with the Warden of the North.”

“Cregan Stark?” he scoffed. While the thought of you swapping spit with a boresome and self-righteous northerner was a little less rage inducing in comparison to Jacaerys, that simmering jealousy was still present.

That all dissipated though at the feeling of your fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“But none of them hold a candle to you.” his heart skipped a beat at your words, your hand reaching to do the same to the other side of his hair “Especially when you blush so prettily.” 

Heat spread all over his face, as he stammered.

“I-I do no such thing!” he tried sounding offended, but all he did was make you giggle, as he proved your words right.

“Yes, you do.” you hooked a finger under his chin, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “You turn all red at a mere brush of my fingers, at the slightest of compliments. Like a maiden.” 

He felt the warmth spreading to the tip of his ears, the back of his neck and even down his chest.

“How red do you think you would blush if I touched you some more, hm?” 

Your fingers gently traced down his throat, feeling when he gulped harshly. 

“Would you like that, husband?” you trailed down his soft skin, reaching the spot where his collarbone met the leather coat he still wore “For me to touch you?”

He nodded, somewhat shyly, but very much eager for you to make due on your word.

“Can I take this off?” you tugged at his doublet, almost startling at the speed at which he stood up and took it off for you. The linen chemise he wore underneath it quickly followed and he was left shirtless in front of you. You’d never get tired of looking at him, bare or otherwise. He was beautiful, all valyrian and almost none of the Hightower blood from his mother. You believed if the god Balerion ever had a physical body it would definitely look like Aemond.

You stood up as well, facing him as your fingers traced his features. You started by tracing his nose, following the curve of it down to his mouth, his lips twitching upon your touch as he puckered them, placing a soft kiss on the pads of your fingers. You traced along the column of his throat, your fingers tangling softly on the strands at the nape of his neck and tugging gently, earning a whimper from him. Then you kept going, fingers sliding against the planes of his chest and tracing the taunt lines of muscle in his abdomen. As you reached the hem of his breeches you snaked your arm around his slim waist, sprawling your hand against the slope of his lower back and pushing him towards you. The little ‘hmph’ sound that escaped him at the impact of your bodies was quickly drowned by your lips as they claimed his own in another fierce kiss.

Your fingers started their exploration all over again, starting once more at the back of his neck and slowly following down the length of his spine, feeling each and every ridge and bump under his skin, as he shuddered with every brush of your digits.

“P-Please,” Aemond mumbled as you nipped at his bottom lip “ābrazȳrys, please.”

“Please what?” you kissed his jaw, then down his neck, then at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you, valzȳrys.” you smirked against him, your teeth nibbling gently on his skin.

“J-just please…” he moaned softly as your tongue soothed the spot you had bitten “touch me, please.”

You decided to have mercy on him, moving your hand to the front of his trousers, stopping short at the laces.

“May I?” he nodded his head desperately.

Untying his breeches you let them slide down his body, pooling at his feet, as he finally revealed himself to you. He was already hard, almost painfully so, weeping at the tip and awaiting your touch.

And then… you hesitated, unsure how to proceed. While you felt satisfaction at teasing him, you were the maiden in this situation. No amount of hushed, almost shameful lessons from your septa, no amount of embarrassing tips and advice from your mother could prepare you for the actual thing. You may have practiced your kissing skills with Jace and, briefly, with Cregan, but you had never gone any further, knowing what the realm regretfully thought of women of your station indulging before being wed and refusing to let your virtue be made a spectacle of. So while you may have talked a big game before, as if you held all the knowledge, it was all purely theoretical. 

Aemond, sensing your apprehension, searched your gaze with his.

“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with quiet concern.

“Nothing much.” you chuckled, although it sounded mirthless to your ears, conveying your embarrassment “I am merely assessing the best way to approach the situation at hand.”

While you had chosen not to be direct about your troubles, opting instead to jest about it, he had understood you clearly, for you had become so intune with one another the past few moons. With deliberate movements he delicately held your wrist, never breaking eye contact, as he brought your hand over to him slowly, very slowly, giving you ample opportunity to stop him if you wished. But you didn’t want to. You let him guide you, his large hand settling over yours as you gathered some of the pearlescent wetness dripping from his tip in your palm before guiding you to encircle his cock, his fingers around yours as he shuddered at the first contact of your skin against his.

He was hot and heavy in your hand as he directed your movements with precision, stroking his cock up and down, pumping him, slowing or speeding up your motions to his liking. Slowly but surely you started to take control, following his lead and mimicking his actions. He groaned encouragingly, letting go of your fingers, his hands settling on your waist as you continued to stroke him up and down and up and down, speeding up or slowing down, gathering some more wetness under your thumb and stroking his cock with it. His groans and grunts emboldened you, trying to gauge his reactions. 

And then you tightened your hold on him, squeezing his cock just a bit tighter under your grip, and he almost tumbled to the ground, his knees nearly buckling in reaction. His own grip on you grew tighter, as if supporting his weight on you, head tilted forward and face hiding in the crook of your neck as he moaned.  

He was loud.

Even muffled against your skin, his moans and whines resonated throughout the bedchambers as you continued your ministrations, increasing in pitch with each tilt or flick of your wrist, with each squeeze and stroke of your hand. You were tugging him faster now, your grip firm and deliberate as his cock twitched in your hold and his whole body trembled against you.

“Wait.” he mumbled, his voice strained “P-please, just wait.”

You ripped yourself away from him then, a sudden surge of guilt blooming in your chest.

“Forgive me.” you glanced at him, averting your gaze in shame as you wondered if you had made him too uncomfortable “I got carried away. I apologize.”

“You misunderstand me, wife.” he tried to slow his erratic breathing “I do not wish for you to stop. But if you continued as you were I would surely spill my seed against your hand. We should not let any of my spend go to waste on a night as important as this one.”

What?

Your confusion must have been reflected on your features for he continued his explanation, his voice carrying a teasing tone to it.

“It is expected of us to produce an heir tonight. We wouldn’t want to fail our duties now, would we?” he gripped your chin, placing a chaste kiss against your lips “The first time I spill my seed I want it to be inside your cunt.”

Had it been anyone else, had you been married to anyone else, you would have assumed they meant it as a command, solely means to an end, as producing heirs was indeed part of your duty. But this, you noticed in his eye, was his way of showcasing his true intentions without actually saying it, hiding behind some mere jesting: he wanted this. He wanted to give you an heir, for his seed to take root in your womb and for you to carry his child. The thought elicited warmth in your chest, feeling giddy at the idea.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, his plea bordering on desperation as he gave a quick peck to your lips.

You pulled back then, staring deeply at him.

“Do you believe you deserve to touch me?” you whispered against his lips.

He faltered then, unsure what you wanted from him. A shake of his head had you scoffing softly.

“Try again.” you nuzzled your nose against his, trying to coax him out of his self made shell “Do you deserve this?”

The glint he noticed in your eyes gave away what you wanted from him, so he nodded, his movement curt and shaky.

“I want to hear you say it.” your voice made it sound like a request, but he knew it was anything but.

“Yes.” he whispered back, his breath fanning your lips.

“Yes what?”

“I deserve it.” as the words left his lips, for the first time in a long time, he started to actually believe them.

You nodded, satisfied with him.

“Yes, you do.” you cooed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging “You do deserve this.”

As your lips settled on his jaw, he caught onto every hidden meaning of your words, affection swarming in his chest.

You deserve to be loved.

He claimed your lips in a soft kiss once more, his fingers resuming their task of untying the laces in your beautiful wedding gown, letting it slip down your arms and pool in a heap on the floor. He made quick work of your smallclothes as well, leaving you bare before him. He hurriedly stepped out of his discarded breeches, carefully helping out of your dress and closer towards the bed. 

Aemond’s fingers danced across your skin, caressing you with such reverence it almost brought tears to your eyes again. His fingers crawled down your spine, sliding between your shoulder blades, like you had done for him, his lips trailing down your neck with soft kisses. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers traced your ribcage, his touch so close yet not close enough to your breasts. He nipped at your collarbone, his hand finally closing around one of your breasts, gentle, like he was weighing it in his hand, his lips following down and nibbling at the skin of the other breast. A loud, strangled whine left escaped you as he pinched your nipple, rolling the bud between two fingers, growing louder as his lips closed around the other nipple. 

You could feel the walls of your cunt pulsing as his tongue worked your breasts, your heartbeat increasing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. The noise that left your lips seemed to spur him on even further, as he sucked with more intensity and he groped your other breast more firmly, his entire hand surrounding the skin.

His fingers trailed even further down, passing your navel and slipping between your folds. His touch was featherlight against your dripping cunt, gathering some wetness and circling your entrance, without ever dipping inside

“P-please, husband.” you whined, your back arching in pleasure at his teasing, pushing your breast even more into his face.

He relented then, pushing his finger inside your cunt, slipping in easily with how soaked you already were. His moan echoed your own as your walls fluttered around his digit. He let you get used to the intrusion for a moment before starting to move his finger inside you, his movements tentative as he explored your walls, almost like he was searching for something, for what you didn’t know.

Though you’d never admit this to anyone, you were acutely aware of his fingers, having paid close attention to them when you watched him train. They were long and slender as they gripped the handle of his sword, but at the same time they were strong and thick and, as he added a second one, you could feel how perfectly well he filled you. As he explored your cunt, you could feel every movement of his fingers brushing against your walls, that familiar coil of pleasure slowly but steadily building in your core. It only intensified as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit as he tried to reach even further inside you, the molten heat pooling in your core and starting to spread through your whole body, so much so you barely noticed when his mouth had moved to your other breast. 

Then his fingertips brushed against one spot inside your cunt that almost made you see stars, your legs wobbling as pleasure shot up your spine and assaulted all your senses. You could feel him smirk against your skin as you moaned loudly, brushing against the same spot again as you mewled and whined, trying to move away from him but the arm snaked around your back prevented you from doing so. His fingers seemed to reach places inside you didn’t know existed as he clawed and scissored inside your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It was almost too much and barely enough at the same time; you wanted him like you had never wanted anything else in your entire life.

He let go of your nipple with a wet smack of his lips, his mouth settling on that spot behind your ear and pressing soft kisses against your skin. It was such a contrast from the way his fingers were working inside your cunt, his words gentle and sweet, mumbling caring words in high valyrian as he mouthed and nibbled on your skin, but the pleasure was clouding your thoughts, the words getting fogged up in your mind. But something caught your attention, and as you tuned into the words, they were your undoing.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos.” he whispered against the shell of your ear, laying a soft kiss on the skin “Va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa.”

With a stutter of your heart the coil in your core snapped, hot, molten pleasure washing over you and spreading throughout your whole body, tingling with dozens of goosebumps that formed on your skin. It left you breathless, sluggish and warm as you tried to regain your bearings.

“Aem…-” you tried calling out to him, voice hoarse from the intensity of your moans, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice just yet. 

But he heard you. And something in him snapped.

In an instant you were lying on your back against the soft linens, barely having time to react as he pushed you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. His lips claimed yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, you were sure your mouth would be sporting bruises on the morrow such was its intensity. He settled in between your spread thighs, his hard length nestling between your folds as he nipped on your jaw, kissing a line down your neck.

“Say it again, please.” he begged “Say my name again.”

“A-Aemond?”

“No, no, not that.” he admonished softly, kissing your mouth once again.

You searched your mind for what he could possibly be referring to. That was his name, was it not? What you’d always referred to him as, if you weren’t calling him by his familial ties to you, in common tongue or high valyrian alike?

Except it wasn’t.

It had been years, well over a decade even since you referred to him as something else entirely. Barely a toddler, Jace only a babe and Luke still in your mother’s womb, you followed Aemond around the Keep like a lost puppy all day, for he seemed to be the only one willing to entertain you. It was only natural then for you to worship the ground he walked on, basking in his attention for as long as he was willing to give it to you. But as such a young child you couldn’t properly speak such a complicated name in conversation, settling on calling him for a shortened sobriquet. You didn’t think much of it, and he never opposed such a nickname, until Aegon caught you calling him by the moniker and instantly started teasing the both of you relentlessly because of it. It earned him a swift kick to the shin and three days without speaking to either of them, but as it often is with small children, your grudge was quickly forgotten, going back to trailing after Aemond. However, to save both him and yourself from further humiliation, you settled for referring to him only as ‘uncle’ until you could utter his full name, never again daring to use the nickname.

It was so meaningless to you, back then. And you were both so young, he couldn’t possibly remember that, could he? 

“Aem?” you spoke tentatively, not sure if this is what he wished for.

The loud whine that escaped his lips, breathed against your cheek, and the way his cock twitched were all the answer you needed. 

“Please, little niece, byka mandianna,” he rasped, desperation dripping from his tone as he started gently rocking his hips against yours “Please say that again.”

“Aem…” you said with more confidence, breaking off into a moan at the end as the head of his cock brushed against your clit.

He shifted his body on top of you, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Again, please.” 

“A-Aem?” even though you wanted this, truly and wholeheartedly, now that you were about to consummate your marriage for real you were suddenly filled with a twinge of apprehension. While you were certain Aemond wasn’t like most men, you had heard stories from women at court about how their husbands treated them in the throes of passion.

Sensing your quiet distress, Aemond lifted his head to stare at you, sapphire eye glinting under the soft glow of the candles and silver strands cascading around you.

“We can stop if you wish.” he spoke quietly.

“No, no please, I want to. I am just…”

Even if you couldn’t quite explain it he seemed to understand, for he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I promise to be gentle.”

In his eye you saw nothing but truth, the sincerity of his words easing your nerves.

“I trust you.”

He nodded and started ever so slowly pushing inside you, inch by inch, pulling back and thrusting inside again, a little deeper than before. It was a lot for the both of you, your combined moans echoing through the chambers; even though he wanted to look upon your eyes as you shared this moment he couldn’t, his head falling against your shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His cock was met with little resistance, your cunt still soaked. The pain you were previously expecting came in the form of an acute pinch as your cunt stretched to accommodate him, your breath hitching and a whimper passing through your lips. Aemond shushed and cooed against your ear, little whispers of ‘I’ve got you’ spoken against your ear as he stalled his movements, only resuming them when he felt you relax in his arms once more.

When he finally settled, his hips flush against yours and his cock inside your cunt to the hilt, you released your breath, not even realizing you had been holding it. You felt like you were burning from within where your bodies were connected, yet it was a comforting kind of heat, not at all like dragonfire. At least not yet. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every twitch that made the walls of your cunt clench in response. It was so intimate, you had never been closer to a person in your life, and you felt like the longer you stayed like this you were being perfectly molded to one another, as if you weren’t already a permanent fixture in each other’s hearts. You felt complete.

As your discomfort subsided, the pain slowly turning to a sense of fullness, you tangled your fingers in his hair, turning your head to the side to breathe upon his ear.

“I am alright now, husband. You can move.”

Regardless of your request he stood still for a moment longer, breathing heavily and erratically against your skin. 

“Aem?” you spoke softly, worried it might be too much for him.

That seemed to do the trick, as Aemond slowly started to roll his hips against yours, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting back in, filling you to the brim once more. Every time he would thrust back in the head of his cock would brush against that spot inside your cunt that had your eyes rolling back, shooting little bolts of pleasure up your spine and filling your core with fire once more. 

His hips picked up pace, then, his thrusts far faster and more powerful than before. He let go, fully dropping his weight on top of you, pressing you against the mattress as your legs framed his hips, your hands gripping at his shoulder blades. 

It was intense and blazing and comforting and overwhelming and caring and sultry and loving and oh, so good, all at the same time this push and pull and shove and tug and you couldn’t think straight yet your focus was sharp and you could feel everything and it was absolutely, downright perfect. 

The stretch of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock was no longer painful, giving away to unimaginable pleasure like you had never felt before. You were acutely aware of the way Aemond mouthed at your shoulder, mumbling barely coherent words against your skin.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he grunted against your skin, groaning as the words made you clench tightly around him “Dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys.”   

He was rambling, almost irrationally, too far gone in his own pleasure. That and the way his thrusts were becoming sloppy, now more of a rut of his hips against yours, indicated that he was close.

Enamored with the way he moaned your name and your title and your future title and sweet monikers, in high valyrian mostly, you couldn’t help but want to see how far he would go.

“Husband, valzȳrys,” you tangled your fingers in his hair once more, giving the locks a gentle tug, earning a whine in response “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes. Avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar, Aem.”

It was enough to send him off the edge, his hips stuttering and cock twitching violently, painting your walls with warm ropes of his seed. He practically sobbed in your arms between clenched teeth, his arms squeezing you tightly against him as he gave a few more weak thrusts, his breath fanning the skin of your neck still. The scorching pressure that had been building in your stomach seemed to fade slightly as Aemond slowed to a stop, his softening cock still nestled inside you as he stilled completely on top of you, trembling in your arms. His hair was sticking to his head, damp with sweat, the rest of his body also drenched and clammy from the exertion, much like your own. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and recover. 

“F-Forgive me, ābrazȳrys.” he raised his head and it was then you could see the remnant of tears in his eyes, from your words or the intensity of his peak, you couldn’t tell.

“What for?” you smiled brightly at him, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind his ear, making him shiver as your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“Y-you did-” he finally seemed to recollect his thoughts as he pushed himself on his forearms above you “You did not peak.”

“That is quite alright.” you shrugged, not at all bothered by that “I did so earlier, from your fingers.”

He shook his head, a determined look in his face as if to say that that wouldn’t do.

“No wife of mine will be left unsatisfied.” he was already pulling out of you with a soft hiss and maneuvering on the bed despite your protests, coming to settle on his stomach at the edge of the mattress.

“Aemond what are you-” you yelped as he grabbed both your legs and yanked you towards himself, his face level with your cunt. He placed your thighs over his shoulders and placed one arm over your stomach “Aemond, you do not have to.” you tried once more.

“I want to.” he said, his eyes never straying from where his spend started leaking from your cunt “Can a man not enjoy the taste of his wife on their wedding night?”

“Of course you can, it is just that-” he didn’t let you finish, pulling another broken, choked moan from you as he licked a broad stripe over your folds. 

Aemond feasted upon your cunt like a man starved, drinking down your juices mixed with his own spend, but that didn’t seem to deter him, oh no, if anything the salty taste of himself against your own tangy one only seemed to spur him on.

It didn’t take long to get you back to where you were moments before, that burning pressure still lingering in the back of your mind. You knew Aemond was talented with his tongue, hells, he was known for his silver tongue that could cut down even the most fearless in court. Moreover, he was fluent in the language of your ancestors, his tongue rolling around the letters as he almost purred the words into the world, a language just for your own. And yet, he never ceased to surprise you with how good he could make you feel with his tongue alone.

Clenching the sheets under your palms, you almost sobbed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He rolled it around his lips, his tongue peaking out to give your clit a few small licks as he extended one of his arms to, prying your fingers from the linens and threading them with his own, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, his other arm draped across your stomach, holding your hips down as you started canting them against his face.

You weakly raised yourself on your forearms to be able to look at him properly, peering at him through heavy lidded eyes, and were surprised to notice him already looking at you, gazing at you with so much adoration in his eye as his hips rutted against the bed. You realized, not for the first time, that bringing you pleasure brought him pleasure in return. He hummed as he noticed you staring at him, the vibrations sending jolts of unbridled pleasure up your spine and down again. His eyes twinkled and curled up, little crinkled lines adorning the corners, and you recognized that the smug bastard was smirking, self-satisfied at having you reduced to such a moaning mess before him.

The coil of pleasure in the form of a pool of liquid heat was steadily building up again with each stroke of his tongue over your folds, each flick of his lips over your clit stoking that fire growing and expanding inside you. His grip on your hips tightened as his other hand moved down to your cunt and shoved two fingers inside you, pulling back a bit to address you quietly.

“Let go, wife. I know you want to. You can let go for me.”

And then his fingers curled upwards, brushing against that spongy spot once more and you were done for. The bliss that washed over you, tangling with the burning love you held for this man, was so intense it sent waves through your whole body. Stars danced behind your eyelids, your eyes having closed on their own accord some time before, as the pleasure rolled and stretched to all of your extremities, making your fingertips tingle and your toes curl, knocking the breath from your lungs. Although you knew your jaw was hanging open you couldn’t hear yourself, but you couldn’t discern if it was due to the ringing in your ears or if you had already screamed yourself hoarse.

As your perception of the world around you slowly returned once you came down from your high, the pleasure subsiding and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in its wake, you felt Aemond’s thumb gently stroking your knuckles, having removed his hand from inside you, his other palm spread over your stomach as he helped you coax you back down and when you gazed at him you were met with his gentle smile

“T-thank you, husband.” you said a few moments later after catching your breath, exhaustion starting to settle in your bones as you relaxed over the linens, your head falling back on the bed.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you?” he asked, almost mockingly. Raising your head again you noticed his prior smile had given way to a menacing smirk as he started crawling over you slowly, looking predatory. He covered your body with his once more, and you felt his hardened cock against your thigh, having stimulated himself back to full hardness.

“I don’t intend on letting you leave this bed until I have filled you with my seed over and over and over,” he punctuated each pause with a kiss to your lips as he whispered “that I have made sure it has taken root inside you. We need to produce an heir after all, dear wife.”

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - ñuha jorrāelagon - my love or my dear - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos - I love you, my little dragon - va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa - always have and always will - byka mandianna - little niece - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys - sweet little dragon, dear wife  - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes - I love you, my dragon - avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar - I love you as much as there are stars in the sky

Tag List:

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@garden-in-the-rain

[r0entgen]

"Why won't Venezuelans just address the blockade?"

If you're wondering why, read below.

Let me start by saying that I wrote this after I finished work, with less than three hours of sleep and a single meal in my body, so if you find any grammar mistakes, my apologies.

This is the comment that kickstarted this post. I believe I've mentioned this before, but when you're living in a country that weaponizes propaganda and hijacks every single media outlet, you have to master the fine arts of fact checking and cross-referencing. Which is exactly what we're going to do right now, addressing the claim that 40,000 Venezuelans have been killed by the US sanctions, and why We Won't Engage with You In This Particular Argument.

*Note: click the underlined text for links and sources.

In the paper Economic Sanctions as Collective Punishment: The Case of Venezuela by Mark Weisbrot and Jeffrey Sachs (who will be referred to as WS in this post), WS mention that between the years of 2017-2019, the economic sanctions caused a 31% increase in the general mortality rate in Venezuela, a number that they calculate may be of about 40,000 deaths. While they cite ENCOVI and a UN report from 2019 as the sources of this statistic, they clarify the following in the footnotes:

The ENCOVI 2018 survey has not been made public, the mortality statistic cited here is from the UN Report (2019).

As of this date, WS has not made public the data source for this estimate, and the UN report used as a source (Venezuela: Overview of Priority Humanitarian Needs, March 2019) is not publicly available.

So let's take a look at some sources that ARE publicly available.

The World Bank Group World Development Indicators registers at least a 30% increase in the infant mortality rate in Venezuela from the dates of 2013 to 2016. Similar numbers are reported in this paper, seeing a 40% increase in the infant mortality rate in Venezuela between the dates on 2008-2016. Here's an excerpt from the paper Impact of the 2017 Sanctions on Venezuela:

While different than other overall mortality rates, increases in infant mortality rates are generally interpretable as a preventable consequence of inadequate pre- and post-natal care for otherwise healthy but vulnerable infants. Thus, infant mortality is often recognized as a good proxy measure of the quality on overall public health provision.

What this tells us is that THERE HAS BEEN an increase in general mortality rate - one that started long before the 2017 sanctions.

However, this doesn't mean that in the periods of 2017-2019 there wasn't a high death toll. Let's look at another publicly available source.

The National Hospital Survey (2019) found that between November 2018 and February 2019, 1557 people died owing to the lack of supplies in hospitals [...]. 40 patients died as a result of the power outages in March 2019.

We see the first mention of a number in the 2019 Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights.

Something interesting this report mentions is that 40 deaths were caused by the blackout in March 2019. A blackout that lasted 7 days and affected our 23 states.

The energy crisis which caused this nationwide blackout started in 2010. The Wikipedia article is a good summary, if a bit simple, of the events that led to and took place during and after the energy crisis (which affects us Venezuelans living in the country to this day)

Back to the UN Report. Something else this report indicates is the following:

In 2018, the Government registered 5,287 such killings, while the non-governmental organization Observatorio Venezolano de la Violencia reported at least 7,523 killings under this category. Between 1 January and 19 May 2019, the Government reported 1,569 killings for resistance to authority. The Observatorio Venezolano de la Violencia reported at least 2,124 such killings between January and May 2019. Information analysed by OHCHR suggests many of these killings may constitute extrajudicial executions.

[...] Six young men executed by the Special Action Forces (SEBIN) in reprisal for their role in anti-government protests in 2019.

This means that between the dates of 2018-2019, there have been approximately 9,647 deaths in the context of security operations - which includes Venezuelans that took part of the protests in 2019. Very similar to what we have been reporting since after the elections in July 28.

2017 to 2019 was one of the most difficult periods in Venezuelan history, marked by the sanctions imposed by Trump which affected oil export, access to diesel, and food and medicine imports. Some people argue that the economic recession in Venezuela was caused by the sanctions - failing to notice the negative trends in the years prior to these.

Bahar, Bustos, Morales and Santos (who will be referred to as BBMS in this post) conclude in their paper, Impact of the 2017 Sanctions on Venezuela, that while the sanctions had a negative effect in the oil production, "it is quite impossible to attribute the fall [...] to one single event (i.e., the sanctions), when many other confounding events were happening at the same time."

Oil production: Oil prices dropped during 2015, and oil production decreased as a result of lack of maintenance and investment.

Energy crisis: By 2009, when the energy crisis was first declared, the electrical grid had already been suffering from the lack of maintenance and investment since 1998. The Chávez administration distributed million dollar contracts [...] that enriched high officials of his government and the works were never built. [1] [2] [3]

Economic decline and hyper-inflation: Actions taken by the Chávez administration such as expropriation and price control, as well as the PDVSA purge in 2002 led the country to depend almost entirely on its already declining oil industry, causing shortages and price rises in common goods, food, medical supplies and so on. By 2015, 60% of the Venezuelan population was living in poverty. [1] [2] [3] [4]

From only these three points, we can establish a negative trend starting way before the first US Sanctions. Thus, we can conclude that by the time the devastating 2017-2019 sanctions took place, Venezuela was already deep in a state of generalized crisis.

WS conclude in their paper:

[...] One of the most important impacts of the sanctions is to lock Venezuela into a downward economic spiral. [...] An economic recovery could have already begun in the absence of economic sanctions.

While Bahar, Bustos, Morales and Santos declare:

[...] Our analysis finds insufficient evidence to conclude that they [sanctions] were responsible for the worsening of the socio-economic crisis. [...] The weight of evidence seems to indicate that, rather than being a result of US-imposed sanctions, much of the suffering and devastation in Venezuela has been, in line with most accounts, inflicted by those in power.

In conclusion - both papers seem to agree that the crisis in Venezuela started before 2017, but where WS claim that it worsened due to US sanctions, BBMS place a higher blame on the deterioration caused by the Venezuelan government.

Now, you may keep whichever analysis you prefer, but one thing we know for sure: the 40,000 Venezuelans that WS claimed died due to the sanctions cannot be found in any public report, while the death toll of protests and extrajudicial killings has been extensively reported.

Why is this relevant?

Contrary to what some people on this site would say, Venezuelans generally agree on the negative impacts of US-imposed sanctions (note: this poll accounts only for Venezuelans in Florida, as polls aren't often published inside Venezuela). However, the general consensus is that US-sanctions only added up to a crisis that had been building up since Chávez rose to power, and rather than the cause, it was yet another symptom.

Yes, the US is the Big Bad, but placing the blame solely on the sanctions only takes the responsibility away from the government and diverts the attention from the poor governance, rampaging corruption, violent repression and denialism that we've grown used to in the last 25 years.

So if you ask "why don't you address the blockade?", my response is: why don't you address the 9,647 extrajudicial killings, the 40 deaths caused by the energy crisis, the energy crisis itself, the economic decline, the lack of maintenance in the infrastructure, the violent repression, the forceful abductions and the censoring?

What we want you to understand is that when you center the US as the cause of the crisis, you are actively participating in our state-funded propaganda and knowingly turning a blind eye on the suffering of all Venezuelans. You are no better than imperialists - you ARE participating in imperialism.

Remember:

Last, but not least - be careful with your sources. This Venezuelanalysis article was written by Andreína Chávez, former editor-in-chief of TeleSUR, a government-funded news channel known for spreading Maduro propaganda. One of their most recent claims: dead Venezuelans are shown as having voted in the ballots shown in resultadosconvenezuela.com. Needless to say, this is false. This news portal is what some people would call, BIASED.

For more information, please read the amazing analysis written by @systhemes HERE.

A more direct response by @achillesmonochrome HERE.

For other sources, check HERE.

*Fellow Venezuelans, feel free to include anything I might have missed.

[unidentifiedly]

Eventful Morning

Micah Bell x reader

- In which Micah almost scares the reader to death. Or at the very least, scares them enough for it to have consequences.

"Tip, tip, tip" Soft sounds of rain droplets made their way into your ears.

"No, no. Just a few more minutes." You thought to yourself, unable to open your eyes just yet. Slowly but surely you adjusted to the idea of waking up and opened your eyes. The off white canvas tent filtered the morning light beautifully. Glancing around yourself, looking for your favourite blouse and overdress, your gaze fell on the small dusty mirror in front of you, perched atop a trunk and supported by a stack of hardcover copies of romance novels.

In the mirror, yourself staring right back. You glanced at the intricately engraved brass pocket watch by the side of the bed. The watch itself was a birthday gift from Arthur a couple months back. The arms reaching toward four and twelve, it was way too early to get up and start one's day. Yet, here you were.

Softly humming to yourself you tied your hair up lazily with a ribbon, deciding to spend the hours of the morning organizing your safe haven. The gang had only recently arrived at the new spot, Horseshoe Overlook they called it. Far too east for Arthur's liking, but to you about anything sounded better than heading back up those cold mountains toward Colter. You were used to it at this point, the constant moving around. It was a way of life that held you tightly in its grip.

That being said, the new camp was still unorganized and there was sure to be work around that needed doing. This was a chance to have some private time, peace and quiet for yourself.

Sorting through the mementos and trinkets from throughout the years was quick, you wiped the dust off of the little mirror with the corner of your nightgown. Gathering up the few clothes you had laying around and neatly folding them up you realized the growing pile of fabric by the end of your bed was clothes and linen that needed washing, not something that should just be sorted back into the trunks right away. "I think it was Charles who mentioned there was a river just west of here?" Mumbling to yourself, you picked up the dirty clothes and put them in a basket, not bothering to dress up all the way. "Everyone will be asleep at this hour anyways, and if not, it'll be Miss Grimshaw awake. It's nothing that'll bother her too much." Pulling on your trusty leather boots you untied the strings holding the fabric flap door of your tent shut. A prompt walk to your horse, a beautiful paint mare, and you were off along with your basket of laundry. With the carelessness, soft hums and the skip on your step you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch you leave the camp. The observer finished smoking his cicarette, let his legs fall from the log they were resting on while chucking the cigarette butt over his shoulder, and rubbed his hands together. What on on God's green Earth were you up to this early in the morning, and barely dressed to boot?

The sound of a running stream reached your ears fast. Charles had of course been right, even a blind man would notice the Dakota River from this close by. Hopping off your horse and tying the reins to a nearby tree you swung the basket on your elbow and kicked the boots off your feet, walking straight into the cold running water. Oh how sweet the feeling was! In a low point of the river, a rock stood taller than the surface of the water, so you took a seat and began the chore.

"Eeeasy there boy" Micah huffed to Baylock, staying well hidden in the trees, observing you from afar. A smirk spread on his lips as he saw your boots and gun belt scattered on the riverbank, and you sitting on a rock in the middle of the water, with your back facing him. Dismounting with an agile leap, he slowly but surely started making his way toward you.

Completely lost in your activity and the sweet warm sunshine of the spring morning you were singing to yourself, getting ready to leave. Looking at the last blouse, and squeezing the extra water out of it a surprisingly strong wave hit the rock and splashed water all over you, soaking your thin white linen undergarments. "Fuck!" You stood up and turned around, screaming out loud.

"Mic- Mr.Bell! What the fuck are you doing?"

Keeping his eyes locked on your body, his smirk widened, his arms reaching out toward you. "Just call me Micah, and I could ask ya the same thing, sweetcheeks. Now come on here." He beckoned with his hands, but you refused.

"No, I don't think so, you can't just creep up on me like that Mr Bell. I could have dropped my laundry basket, or worse, fallen down and then drowned out of shock!"

You took a step back, lifting the now heavier basket full of wet clothes up to rest against your hipbone.

For every step you took back, Micah took one forward, and the man had both the advantage of longer legs and facing the direction he was going. It didn't take long for things to go south.

"I'm warning you Mr Bell, I'm going to tell Arthur about this, and you know he is not going to be happy!" You tried in vain.

"Hrmph. The cowpoke ain't got nothing to do with how I conduct my business with a lady such as yerself."

You were taken aback, "what did you just call me? You never- Ah!"

Slipping on a rock and falling back, you reached out to Micah for support, and closed your eyes in anticipation of the cold hard surface of the river. The sensation never came.

"Gotcha." Eyeing down at you was Micah, who effortlessly supported your almost naked body by your waist and left arm. "Now how about ya let me show you a good time as a thanks?" One of his eyebrows rising up and his face forming a seductive expression.

You, however, were too occupied to notice or care. "Micah you idiot! All of my clothes are fucking gone!"

And indeed, the river was decorated with the various pieces of clothing running merrily downstream, way too fast to catch up to.

"Well, ya won't be needin' any of those for th- Ow!" "Shut the fuck up and help me get dressed before anyone else notices!"

The ride to the camp was one of the worst you had ever experienced. For Micah, it was the opposite. A prideful smirk on his cocky face, throwing you the occasional remark about the curve of your waist and ass, and how good you looked in just his jacket as you rode, and making no attempts to be quiet and discreet as you arrived in camp. You tried your best to ignore him and get away from the situation as quickly as possible. Hopping off your horse, not even bothering to tie the rains to the hitchpost, you walked briskly toward your tent only to run straight into Sean.

"Oi, watch where ya- Y/N, wow, let me tell ya, could not see this one comin'!" A smirk instantly grew on his face, and he slapped a hand on Micah's jacket, on your shoulder.

"Sean it's NOT what it looks like, and don't you dare mention this to anyone either!" You whisper yelled while taking off the jacket, exposing your still wet and thus transparent garments. Sean blushed bright red, poor guy, and you stomped right in to your tent.

Not being able to face the rest of the day, the longer you stayed in your tent the more intimidating the prospect of leaving felt. Surely Sean had told everyone about what he saw, and you'd be mocked til eternity.

No, there was no way you'd ever leave that tent again.

A few hours later you were starving for a snack and stuck your head out to find the main area empty. Great! An opening. As soon as you stepped out, a voice rang: "Y/N!" You turned around, mouth open to start defending yourself, only to face a very noticeably beat-up looking Sean. "Listen, sorry about the earlier, I never saw nothing, alright?" You nodded in confusion and he smiled, thanked you quickly and scurried off. You got the food you were after, and returned to your tent to eat it. There, on your cot, rested a shirt and a dress, folded in a way which looked like a very bad attempt, with a piece of paper on top. There, in barely legible rough handwriting:

"The idiot won't bother ya about it. M"

You smiled to yourself, feeling the fabric of the clothes. Both of good quality fabrics, a white undershirt and a red simple dress. Just like the ones you usually wear every day.

Observing from a distance as you emerged from your tent in your red dress, Micah Bell smiled to himself as he sharpened his knife, softly murmuring to himself: "Gotcha ta call me by my name at least. That's a start."

note: Yay! My first ever piece of writing I've published online :) do suggest if you get any good ideas and like my writing style.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Hiya! I was curious, in the HoM AU, what worlds do each of them share, if at all? For example, we know Rex and Ben are from different worlds thanks to the crossover, and likewise that means Zak Saturday is from Ben’s universe, but what others? Is Rex the only other dimensional member of the group or…?

Sorry if this has been asked before, or if you’ve clarified. I’m just curious since in your Jenny and Ben post, you implied that those two exist in the same world, so I wondered if there were any others.

Love the way you draw Rex, btw! I actually have your piece of Ben and Rex sleeping on the couch as my phone home screen. So ye!

Oh, don't be sorry! I uuuuuu yeah I just realized that I never actually specified about the world, I guess? 😌

But, yes, basically all of them share a universe! With exception of Rex, lol. He is a tourist, so to say. xD

So, I guess this AU is technically not a Crossover AU, but more of a Fusion Universe where they exist in one world? Honestly, when I first conceptualized the idea in my mind, it made more sense to me just to make them exist in one world. Since besides Ben and Zak canonically sharing the universe, Kim and Jake share one too, thanks to Lilo&Stitch crossover episodes. It made it easier and more interesting to me personally to figure out how to fit others together into one world, and also gave much more interesting opportunities for complicated relationship builts (like with Jenny and Ben).

Honestly while I like AUs where people cross universes and meet each other in silly adventures, I wanted more of a universe where I can explore the consequences of so many exceptional people existing in one world, if that makes sense? <;D

Rex is a special case, if only because of his canon story. It would have been almost impossible to incorporate the Nanite event into the others world and make it feel organic and make it make sense. Rex's canon story is almost perfect TBH and I didn't want to cheapen it by changing it too much. I've seen a few AUs where creators incorporated the Nanite Event into one world, but I ngl I never particularly? Enjoyed it very much. So I just took the crossover episode and run with it. ;) It would be revealed in more details in the story about why and how exactly Rex found himself in other's universe and the consequences of it, and i know it probably won't make sense to everyone, but i hope to at least make it fun and interesting!

And Awww thank you! <3 I'm flattered that you liked it so much, hehe~ And that you enjoy how I draw Rex! (he is actually one of my biggest concerns design wise, because i hardly changed/made him more interesting, but it is relieving to know that people like him nevertheless ;3)

[the-great-empress]

After seeing last post I have to agree. How did Crowley lost to lilith?

Crowley despite being called incompetent, managed to run (and maybe even create) magic school that is one of the famous ones in entire world. He also might not be the best in terms of providing roof for Yuu, but he didn't kicked them out. Instead offered job and later let them be student until they find way to get back home. We are talking about elite school here, there is set number of students. But Crowley made exeption for someone with no magic and no money, who landed in unfamiliar world. Yuu might not survive long without it.

Meanwhile Lilith's actions were reason for all bad things that happened to brothers. She took fruit and gave it to human to cure them. She knew it was not allowed and it will have consequences. And don't try to explain it by she was in love. Loving someone also means to let them go. Instead she tried to cheat death and hurt her family in process. She didn't took her punishment and didn't stoped brothers from starting rebelion. After they fell Lucifer sacrificed his freedom so she could have her selfish dream and lived few years as human. Then used her descendant to fix mess she left. Pink Diamond behavior. Michael was right to throw her into void.

Yeah…

To say that Crowley is truly worse than Lilith is going into the absurd, not to say the stupid, I want to think that they do it as a joke. How are you going to say that a person who is the reason for all misfortunes, especially yours, is it better than someone who is letting you stay for free while you look for a way to get home?

I agree that despite being called incompetent, he managed to keep NRC a great reputation, I mean Crowley sometimes behaves in a questionable way and ok, laughing at that is not bad, at least I like the satire, but the man knows how to do his job as a director, I omitted things from both Crowley and Lilith because he didn't want to extend my time and I was already going to get to work.

I'm the type of person who puts myself in the protagonist's shoes and the truth is...

I am glad that Yuu had met Crowley because if it were someone else or in another fixed place that he would be thrown out without hesitation or taken by the authorities for “trespassing” private property, from the beginning of the prologue I RISK the reputation of the prestigious NRC so that Yuu and later Grim will stay, again, Grim is a monster who caused a FIRE at the entrance ceremony and the mirror of darkness pointed out that Yuu was a “void” all of this IN FRONT of students, even Kalim came out with part of your robe burned, the scandal that could shake the news and Crowley would easily receive a lawsuit for allowing Grim to stay, but he made the decision to leave Grim and have him attend classes at Yuu's request as well as for FREE.

If I were Yuu and Crowley gave me free accommodation, even if it was Ramshackle, I would be eternally grateful, I would go ahead and offer to help him with anything he asked for without complaining, I would be ashamed if he didn’t, especially if he accepted that Grim stayed and let it pass all problems mainly caused by Grim and Yuu.

Others would not even give him rewards for doing the jobs he accepted in principle or they would look for excuses and there is Crowley, letting them play magifht ON OPEN TELEVISION, organizing a big banquet for them, giving him a phone to communicate with, giving him tickets so he can invite friends to the VDC which is a very important event so tickets won’t be cheap DAMN! HE TRUSTED HIM WITH THE GHOST CAMERA! YOU JUST NEED TO GIVE THEM THE KEYS TO THE ACADEMY! 🙄 HE TOOK THE TROUBLE ON THE FIRST NIGHT TO BRING HIM SOMETHING TO EAT! 🥺 AND THEY SAY CROWLEY IS WORSE THAN LILITH?!😡 WHAT’S WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!

Lilith for her part... SHE DESERVES TO BE THROWN INTO THE VOID!

Look, in the other publication I had planned to talk about Lilith also as a sister, but I was going to leave Lilith in a worse position, but whatever, let's talk about her also as a sister and angel FRIENDS! The more I go through the first season of the game, the more I am convinced that Lilith is the Antichrist or God made her defective and gave her a certain charm similar to Asmodeus but more powerful, because she got her way and yet, even the characters in the game They paint her as the victim or that she had a mistake. EXCUSE ME?! ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THE SAME ANGEL WHO KNOWING IT WAS TABOO TO GIVE THAT FRUIT TO A HUMAN, GAVE IT TO HIM ANYWAY?!?!? THE SAME ANGEL WHO KNEW THAT'S WHY THEY WOULD KILL HER?! THE SAME ANGEL WHO BET YOU KNEW HER BROTHERS WOULD RISE UP TO PROTECT HER?!

Many say that Lucifer was the one who started the war or that he would not last long and would rise. Well, I'm sorry but I don't buy that story! We are talking about the man who, if bowing his head meant that his brothers were safe, would bow his head without tiring, we are talking about the demon who swore loyalty to DIAVOLO and had his BALLS and PANTS on tight to hide Belphegor from DIAVOLO at the same time EARN THE HATE OF HIS BROTHER WILLING TO ACCEPT THAT HATE! WHEN IN REALITY SHE IS SAVEING HIM FROM THE PRINCE, if Lilith had not committed that CRIME Lucifer would not have reacted, Lucifer was the bullet and Lilith who pulled the trigger.

It was Lilith who started the war out of SELFISHNESS in committing TABOO and a WAR for a human, I wouldn't be surprised if the angels held a grudge against humans for that, and I say selfish because if she loved that human so much she had to let him go in peace I know that love makes one commit stupid things, but there are stupid things and then what he did. Didn't he think that they could also hunt and kill the human for agreeing to eat the fruit? In the end she got her way because she was able to have a happy life while her brothers were in a war, fell and were discriminated against even by demons.

Her soul stayed in the house of lamentations after recovering the memories of her past as an angel, she had millennia to manifest himself and solve the problems of her brothers, but instead she waited during those millennia pretending not to be hanging around the house. of lamentations until a descendant of hers appears, the one she chose to go to the Devildom, and the worst thing is that she manifests herself to only free Belphegor only to have her descendant die by STRANGULATION and revive her to demand that she save her brothers. 😡, it's obvious that he doesn't give a shit about Mc and just wants her to help her brothers. THAT'S THE KIND OF PERSON THEY SAY IS BETTER THAN CROWLEY?! Mc because she is good and an idiot pays attention only to see how she dies in Mammon's arms while Belphegor celebrates. How did Mc not suffer a fucking mental breakdown after that?!

Mc was saved because she shares blood with Lilith, but oh... how the brothers begin to treat her, especially Belphegor, being Mc at least, I begged Diavolo to get me out of that crazy house and if not he would stay away from the brothers, except Satan, for the rest of the stay. At no time did Lilith care about Mc or apologize for her, the only time she helped her was to free Belphegor and he would kill her.

Do you want to use the Lilith is dead card?! PERFECT! I can play that game too

WHB SOLOMON is better than Lilith

And it is only in its first appearance

What did it cost Lilith to say that? NOTHING

[soon-palestine]

Under that lower court decision, a protest organizer faces potentially ruinous financial consequences if a single attendee at a mass protest commits an illegal act.

It is possible that this outcome will be temporary. The Court did not embrace the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit’s decision attacking the First Amendment right to protest, but it did not reverse it either. That means that, at least for now, the Fifth Circuit’s decision is the law in much of the American South.

For the past several years, the Fifth Circuit has engaged in a crusade against DeRay Mckesson, a prominent figure within the Black Lives Matter movement who organized a protest near a Baton Rouge police station in 2016.

The facts of the Mckesson case are, unfortunately, quite tragic. Mckesson helped organize the Baton Rouge protest following the fatal police shooting of Alton Sterling. During that protest, an unknown individual threw a rock or similar object at a police officer, the plaintiff in the Mckesson case who is identified only as “Officer John Doe.” Sadly, the officer was struck in the face and, according to one court, suffered “injuries to his teeth, jaw, brain, and head.”

Everyone agrees that this rock was not thrown by Mckesson, however. And the Supreme Court held in NAACP v. Claiborne Hardware (1982) that protest leaders cannot be held liable for the violent actions of a protest participant, absent unusual circumstances that are not present in the Mckesson case — such as if Mckesson had “authorized, directed, or ratified” the decision to throw the rock.

Indeed, as Justice Sonia Sotomayor points out in a brief opinion accompanying the Court’s decision not to hear Mckesson, the Court recently reaffirmed the strong First Amendment protections enjoyed by people like Mckesson in Counterman v. Colorado (2023). That decision held that the First Amendment “precludes punishment” for inciting violent action “unless the speaker’s words were ‘intended’ (not just likely) to produce imminent disorder.”

The reason Claiborne protects protest organizers should be obvious. No one who organizes a mass event attended by thousands of people can possibly control the actions of all those attendees, regardless of whether the event is a political protest, a music concert, or the Super Bowl. So, if protest organizers can be sanctioned for the illegal action of any protest attendee, no one in their right mind would ever organize a political protest again.

Indeed, as Fifth Circuit Judge Don Willett, who dissented from his court’s Mckesson decision, warned in one of his dissents, his court’s decision would make protest organizers liable for “the unlawful acts of counter-protesters and agitators.” So, under the Fifth Circuit’s rule, a Ku Klux Klansman could sabotage the Black Lives Matter movement simply by showing up at its protests and throwing stones.

[guess-that-ship]

S9 Round 1

Science, Sleep, and Solitude

cw: spoilers

Two people unethically experimented on find each other and think "hey what if we were gay about it?" and then they were. HM is occasionally the voice of reason for FM but to be honest they're both a little silly with it ("it" being slightly more ethical science). Their life can be rough, but least they have each other!

… Except they don't. Not as much as they'd want to be.

FM had to travel back in time to play the longest con of his life to get back at the scientist who experimented on the both of them. For several years, he was unable to even meet with HM, having to keep his identity a secret for the sake of his mission. They reunite eventually, get sappy with each other, and resurrect a guy, but it doesn't last. In order to avoid the consequences of resurrection, FM makes a deal with an entity that possesses his body, and keeps FM hidden from HM. Their only solace is in their dreams, where they can be together again, make up for the time they've spent away, but dreams can be fleeting.

In the real world, FM has been gone for two years. HM's boyfriend has been MIA for two years. Both are alone. But both can dream.

Red, Blue, and Fate

[This description has been modified to remove author commentary.]

cw: spoilers

They were friends when they were kids, but got separated due to a traumatizing event for Red that caused him to move away. Blue's life was changed by Red, however, and he did everything in his power to find him again. After seeing Red in the newspaper many years later, Blue changes his entire career just to find him again and to save Red from the person he's become.

When they meet again, Red is cold to Blue and barely gives him the time of day. Red gets accused of murder, and Blue saves him from this. Red still thinks he's the reason the traumatizing event from his childhood happened, and confesses to this. Blue helps him find out it wasn't Red, but rather the person who took him in.

Some things happen later and Red leaves the country, presumed dead. Blue knows this can't be the case and waits for him until Red returns to help him again. Blue is angry, rightfully so, but can't bring himself to resent Red.

The next time Red leaves, everybody knows and Blue is happier about that. Blue fell through a bridge and as soon as Red was contacted, he immediately organized transportation directly to Blue despite being out of the country. When he got there, Blue asked Red to do his job for him, and Red accepted.

[rustingcat]

Control

Lena's life was a series of the most extreme and random events. She wasn't sure if her being magic was part of it or the cause, but her life was, simply put, ridiculous.

Death, losing connections, friendships and relationships, manipulation, backstabbing, death threats, assassination attempts, kidnapping were all just some of the things she has experienced in her recent years alone, more than enough to make any sane person go crazy. She’s seen what crazy does to people, the destructive consequences of her family, her blood, and did what she could to avoid it, to keep herself afloat.

She tried to grasp whatever control she did get with both hands, using it as her way to sooth her soul when everything fell apart. She wondered if that was one of the reasons she felt compelled to take over the family company, deciding to dive right into the heart of the chaos to gain some hint of control over it. Her job was a major part in her life in which she held some control; as the boss she could dictate the direction of the company, she answered to no one (save for the board), and most importantly she could choose whenever to stop working. She could control the kind of food she put in her mouth, what to watch on TV, control the people she let into her life, her scientific knowledge gave her some control on her work, and her decision not to use her magic until she felt she grasped enough of its understanding gave her some comfort.

Yet, for every aspect of her life she had control over, Kara was always the exception to her rules. Breaking down every wall and defense mechanism, turning her life upside down, and the recent event proved it more than ever. Somehow every time she felt she had some hold on reality, the universe was keen to prove her wrong.

"Kara, I know you said that Kryptonian sex developed later than humans, but is it possible that one fetus developed faster than the other?" Lena asked after studying the live ultrasound footage on the monitor. Nia and Brainy's little girl seemed to be developing perfectly, at least that gave her some comfort.

"I don't think so? I can contact my father if needed, but what seems to be the problem?" Kara put her baby development book she'd been reading down and walked towards Lena.

"Well, after studying this ultrasound for quite a while, it seems like we have one fetus who developed male sex organs, while the other didn't." She did her best to keep her voice controlled and leveled. There was no actual reason to panic. Yet.

"Then we're having a boy and a girl! Lena, that's great news!" Kara said excitingly, raising her hands up to emphasise it.

"Kara, they are identical twins!"

"Oh, that I do know. It has to do with the chromosome distribution of the machine. Sex assignment is usually controlled by the parents, it is distributed individually after the process has begun. So it's given randomly to every child." Kara explained.

"So our identical twins are gonna be born with different organs?"

"Essentially, yes."

Kara really took the news far better than her. She wasn't sure how Kara wasn't phased by those surprises like she was. Kara led a life just as random and tragic, probably more, so by all accounts she should be just as disturbed. Then again, maybe she was simply better at repressing, Lena really couldn't tell.

Although thinking about it, Kara had been acting slightly different recently, even before the sex reveal. Lena couldn't put the finger on it, but she had her suspicions. She was more affectionate, more touchy. Not that Lena was complaining, she was eager to take any opportunity to be closer to her best friend. Lena couldn't help but wonder at the sudden change. Was the affection part a natural development in their relationship, or the most likely conclusion, had something to do with their project. They are going to become a family in the very near future, that by itself is enough to change the whole dynamic. A dynamic that is very likely to change regardless once the twins would come into their lives.

Lena suspected – despite her initial reservations – that Kara’s new affection has to do with a new romantic aspect, or something similar at the very least. The lingering touches, the crimson blushes that seemed to have coloured her face more often than before. True, a relationship with Kara was something she was hoping for for months, years if she was completely honest with herself, but the potential of a heartbreak might be too much for her to handle, especially if there are kids involved.

Was that the reason? Could it be a surge of emotions triggered by the idea of shared parenting that was wrongly interpreted as romantic attraction? Or was it something else? Fear perhaps? It is known to be a great motivator. Could Kara be fearing their shared partnership might be broken had Lena found a new romantic partner and instinctively started to develop something to keep their partnership at bay? Or perhaps she was reading it all wrong and Kara's new nervousness and touches were simply excitement and anxiety for their upcoming responsibilities.

Lena breathed out a long sigh, the whole thing was a lot to handle and she was already dealing with a lot.

"You okay?" Kara turned her head to her from the stop on the couch where they were snuggled together.

"Yeah," she flashed her a small smile.

"Then why aren't you watching the movie?" Kara fixed her with a knowing smirk

"Just thinking," she pretended to roll her eyes with irritation, but her smile gave her away.

Lena learned she couldn't control her emotions, she tried. She put them in little boxes for years to avoid and suppress them, so she wouldn't have to deal with them. She learned first hand how impossible and destructive it was.

"Well, your brain is very smart," Kara nodded. "Is this 'thinking' you're doing part of maintaining its smartness levels?"

"Of course, it's part of my daily routine." Lena said seriously, glad Kara wasn't pushing her to talk.

"I bet it would be even smarter afterwards." Kara pushed a stray hair off of her face.

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that."

"I would."

She wasn't sure when Kara got so close to her, but the distance between them was almost completely gone. Their conversation lowered to mere whispers. It was Kara, eyes half lidded, leaning in that broke her out of the haze.

Lena couldn't control her emotions, but she could control her actions at the very least. She could make sure to put herself in a position she was still in control of. Not let herself give in to temptations and dive into the unknown.

"I think I might retire for the night," Lena cleared her throat. "I'm more tired than I thought." She stood up before Kara could react.

She felt a cold shiver run through her body, and she had a feeling it was not because she stepped out of their blanket nest too quickly. Closing the door behind her didn't feel like the familiar safe space she hoped it to be, a distant voice at the back of her mind telling her that she left that one behind on the couch.

She stood there motionless in her room far longer than she realised.

Yes, Lena could still have some control. Although she wasn't sure about the cost anymore.

[peskellence]

Rule Of Nines

Betrayal Pt. 2

Explicit content, Graphic Violence

(18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: AU, Multi-Chapter, Lovers to Enemies, Kidnapping, Crime and Violence, Oral, Anal, Dom/ Sub

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Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a world where loyalty is currency and compromise is weakness, Gavin Reed, a ruthless mobster, lives by his own rules. When an old enemy resurfaces with a deadly demand, his life is thrown into chaos-as his trusted second-in-command, Nines, is put to the ultimate test of allegiance. Will he stay committed to Gavin, or will the loyal guard dog begin to stray? (Human Mob!AU)

Warnings: Major Character Death (before events of the story), Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Dubious Consent

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel

If you would like to be added to the tag list for future projects, please let me know♡

It took until sundown for Gavin to realise that Nines wasn't coming back. The wait persisted well beyond this, extending into the night. There were no calls, progress checks, or even the slightest indication to suggest the man was still breathing. Just dead air on the radio. Continual, droning vacancy. 

His second in command had never done this—would have never dreamed of it before today. Clearly, he had gotten held up wading through the mountainous shit expelled during his recent temper tantrum. No doubt wallowing around like a despondent pig. One that just found out its sibling was being turned into bacon.

Maybe that was where he'd scurried off to. Charging headfirst into DeLuca's hideout on a misguided suicide mission to save his brother. The thought alone would've made Gavin laugh had it not inspired such bitter resentment.

Best of luck with that, dickhead.

Salvatore hardly ran a prestige operation, but he wasn't stupid. He and his boys would be waiting for them, armed to the fucking teeth. As soon as they realised Connor's 'saviour' had arrived empty-handed, it'd be open season in the abattoir.

Nines was good, but he wasn't made of kevlar and steel. When a man came faced with a hail of bullets, the bullets were going to win. No matter his physical prowess, he'd be hosting his family reunion six feet under the ground. 

Gavin cursed under his breath, his head lolling against the pillows as his eyes squeezed shut. The sweat beading on his brow started to trickle lower, charting a course down the bridge of his nose.

Instead of bottling his frustration, he attempted to refocus its energy into current licentious activities. The movements of his hand quickened as he brusquely dismissed concerns of doubt or culpability.  

If Nines was taking an extended dirt nap, it would be the fault of his own stupidity. A fitting penance for allowing sentiment to cloud his better judgment. 

Bleeding hearts had no place in the miserable shit they dealt with. If that lesson had been learned the hard way, so be it. Hopefully, it would serve as a reminder for the next dolt Gavin let slither under his sheets: Do not step out of line unless you're ready to face the consequences. 

His mind was bubbling over, hissing like a tea kettle, as he released a barrage of insults at a currently imagined Nines:

You selfish, ungrateful piece of shit.

Entitled, pompous asshole —

He missed him. 

The bed felt unbearably empty, as did every attempt to fill the void. His body howled with need, seeking a carnal depravity that no amount of self-indulgence could hope to satisfy.  

Maybe he ought to have hired the hooker. At least then, he could have secured the feeling of something . An opportunity to escape through the forgiving darkness of tightly closed eyes, where he could imagine the floundering mass on top of him belonged to someone else… 

He plunged deeper into himself, arching back as far as he could in pursuit of greater leverage. It would have still been better than condemning himself to the current arrangement of listlessly gripped hand and equally sad rubber stand-in. 

His toes curled from added exertion as he hissed in what he tried to convince himself was some degree of pleasure. If he continued to tell himself that, perhaps the sensation would manifest. The 'fake it til you make it' principle: like it was a goddamn job interview.

The movements continued as he abandoned his hardness in favour of running a hand up the length of his torso. His remaining fist grew increasingly agitated, anger permeating every mite of the increasingly rough pumps. 

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

There was a knock at the door, ending the ill-fated venture with a sudden jolt of paralysis. Gavin gawked at his ceiling, trying to confirm—somewhat hopefully—if he was hearing things. Then it happened again, prompting him to reach over and study his phone's lock screen. 

It informed that the time was 3:07 A.M., leading to the conclusion that this style of intrusion was getting extremely old.

Shooting up, he removed Nines' lacklustre understudy from his body. He craned himself towards the door, boring holes into the surface of the already beaten-up wood, his mouth snarling in an uncanny mimicry of a feral dog:

 "What the fuck do you want?" 

There was no reply save for a steady—and entirely undeterred—pace of knocks.

You can't be serious.

After tucking his shame securely into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he ripped away the scant covering of his sheets. Whoever the mystery arrival was, they clearly wanted to play games—ones that the mobster was in no mood to be joining.

Either that or their appearance formed some style of divine intervention. The Big Man upstairs, tenuously apologising for all the recent smites in the form of a squishy sandbag on which to offload his grievances. 

 Whoever the person was, they were persistent. Refusing to let up on the incessant pounding for even a second despite having aired him just moments prior. 

Gavin wrestled with a pair of boxers, attempting to wrangle them over the prominent hardness between his thighs. They were lucky he even did that much—in half a mind to answer the door butt-ass naked, making exposure to his trouser snake part of the karmic retribution. 

"Do I need to put opening hours on my goddamn door?" he suggested bitingly, as the fervance of his movements resulted in a small tear of fabric. "It's the middle of the fucking night, what is wrong with you people?" 

To their credit, there was likely some underlying motivation behind the visit. Given how desperately the unknown figure sought to grab his attention—and the fact he'd made it clear that 'Connor Torture Porn' didn't constitute an emergency—it was probably something serious.  

Assuming Nines hadn't managed to get his brother mulched, they still had a few hours before DeLuca took care of business. That being said, it wouldn't have surprised him if Connor had decided to croak ahead of schedule.

The man had been in bad shape during his last on-screen appearance, barely clinging to whatever life was left to live after being gutted and carved worse than a grade-schoolers jack-o'-lantern.

Honestly, news of his untimely death was probably the only thing that could temper his current foul mood…

Swinging the door open, he prepared to lambast whatever slack-jawed goon was bumbling around behind it. Upon seeing who it was, his mouth went dry, and his snarled lips clamped shut.

"I'm sorry, Gavin, I know it's late." The words lingered on their tongue, chasing each delicate curl of the muscle. "I hope I didn't wake you."

…Well. Except for maybe that.

Nines stood in the archway, arm extended above his head, propped against the lip. He loomed over Gavin, simpering gently and exuding a stunning degree of confidence for someone who had just played hooky for the past fourteen hours.

Unfortunately, his current appearance made it extremely difficult for Gavin to stay pissed off. Nines had ditched much of the zombie chic he'd adopted over the week, taming the hair that had been clinging listlessly to his scalp. It was now washed and combed, pulled into its usual slicked-back style. The unsightly stubble that had started to bloom across his jaw had also been trimmed, made more apparent as he jutted it forward.

The movement was undoubtedly calculated as it rumpled the collar of his loosely draped trench coat. Sleek leather caught conspicuously against the lights above, encouraging his gaze to trail lower…

Oh, I see how it is. Sneaky son of a bitch. 

While the garment wasn't short, on the lofty man filling the doorway, it might as well have been lingerie. The hem barely covered his thighs, revealing svelte lengths of smooth, marble-white. The tenuously secured belt slackened with every twitch, causing the material to part and reveal a growing sliver of torso.

If the legs weren't already a tip-off, this seemed to prove irrefutably that Nines wasn't wearing a lot underneath the jacket. If he was wearing anything at all. 

The notion alone sent Gavin's mind into a pronounced tailspin—and while he was aware his second-in-command was still speaking, it might as well have been French. Words were leaving his mouth, but absolutely none of them were being processed.

He attempted to downplay his interest with an inward press of his thighs as he strategically tilted his body towards an adjacent wall. 

"Look who's decided to drag themselves outta the gutter…" He feigned indifference with a click of his tongue; all the while, his arousal twitched insistently between his legs. "Where the hell have you been, jackass?"

Whatever conversational threads had led Nines to this question remained a mystery. In any case, his response was flawless—smooth and candid, deftly withholding any sentiment:

"Wrapping up affairs at the docks. It took longer than anticipated; I had to take care of a few witnesses."

This was a lie.

All other men who had attended to the incident returned hours ago, ensuring any and all 'annoyances' were dealt with briskly. Despite this, the questionable statement almost demanded belief, in line with every stoic recount the man had ever delivered…

 Whether it was genuinely convincing, or his ungodly degree of horniness was warping his judgment, Gavin wasn't sure. All he knew was that his libido was screaming for him to let it go. To tug Nines by the crotch across the threshold so he could stop spewing mundane excuses and start pounding him into the mattress. 

 But he couldn't do that—because he was angry—and trying to make a point of not rewarding bad behaviour. Folding his arms across his chest, he maintained his outward scepticism despite all internal protest.

 Just when he thought Nines might have the balls to proceed with his current deception, the focus shifted to the elephant doing handstands in the back of the room.

 "...I needed some time to think." The playful expression faltered in line with his stiffening posture. He glanced over Gavin's shoulder, eyes fixed on the bed. "If you could let me in, we can discuss things more privately."

 As he leaned in, a smooth brush of skin came tantalisingly close to the shorter man's cheek. Cologne trailed the deft movements, igniting his senses, as a chin gently skimmed his shoulder. The touch was featherlight, and it could have easily been missed if Gavin hadn't been so keenly aware of everything Nines was doing.

His ulterior motive was painfully brazen; it might as well have been illuminated on a neon sign above his head. Such an abrupt and shameless shift back to their usual routine, it was fucking hysterical.

Because what did Nines know about privacy? He clearly wasn't opposed to attracting some attention, given his current attire. He would've had to pass through the meeting room like that, no doubt crossing paths with several lingering night owls.

Perhaps he'd wanted to get a rise. To imagine at least one of their cohorts had gotten desperate enough where they might be amenable to the idea of bending him over the card table—

Gavin's mind began to run wild, chasing all manner of depravity his twisted imagination could conjure. He forced himself to rein it in, swallowing back the dense lump forming in his throat.

He then clicked his tongue in feigned indifference, his crossed arms locking tighter over his chest. Unable to help himself, or perhaps out of habit, he made a point of flexing forward—puffing his chest and calling attention to the toned definition of his limbs. 

"What exactly do you wanna 'discuss'? You're being awfully vague right now."

Nines' attention flitted downward, a quirked eyebrow the only crack in his otherwise stony veneer. He gave nothing else away, his response measured and enigmatic.

"I took some time to remind myself what is important, to determine where my loyalties lie..." His gaze returned to Gavin's face as piercing eyes studied his features. A rogue spark ignited beneath them, completely indecipherable. "Now that I have done this, I think it is time to make amends."

His leg shifted, and the coat followed suit—coming dangerously close to revealing the junction between his thighs. If it were a robe, Gavin was confident Nines would be twirling the tie in circles, teasing him further. 

He was showing off, so sure in his conceit that he could play his boss like an upright bass.

This assumption was correct, obviously, but that didn't stop Gavin from being incensed with the mutinous bastard he called his dick. Fearing it might spring off without immediate attention, he obliged the request through gritted teeth. 

"Get in." 

As Nines entered the room, it became apparent that 'talking' had factored little into plans for their exchange. His subordinate slammed the door behind him before skillfully switching their positions and pinning Gavin against it.  

The handle pressed into the small of his back, as he was all but moulded onto it. He couldn't give less of a shit—feeling utterly giddy, mind reeling, as it ignited with vibrant bursts of excitement. 

Then Nines kissed him—biting, wrenching, capturing flesh between his teeth and mercilessly pulling back. Gavin could taste the warm copper pooling in his mouth, and it may as well have been syrup because nothing had ever tasted so sweet in his entire fucking life.

As a streak dribbled down his chin, he roughly shoved Nines away. Passion tempering long enough to recall what had brought them to their current frenzied encounter.

"You're going to have to put in some serious fucking effort if you expect me to forgive you." Crimson specks propelled from his lips as he wiped them with the back of his hand. "Don't think you can shove your tongue down my throat and expect bygones to be bygones."

"Of course not," Nines hummed. His lust-filled voice was irresistibly rich, purred like auditory velvet against his pulsing neck. "I have every intention of showing you just how sorry I am…"

Gavin was lost immediately. His bravado deflated as he slumped against the other man's hold, hopelessly ensnared. A rush of endorphins prickled his skin, in line with the indulgent nips being dotted across it.

The raging pulse in his boxers grew even more apparent, straining the material in a way that proved impossible to ignore. It pressed against Nines' leg, and he rutted forward shamelessly, desperate for friction.

 He wasn't left neglected for long. As his subordinate continued to tease his neck, he reached a hand into his boxers—brushing the concealed length with the same fluid motions. He traced it with the tips of his fingers before applying more targeted pressure, forcing it down with the heel of his palm. 

 "How about I start with taking care of this?"

 Gavin winced under the touch, resisting the sharp yelp pressing at his lips. His companion took this as a challenge. Stopping shy of using fingers to prise them open, he opted to coax the cry with steadily increased weight. 

 Pain stormed sensitive nerves, testing the bounds of his tolerance, as Gavin's hands balled into fists. They secured themselves into his jacket, clawing at the material in a frenzied attempt to strip it away. 

 He wanted to feel Nines—all of him—and was becoming increasingly agitated by the barrier preventing this.

 The rigid flesh of his arousal continued to be forced back until it rested flush against his pelvis. Anguish had started to wind him, making it difficult to hold himself upright. 

"The hell are you doing?" Gavin growled in protest as his physical resistance started to wane. He then doubled over, drenched in sweat and panting madly as though he'd just completed a marathon. "Touch me, you sadistic asshole." 

"I believe you'll find I already am," Nines rebuked, emphasising the point in line with the pitiless force of his hand. "If you stop squirming, I'll gladly give you precisely what you want."

"I'm only squirming because you keep—" 

The sentence was aborted as Nines' fingers contributed to the evolving barbarity. Nails brushed the underside of his arm before digging into it, creating a series of harsh grooves. 

Gavin was unable to hold back the screams he had been fighting so hard to suppress. As much as he enjoyed the rough play, even he had his limits—and feeling like his dick was caught between a blender and a hydraulic press was cutting it pretty fine. Before he could protest, however, a stern voice interjected: 

"Don't tell me what you do," it stipulated, more warning than suggestion. "Not when we're like this. Isn't that the arrangement?"

Gavin's mouth flapped open, desperate to argue, until he found himself unable to form anything coherent.

Well. You've got me there.

This was extremely annoying, given the satisfaction Nines seemed to garner from the implicit confirmation. The current power shift was being indulged a little too profoundly, beyond the expectations of their usual salacious roleplay.

He wasn't left to dwell on this long, as without warning, the oppressive force of Nines' palm relinquished. It was replaced by a gentler hold as neatly wound fingers enclosed his tortured flesh.

Relief washed over him, overwhelming and immediate, as the small bursts of light that peppered his vision burst into flames. He flung his head back, groaning deeply, as Nines moved his hand in well-practiced motions.

There had been no lie in his promise to deliver. The strokes came with sinful finesse—applied with flawless strength and precision, adjusting to his responses as though Nines had a direct line to his brain. 

It was delicious in its familiarity. Exactly how Gavin wanted it, the way it was supposed to be.

Any bout of insanity that had gripped his subordinate was coming to an end, assuring him it would not inhibit the enjoyment they were about to share. Nines had remembered who he was—and what they were together. 

At some point, his boxers had been removed, left abandoned at his feet. With unfettered access, a thumb was flicked across his tip, tracing the slit in a languid stripe. The effect was addicting, a greater high than any drug he'd ever experienced. He wanted more, pleaded for it, as he fisted a hand into the back of Nines' hair, using it to anchor himself.

After a few more teasing trails, Nines re-established his grip. His hand moved in measured pumps, gradually increasing the pace. Gavin whined helplessly, bucking forward in a feverish attempt to maximise the friction. 

He chased the movement with his hips as his desire grew progressively brazen. Culminating with meticulously styled strands wound around his fingers, tugged back in line with a moan—

The motions stopped as the delicious winch gripping him was unceremoniously removed. Before he had a chance to question this, he was shoved away, striking the door with a dull thud. 

"Get on the bed," Nines ordered, as darkened eyes trained his superior with predatory focus. If the look wasn't enough, he clarified the gravity of his demand with a curt: "Now."

Gavin shuddered, less from the tone and more from the sudden loss of heat. An unpleasant chill nipped at his arousal, but rather than bemoan the shitty insulation in his room, he decided the more constructive approach was to do as instructed. Which he did without any concern for pride or shame.

Twisting around, he stumbled back on quivering legs until his calves struck the edge of the bed. He promptly collapsed against it, allowing himself to become engulfed in a tangled mass of sheets.

He'd barely had a chance to settle before Nines made his advance. Discarding his coat with a decisive shrug, he positioned himself at Gavin's dangling legs before firmly wrenching them apart.

Fuck yes.

Nines then slid between the opening, sinking to his knees—maintaining a distinct air of control despite the submissive position. Grabbing the other man's quads, he manoeuvred them over his head before planting them securely on his shoulders. His grip lingered, digging into the skin with possessive fervour as his head began to lower.

The heat returned as a tongue swept across the bottom of his swollen length. Gavin attempted to crane himself forward in order to secure a better view of the beguiling show unfolding in front of him.

And damn, what a show it was. Nines repeated the movement, lapping his cock in gliding stripes. His mouth was agape, revealing an expanse of velvety pink walls. Trails of moisture coated his companion's skin, brushing at charged nerves which tingled appreciatively. 

All the while, he stared at him. Grey eyes bore intensely, refusing to relent for even a second.  

They fit perfectly with his face, complementing the rest of his sharp features to a near-inhuman degree of perfection. His defined cheeks hollowed further as he captured the swollen tip, suckling firmly.

"Oh my fucking god ." The mobster struggled to string together anything more coherent as the cavern of warmth lowered, claiming him greedily. Nines moved slowly, inch by inch, until the erection struck the back of his throat. 

Gavin was in ecstasy, washed away by a rising tide of pleasure. He rode it greedily until the resulting delirium knocked him back, unable to stay upright. Nines set an excruciating rhythm, pulling away almost completely before thrusting back down with a subtle gag. His tongue swirled around the hardness, exploring every pore, combined with a gentle graze of teeth.

The sensation was indescribable, making Gavin realise just how deluded he'd been to think he could find even a modicum of the same pleasure with anyone else—'seasoned professional' or not.

 If a night with a hooker was a cheap motel, being with Nines was like a trip to the Ritz. Opulence that couldn't be replicated, providing the exact level of attentive worship his body craved.

 "Yes—that's it," he praised keenly. His eyes balled shut as he dared once again to run digits amorously through silky brown locks. Hips bucked forward, goading desperately, as he sought an increased pace. 

 To his surprise, Nines permitted this, relinquishing some of his circumstantial control so he may seek to satisfy his needs. There was no delay in doing this as Gavin made full use of his mouth. Assaulting it with spearing thrusts, pounding against the spongy foundation with reckless abandon. 

 His companion spluttered around the intrusion, struggling for air. This failed to deter his efforts. If anything, it spurred him on. He arched upward, plunging deeper, as he riveted their head in place.

 Pressure built in his gut as his arousal twitched and swelled, signalling imminent release. No consideration was made to warn Nines—and with a final, quivering buck, his passion spilt over. Filling his mouth in thick ribbons, until the excess started to dribble from the corners of his mouth.  

"Goddamn..." Gavin sighed, teasing out a final, shallow thrust before his length began to soften. He flung an arm to the crease of his brow, wiping at a dense film of perspiration as he struggled to catch his breath. "Better late than never, I guess."  

Nines hummed distantly, ignoring the jab as he pulled himself upright. He then flicked a thumb across his lips, removing the salty traces. "Are you feeling satisfied?"

The man knew damn well that he wasn't. He never was after a single round, two or three being their established minimum. Still, his companion never missed a chance to tease him over his salacious insatiability.

There wasn't a chance he'd be letting Nines dip before the main event, under any circumstances.

 "Hell no." He scoffed, somewhat amenable to the playfulness but maintaining an distinct undercurrent of demand. "If that's all you're planning on giving me, I'm going to fucking riot."

His companion nodded, expression unshifting in a way that might suggest to a less seasoned lover that he simply wasn't interested. There was, however, a distinct glint of intent mingled in his hardened gaze, betraying his intentions. 

 He wasn't done, either. Not by any stretch. 

 Splayed palms planted firmly to either side of the mattress. Nines soon accompanied them, inching himself across the sheets until he had formed an animate cage around Gavin. The steady rise and fall of his chest synced with the fanning of blanketing breath, boasting unshakeable dominance.

"I thought you might say that."

One of the hands steadily lifted, running across the entrapped man's face. It trailed the fleshy canvas, assessing stubble and dotted scars before drawing back to strike them, painting a vivid streak of red.

"Move yourself up," he demanded, with all the composure of someone well-seasoned in using violence as an incentive. "Towards the wall."

It didn't take an expert to see where things were heading, and Gavin was no less than ecstatic. He dutifully complied, sidling up the length of the bed until he was just below the headboard.

"Lift your arms." 

Anticipation gripped him in dreamlike delirium as his spent arousal twitched, excitement renewing. Nines had not joined him yet, reaching beneath the bed in order to grab something. 

 He had a pretty good idea what, and it only caused the excitement to mount. 

There had always been too many 'supplies' to fit in the nightstand alone, with this now relegated to solo enjoyment—but in the time they'd been doing this, the collection had grown substantially, amassed in several containers.

This one was his personal favourite. A small leather box secured with a clasp, which Nines clicked open with a neat flick. The sound met his ears at blissful resonance, and it was a struggle to keep his arms up as the muscles began to quiver restlessly. 

Then Nines pulled out the rope, wrapped together in tightly bound coils. He started to unwind it until a section was held between his hands. It was flexed testingly before being pulled taut, the fibres straining audibly, creaking under his powerful hold. Gavin felt his mouth go dry. 

"Don't move." 

This command was completely redundant. There wasn't a chance of him going anywhere. Not in a million years. 

As he was strung to the bed, wrists bound by braided cord, Nines handled him with practised precision. Each stroke of his palm and brush of his fingertips was carefully planned, designed to elicit a response. The act of tying him up alone felt better than half of the ill-fated fumbles he'd had in his twenties.

 Hardly aggressive competition, nor was it particularly surprising.

 No one else knew his body like this, had ever bothered to learn—or even put in the effort to try. There was only Nines, with no other comparison that could possibly be drawn.

 If he were being honest with himself, the depth of the other man's feelings had been obvious for quite some time—but Gavin had always overlooked it, adopting a philosophy of selective blindness.

 Because he didn't want to confront that, to risk ruining all of this. It was the closest to Heaven he'd ever get, and he didn't want it to end…

Oh shit.

I missed him.

"You're being so good for me," Nines praised, promptly derailing his bleak introspection. "So obedient—" 

The crisis was forgotten, as the ends of the rope were hooked through a rickety metal grate before being pulled back. He made it look incredibly easy, still finding time to tease his companion throughout the process. He secured both arms, followed by legs, as he rushed his body with a series of suckles, kisses and bites—all he could think of to get a rise. 

"Now, continue to behave yourself and keep still." He returned attention to Gavin's face, positioning himself at the crook of his neck as he nibbled at his ear. "I don't want you wriggling away, not with what I intend to do to you."

 The promise was drizzled decadently, passing the shell and running in streams down the sensitive canal. It clogged his senses, deafening him to anything else. 

 Gavin arched back as far as his restraints would reasonably permit, groaning shamelessly as he did so. "Do it quicker, you asshole," he snapped, levelling the man with an accusatory glare. "Whatever you want, I don't give a shit."

 Nines pulled back momentarily, regarding him with a bemused expression. His eyebrows were raised as he huffed gently through twitching lips.

Then, without warning, a hand was brought across his face again. It moved harder this time, the resultant imprint burrowing into him like white-hot needles.

 Gavin howled before the noise was forcefully halted. His cheeks were captured in the grip of the unforgiving hand, its thumb and fingers closing in until his lips were crushed together.

 "Just remember, this is what you asked for." The twitch on Nines' mouth persisted until the corner curled upward, forming a subtle smirk. "It is going to be an extremely gratifying experience; I guarantee it."

He slipped away, ending the degradation as unceremoniously as it had begun. Dipping back into the box, he rummaged through its contents until he secured a small, silken scarf. He held it up to the light as though to show it off before the glow was quickly extinguished.

The cloth was wrapped around Gavin's eyes and secured in a tight bow. There was no care to ensure comfort; the knot anchored against his hair, catching several strands. Nines pressed down on his face to secure his leverage, pinching lids and ripping lashes in the process. 

"Tell me, do you still want this?"

It wasn't really a question. Before Gavin could even think of responding, hands were running in parallel lines down his chest. They traversed lower, passing his abdomen until they nestled on the protruding bones of his pelvis. The man traced them in enticing circles but refused to fan inwards—much to his dismay.

He more than wanted it. He needed it, with every inch of his being crying out in primal desire.

Despite this, he was powerless to speak, the words snatched from his increasingly barren throat. He instead settled for a whine; lips parted desperately. A parched man pleading for water.

Nines seemed to accept this as an answer. In spite of his blindness, Gavin knew he was watching closely—evident by the continuous beat of puffs assaulting his face.

"Remember what I said. Keep still. If you don't, I may be forced to do something drastic."

The weight of his domineering presence diminished, coinciding with the release of pressure on the mattress. His subordinate was gone for some time, amplifying the tension to a maddening degree as he struggled to control his increasingly ragged breaths…

The build-up lost its excitement as he grew impatient. 

His whines transitioned into frustrated groans, and his body squirmed against the covers, craving the attention being cruelly withheld.

"What the fuck is the holdup?" he eventually complained, attempting to reposition his pulsing wrists. The dig of the binds no longer felt gratifying, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. "Seriously, how hard can it be to pick something to smack me around with?"

Then he heard it.

The metallic click of a magazine sliding into place, followed shortly by the frigid touch of steel being pressed to his forehead:

"I'm sorry, Gavin, but I don't think I'll be listening to you anymore."

The world paused, holding its breath. A rush of blood flooded his ears, drowning out all other sounds, as his heart hammered against his ribs—ramping to a bruising pace as realisation began to sink in.

Gavin Reed, you fucking idiot.

After all the self-imposed chiding for letting trust go too far, for allowing too much leniency, he'd still let Nines walk him into such an obvious trap. 

"... Dirty. Conniving. Double-crossing. Bastard ." The words were spat in embittered fragments, too mangled by rage to boast any structure. "You really are just like your brother, aren't you? I should've known, should have seen it sooner."  

"I remain loyal to those who prove deserving." His voice was cold and unyielding, in line with the barrel against his flesh. "You've given me no other choice." 

"Bullshit ! " Gavin bellowed, growing increasingly incensed, as molten speckles propelled from his mouth. "You could have chosen me , you son of a bitch! After everything Dad did for you, after everything I've done for you—"

"And I could have had what, exactly?" The other man snapped back. "A lie that continues to be perpetuated? Some fallacy that I matter to you?"

"Oh, boo-hoo , poor little baby." The jeer came with a mocking tremor of his lower lip as he proceeded to wrestle wildly against his restraints. "We already went through this jackass. I never lied; I told you exactly what this was. It's not my fault if you got your wires crossed."

 The barrel was pressed harder against his head, forming a deep-set groove. At the same time, the weapon trembled as though the wielder was being trounced by a sudden rush of hesitancy.

 Gavin was forced to wait like an old dog being taken out behind the farmhouse. Held in limbo as its owner debated on whether to go through with the act. It was a humiliating, demeaning role, one that he resented deeply.

 So he decided to flip the script, leaning further into the muzzle, practically mounting it to his temple. He felt strangely calm as he did so, his adrenaline pumping, providing a steadily increasing numbness. "If you're going to shoot me, then go ahead. What the hell are you waiting for?"

 Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating but simultaneously fueling his resolve. He revelled in his renewed control, drawing from it a warped satisfaction before goading his assailant further.

 "Seeing as you're jerking around, you may as well take off the blindfold." The suggestion came as a saccharine taunt punctuated by a humourless cackle. "Look me in the eyes while you blow my fucking brains out."

The captive's heart continued to pound, echoing in the hush of the room. His adrenaline was starting to taper, turning to apprehension before creeping into fear. He refused to let this show, as his jaw hardened in bitter defiance, all the while bracing for the worst. 

It was too late to go back—and if the worst did happen, at least it would be over quickly. He wouldn't be forced to endure the continued sting of Nines' monumental betrayal.

Then, with a sudden jerk, the blindfold was ripped away. His vision was blurred momentarily as it attempted to re-adjust to the murky light. Once the haze cleared, he was able to see his face. 

Grey eyes were glazed with immeasurable pain, focus lost to detached longing. It was as if he were imagining a whole other life, separate from the bleak fate assigned to them. A future that would never exist, breaking apart and crashing around him in striking detail.

Tears started to roll down his cheeks as his stricken face crumpled with anguish. His breath hitched, and with a laboured shudder, Nines lowered the pistol. 

Gavin watched as he wept, grappling with the undoubtedly boundless weight of his lost pride and shattered yearning…

Until laughter rumbled in his chest—before bursting from his lips, loud and unrepressed. It was partly out of relief but mostly borne of spite, as he barked in the traitor's defeated face. 

Struck by a sense of marked vindication, he gleefully twisted a knife into the mangled remains of his spirit:

"I knew you couldn't do it. You might act like tough shit, Nolan, but deep down, you're weak . Guess you can't help that, though—it runs in your blood." 

The defamation seemed enough to snap Nines from his despaired stupor, renewing his anger tenfold. His eyes bulged wide, flooded by loathing, as any tenderness he may have held for the man as part of his fantasies promptly disintegrated. It was replaced with something decidedly sinister—as he carved the flesh from his bones with the serrated edge of his stare.

"You are not worth the energy it would take to end your miserable life." 

Then, as quickly as it emerged, the rush of emotion was gone. Rising from the bed, he retrieved the discarded coat from the floor before calmly slipping it on. After securing the belt and levelling the creases in the rumpled material, he smoothly turned away.  

Despite how exposed he still remained, there was a pronounced air of indifference about him. A cruel detachment that was undoubtedly dignified, as much as Gavin loathed to admit. 

"I don't need to do anything to you." His level tones demonstrated a disquieting lack of humanity as his focus honed on the nearby door. "They'll do it for me." 

He cleared his throat, glaring at the weathered panel with silent demand until it steadily creaked open. Shadows shifted in the hallway, lining in wait before the rest of the family started to emerge through the threshold. A poisonous atmosphere surrounded them, exacerbated as sights trained on their boss.  

With decisive confirmation that his second-in-command was far from the only backstabber in his ranks, Gavin felt his stomach sink—newly replenished confidence dwindling at an alarming rate. He was reminded of his current position and how woefully unequipped he was to defend himself from the pronounced physical onslaught approaching. 

Nines showed no sympathy as he coolly stepped around the men, striding for the exit. This was until he reached the doorway, where he lingered longer than necessary. Gripping at the fraught wood, a few of the mindless drones began to look over, presumably awaiting further instruction. 

With a sharp squeeze, splinters ripping into the tender rise of his palm, he did just that. Issuing a final command before disappearing from view, not so much as glancing back:

"Keep him alive."

[sage-nebula]

Summary: After Tails accidentally electrocutes himself in his lab, he considers the consequences of his mortality and decides to do something about it. Sonic is less than enthused with the result.

[Part 1 of A.I. Means Love]

- - -

Tails came to on the floor of his workshop, the smell of singed fur strong in his nose and his muscles twitching all over his body.

For a minute, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He took stock of the uneven palpitations of his heart in his chest, the way his arm jerked without his consent. His foot did, too—and when it kicked, it hit something with a loud clang audible even over the music still playing from the overhead speakers. Tails craned his neck so he could look, and saw a partially disassembled eggrobo by his feet.

Oh.

Grimacing, Tails pushed himself into a sitting position. The eggrobo was a new model, or at least one he’d never seen before, and he’d found it skulking around the upper plateaus of the Mystic Ruins. Tails was never one to leave discarded badnik pieces laying around—that was littering, and also wasteful—and so he’d brought it back to the workshop to take it apart to see what changes Eggman had made to this new model. Taking badniks apart to study them was old hat by now; Tails was confident he could do it even half asleep. But his confidence had gotten the better of him this time. So sure was he that he could pull it off without a hitch that he’d forgone his usual safety equipment, and when he hit a live switch with his screwdriver . . .

Tails sighed, and barely resisted the urge to bonk himself on the head. The pain of electrocution was lesson enough; he didn’t need to smack himself for being so careless. And he didn’t need to tell Sonic, either, or else he’d never hear the end of it and would probably be monitored as he tinkered with things for at least a week—

A sudden surge of guilt swept through Tails’ system.

Sonic.

It was an exaggeration to say that Tails had almost died just now, he thought. Sure, he was electrocuted—but he couldn’t have been unconscious for that long, and though he could taste iron in his mouth and his muscles were jittery, he could still move everything just fine. He had all his mental faculties. There were other cases of electrocution that were much worse than what he’d just been through where people had come through just fine. He hadn’t almost died—he was fine.

But if he had . . .

If Tails did electrocute himself to death in his workshop, what then? What would Sonic do if he came home to find that? What if he came home early from his latest jaunt out because there was an Eggman emergency, and he needed Tails to build something to combat it, and Tails couldn’t do that because he was dead? Or what if Tails went with him to deal with the Eggman emergency, and got careless in battle just like he was careless here, and got stomped to death by a giant mecha? Truthfully, Tails wasn’t too worried about that happening; the odds of Sonic not pulling him out of the way in time were statistically very low. But very low wasn’t impossible, and if Tails got killed somehow and Sonic was suddenly left stranded without any way to combat Eggman’s new tech, or just the right machine needed to prevent the end of the world . . .

Tails clambered to his feet, and abandoned the eggrobo in the middle of the workshop floor in favor of making his way over to his computer desk. He jostled his computer from sleep with a simple shake of the mouse, and hopped into his chair as the monitor flared to life.

The best time to come up with a solution to help prevent the end of the world in the event of his untimely demise was yesterday, but today was still better than tomorrow. Now that he knew what he needed to do, all that was left was to crank it out.

Tails cracked his knuckles and got to work.

[Keep Reading on AO3]

[thatonebirdwrites]

July has been absolute HELL for me. Anyway, this chapter reveals what all our Superfriend buddies are up to, plus a dramatic reveal.

Alex has been difficult to write mostly because she has several modes that she seems to shift into to get through her days: Agent/Director mode and Sister/Friend mode. However, she's also dealing with the consequences of having lost memories of Kara = Supergirl only to get some back during Kara's resurrection. It takes time for the brain to heal, and I'm positive Alex had issues with remembering events with Kara. So we get to dig into that a bit, and how badly Alex copes.

But this is also a turning point for her. Alex needs to choose to heal, and she's so close. However, the excerpt will be Sam's part of the chapter since y'all have to click through to read Alex's. Nyah.

EXCERPT:

*** SAM

Sam tapped her fingers against her steering wheel as she waited at the red light. Ruby hunched in her seat next to her. The week had inched closer to the day Andrea would be forced to return to the False Court. Two more days and all Sam’s work to keep Andrea alive would go up in flames. Was she bitter? No, not at all bitter. 

Maybe a little bitter. But with a cherry on top sort of bitter.

“Mom,” Ruby fiddled with the straps on her backpack. “You promised to always be honest with me, right?”

“Yup. Always.” The light turned green, and she drove toward Lena’s penthouse, seven streets away from Ruby’s new school. Sorting out Ruby’s transfer while juggling the current slow-moving train wreck of a crisis proved the least annoying part of her day.

“Are you going to send Andrea away?” Ruby gave her a hard glare. “I hear you two whispering at night. Something bad is happening, isn’t it?”

Sam sighed. Of course Ruby would pick up on it. She can’t keep anything from her kid’s eagle eyes. “Yes and no. I’m not sending Andrea away. I’m trying to convince her to not do a very dangerous thing.”  It shouldn’t have come to this. She’s tried so damn hard to keep Andrea alive and safe, and now they were sending her back into the fire?

The initial suggestion came from Lena technically, but everyone jumped on it like cats in catnip. Sam had never questioned Lena’s choices or suggestions prior, but that one sat in a splinter in her heart. She needed a heart to heart with her, but she’d put it off mostly because she wanted those two in-love idiots to finally do their damn date. The sexual tension had reached catastrophic levels, plus Sam needed to win the bet. Any further delays and she would have owed money.

But the initial date had succeeded per Lena’s rather unsatisfying account of it at dinner the other night. So perhaps now would be a good time to speak with Lena about her problematic suggestion.

“The others are going to send her away then?” Ruby asked, angrily. “Why? What did Andrea do? She’s so nice! I like her.” 

“I do too, Rubes, and it’s not anything she did. Or at least not recently. It’s just the people that tried to hurt her? They want to hurt us too. Andrea thinks she can sneak back into their good graces and get us information to help.”

“But she could die!” Ruby protested. “That’s a stupid idea!”

“Yup.” Sam flicked her turn signal and turned once she caught an open spot in the flow of traffic. “I hate the idea too.” 

Ruby crossed her arms and slumped in her seat, the seatbelt riding up to her chin. “Why can’t Aunt Lena use magic or some fancy tech to get the information instead?”

That was an excellent question. Ideas bounced like stones on a pond through Sam’s mind. She pulled into the parking garage entrance and parked. “Ruby, how much have you researched that False Court stuff for Lena?”

Ruby sat up straighter. “Oh so much! Did you know there’s a lot of overlapping myths about them in so many cultures? And there’s these myths of warriors that fought them back. That many people across many cultures would send their best to the fights—”

Sam turned off the car, and smiled at her daughter. “Can you turn that into a presentation? Consider this a mission, because you’re right. There’s other resources we have at our disposal. We don’t have to fall into their hands.” 

"I'll do it today!" Ruby’s excitement at the task lifts Sam’s spirits.

"Great. I got to head back into work, so Andrea is in charge, got it?" Sam tilted her head to give Ruby her stern look. Her daughter smiled and gave her a thumbs up. If there was one skill Sam excelled in, it was following the money. She would search the financial records of each affected company, trace the money to its source, and maybe break this case wide open. She'd done that with Kara and Edge's framing of Lena for lead poisoning. She'll leave the False Court myths to her daughter, and maybe the two will intersect?

If this plan worked, Andrea may only need to go back once. To deliver the false information and whatever Lena, her, and Ruby can concoct to clear out this False Court infestation. Because there had to be a better way to save Andrea from the clutches of the False Court entirely.

[granulesofsand]

Subtle Reminders

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, programming, CSA, details about conditioned beliefs, vent

I’ve never thought of myself as a programmed alter. I’m just a presentation alter, hardly any of the nastier flashbacks the others have. I do personal hygiene, washing and brushing and those types of things.

Except today I took a shower at night. This is a normal thing to do, I’ve seen many others presumably do the same. It seems to be second most popular to the evening, but hardly anyone here showers in the morning.

I grew up terrified of doing this. It was absolutely against the rules. There were regular punishments, the yelling and beating for disobedience. But there was more. I sincerely believed that showering at night would hurt us.

The first layer of this belief is the CSA from a while back. The adults were around at night, so nakedness was dangerous and therefore asking for it. They actually said that to me, that I must have been asking for it. I wasn’t allowed to lock doors, and if I did they used the atop the doorframe and set a harsher consequence.

Then there was the RA layer. At night we were demons, and running water would surely burn our flesh. It was several past torture-enforced ideas combined with cues from other events.

A very active front alter holds an even more powerful conditioning to see our body as rotting, and they would take the burning of wounds as further proof. Both me and this alter elaborated from function fragments, although their function was more cult-aligned, and both of us hold so much trauma.

Our system works to keep memories away from functions, so we do our tasks without the knowledge of why. Learning is separate from memories, emotions are separate from information. At such a base level, we dissociate.

I don’t have access to all of the data from those events, but we get closer to piecing them together every time we do this work. We use the movie-box method, putting in copies of what each of us knows until we have a full picture, then watching it back however feels least awful.

I wouldn’t trade my system for anything. There is no timeline where we grow up untraumatized, and few where we evade programming. I still manage to feel jealous of the students around us who didn’t have this particular hell.

I know that’s insensitive, I wouldn’t say that to anyone about their own life. Life fucks us all. I don’t believe that anyone is truly better or worse off, only different.

So I don’t know how much most singlets are hurting, but I do know that I am in pain. I liked it better when I wasn’t capable of thinking. It was still there, but I couldn’t process it. Makes me wonder how many of us are truly organic. How many are just refusing to look.

It’s a shame most bathrooms aren’t soundproof, I’d like some time to scream. Not that we could do that anyway.

Good news is I now have evidence that night showers are nonlethal. The first steps of deprogramming are understanding there is an issue and finding the roots. Now I get to sit here and feel my emotions about all this mess.

*flops onto floor, hysterical laughter fading into sobbing, sound muffled by ground*

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Aaron Sibarium

Published: May 9, 2024

The school has declined to investigate faculty members for celebrating terrorism and calling for the destruction of Israel.

Yale University spent more than a year investigating a Jewish professor for six words of an op-ed he published in a pro-Israel newspaper, raising questions about the school’s approach to anti-Semitism and free speech as the campus continues to cope with the fallout of the Israel-Hamas war.

Evan Morris, a professor of biomedical engineering at Yale School of Medicine, penned the 2022 op-ed in the Algemeiner along with 14 other professors. They described a pattern of anti-Semitism in the Yale Postdoctoral Association, a group that runs social and academic events for researchers.

The authors listed several examples of anti-Semitic and anti-Israel bias. In one aside, they claimed that a researcher at the medical school, Azmi Ahmad, had "blocked an Israeli postdoc from speaking" at an October 2021 screening of a film about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Those six words triggered a marathon investigation by the medical school’s Office of Academic and Professional Development—a body responsible for disciplining professors for "unprofessional behavior"—that began in February 2023, over six months after the op-ed was published, and concluded in April 2024.

The office told Morris that it had been "tasked with assessing the accuracy" of the six-word statement, according to an email reviewed by the Washington Free Beacon. It did not tell him who filed the complaint, what policy he had allegedly violated, or what the consequences of that violation could be but said the review was likely to be completed by June 2023.

Instead, it dragged on without updates for over a year, according to Morris and emails reviewed by the Free Beacon. During that time—including in the post-October 7 era—Yale repeatedly declined to sanction students and professors for vicious anti-Israel speech, citing the importance of free expression.

The university took no action against Zareena Grewal, a professor of ethnicity, race, and migration, after she called October 7 "an extraordinary day" and stated that "settlers are not civilians." Nor did it investigate a Yale Law School student group that called for "armed struggle" against Israel and said that Hamas should be delisted as a terrorist organization.

"Yale is committed to freedom of expression," a university spokesperson, Karen Peart, said of Grewal’s remarks. "The comments posted on Professor Grewal’s personal accounts represent her own views."

By contrast, Morris earned a rebuke from the head of the university’s professional development office, Robert Rohrbaugh, who on April 11 shared the findings of the school’s investigation in an email.

"We were not able to substantiate the allegation that one postdoc was blocked from speaking by the postdoc identified in your article," Rohrbaugh said. "Our request to you for the future is that when attributing conduct to a named university community member, particularly a trainee, you be as diligent as possible to be sure information presented is accurate."

The protracted and seemingly selective probe has outraged Jewish faculty members, who say that the finger-wagging at Morris—and the decision to engage in it amid a nationwide surge in campus anti-Semitism—is tone deaf to say the least.

"Apparently, you have learned nothing from the last 6 months of rampant, unremitting and sometimes destructive and threatening anti-Semitism on campus,"  Morris wrote to Rohrbaugh. "Yale spends its resources and 2 years investigating 6 words in an OpEd by its faculty but fails to discipline professors who call for the annihilation of the Jewish people."

Pnina Weiss, a pediatrician at Yale Medical School who did not sign the 2022 op-ed but reviewed the correspondence between Morris and Rohrbaugh, said the investigation was  "hard to reconcile" with Yale’s stated commitment to free speech.

"The administration has defended the right of professors like Zareena Grewal to post on social media—celebrations of the rape, kidnapping, and cold-blooded murder of Israelis on October 7," she told the Free Beacon. "Yet when a group of 15 Jewish faculty write an op-ed about anti-Semitism and the suppression of an Israeli postdoc’s speech, the faculty are ‘investigated’ and reprimanded for misusing the word ‘block.’"

Double standards, Weiss continued, "are the cornerstone of anti-Semitism."

Aside from the verbal slap on the wrist, Yale has yet to formally sanction Morris, and the school declined to comment on its decision to single him out for investigation or say whether any other discipline remains on the table. In a statement on Rohrbaugh’s behalf, the university’s communications office said that the medical school was "not aware of any disciplinary action" against Morris, suggesting the rebuke in April was unofficial.

"Yale University and the School of Medicine vigorously reject anti-Semitism," the communications office said. "For example, the School of Medicine provides support for educational events on anti-Semitism organized by Dr. Morris through a grant from the Academic Engagement Network."

Ahmad, the postdoc named in the 2022 op-ed, did not respond to a request for comment.

The blowback to the investigation comes as Yale president Peter Salovey is preparing to submit testimony to Congress about the school’s handling of anti-Semitism, which, while less heavily criticized than Columbia’s, has generated its share of bad press.

Administrators stood by for days as protesters occupied a university plaza, defaced a World War II memorial, and harassed Jewish students who attempted to film the chaos, culminating in an April 20 confrontation that injured one student and prompted a sheepish apology from protest organizers. Additional encampments and occupations—one of which shut down a major intersection—sprung up sporadically in the following weeks.

Those disruptions followed a string of quieter scandals at the Ivy League university, where the campus aftershocks of Hamas’s assault fueled charges of hypocrisy and double standards. At Yale Law School, for example, the Schell Center for International Human Rights—which in 2022 spon.sored a talk on Israeli "apartheid"—resisted calls to host an event about Oct. 7, telling one Jewish student that the situation was "complex."

"What kind of 'Center for International Human Rights' would refuse to host an event condemning the largest pogrom since the Holocaust," Jewish students at the law school asked in an open letter. "Does the Schell Center not think that Israelis are entitled to human rights, too? Or is it perhaps because they were Jewish?"

The center only agreed to host an event after weeks of pressure, including from Jewish alumni. In the interim, several students posted defenses of the Oct. 7 massacre on a law school-wide listserv, which soon devolved into ad hominem back-and-forths.

"Expecting Palestinians to peacefully respond to unspeakable war crimes and illegal collective punishment they've experienced at the hands of Israel is laughable," Iesha Phillips, the lead editor of the Yale Journal of Law & Liberation, responded to one Jewish student. "Too many lives have been lost over the past few decades. We shouldn't only start to care because it's now affecting Jewish folks."

The law school’s hands-off approach to those posts contrasted sharply with its response to Trent Colbert, a second-year law student, when he invited students to his "traphouse" in 2021. Within hours of sending the invitation, Colbert was hauled into a meeting with school administrators who demanded he sign a pre-drafted apology and hinted he could face discipline—including consequences with the bar—if he refused.

They would later claim the encounter had been misconstrued. "We would never get on our letterhead and write anything to the bar about you," Yaseen Eldik, then the law school’s diversity director, told Colbert a month after their first meeting. "You may have been confused."

The backpedaling foreshadowed the tactics Yale used with Morris: launch an investigation, raise the possibility of discipline, then suggest after the fact that the probe’s target overreacted and imagined the threat.

"My prior communication did not question the right of faculty authors to voice their opinion or ask you to change your opinion," Rohrbaugh wrote in response to Morris’s message criticizing the investigation. "Although we found that one of the statements made about a trainee in a national media outlet could not be substantiated, my communication did not raise the topic of apology."

Rohrbaugh also chided Morris for declining to be interviewed as part of the investigation, after the school repeatedly refused to tell him what rule he’d been accused of breaking or who made the accusation, according to emails reviewed by the Free Beacon.

"Have I violated a Yale morality code?" Morris had asked Rohrbaugh in May 2023. "If so, where can I find it?"

He never heard back.

==

Never forget: the process is the punishment.

[domini-porter]

It's very hard not to ask twelve questions, but I'll restrain myself...

CMYK: What inspired you to write the fic this way? (You can take this to mean the ending, the character dynamics, whatever)

Diaphananthe hedoniana: What do you like best about this fic?

Hi hello thank youuuuu!

As for CMYK, that started as most things do (for me, at least) with a single image, which was Jane seeing Page 67 and having a super-awkward reflexive reaction in front of Maura, which I thought was both funny and mean, but if anyone needs someone to be mean back, it’s our Jane.

More broadly, the setting and plot emerged from that one image—that it would be some murdered artist (which makes Jane uncomfortable and defensive to begin with), who worked in erotic art (double discomfort/defensiveness, also I’m a fan of both high camp and highbrow erotic art, so, write what you know)(I painted a full-length Tom of Finland beefcake on a door in my apartment. one of the main ones). Also it let me bring in Constance, a classic example of a character that started out okay, got questionable, and then disappeared, with massive emotional consequences that were never addressed.

So. That’s the how! I’m adjacent to the art world (not in a Constance Isles way) and it’s such a wild assortment of people, so it was really entertaining for me, personally (I strongly believe you should entertain yourself first). The rest—plot, etc—evolved sort of organically, like it almost always does. Which brings me to the end, which people have been mixed on, for the most part.

The ambiguous/bummer/more realistic ending is sort of because I hadn’t actually determined the sequence of events for the murder, or exactly how all the players were involved (it’s a very high-wire sort of writing process, particularly when I haven’t written ahead before posting a chapter). And at first I worried what I ended up going with would feel like a cop-out, or cheap storytelling, or ruining the whole thing—which are ways people have described it—but I realized that either of the possible Shiny Bow endings I’d been tossing around felt even cheaper, like, I’d just done 80k words in a very grounded, consequence-rich universe, and the natural conclusion is that (LIGHT SPOILER) you don’t always get what you want just because you’re right. To have them march in and smugly call out the Big Bad would have been the cop-out, for me (so to speak).

Once I decided how it would all shake out, it was super-important to work with the tone, and the placement of narrative clues, so that it didn’t come out of nowhere, but did happen unexpectedly for the characters and the reader. Because it do be like that sometimes. And I get why people find it unsatisfying or disappointing, and honestly, I kinda hope they do. Because it is unsatisfying, and it is disappointing, but it’s not unearned. (I still obsess over those comments, tho, don’t worry)

I dunno if this is what you meant at all. I hope it is! A few other bits of minutiae, just in case: I hadn’t done any big writing (of anything) for years and years prior to CMYK, and a lot of what I’d done before was some flavor of AU, so the contemporary setting felt novel to me, just like the post-apocalypse or the Gilded Age. I started from Jane’s perspective because it was more easily accessible after such a long disconnect from the material (whole other topic), and stayed with it instead of alternating both as a way to not have to get inside Maura’s head, and to set myself a challenge to write from a single perspective, which is way less convenient than just following other characters for a while. Constance Isles is possibly my favorite minor character (sorry Giovanni), mostly because of her potential, and because of Jacqueline Bisset (watch La Cérémonie as soon as you possibly can). I started a sequel and then I got stuck on it (turns out I’m not nearly as interested in biotech as I am the art world); I will force myself to finish it someday, this I pledge to you all.

As for Diaphananthe hedoniana: the thing I personally like best, that is truly just for me, is the writing, as unhelpful as that sounds. I really set out to do elevated crack (psychoactive sex pollen) as sincerely and with as much craft as possible; it was mostly meant as an exercise in literary smut (not erotica. smut.) but the longer I sat with it the more uncomfortable I got with the basic concept, and since I’d once again tried to ground the fantastical in reality, my trusty ol’ ethical buzzkill started going on and on about trauma and consent. And since I’d gone into it attempting to personal best my prose, I had to keep doing that even though it took a hard turn.

All this is to say: I’m pretty proud of it, just from a craft standpoint; I really leaned into my tendency toward lyrical maximalism, which I usually don’t let myself do. I’m also p proud of the dialogue, particularly the scene with both Angela and Frankie; not just the way it hits the ear or the family dynamics, but the pacing of the scenes, especially being able to write (a tiny bit of) slapstick, which is both hard and exhilarating, particularly in a story as emotionally extreme as that one.

And I did PB my prose, I think. Def PB’d the smut, which I’m also not unhappy about. 

Thank you again for enquiring! And, even more, for kicking off this round of Everybody Loves Us Tonite, one of my favorite parts of this hell site; I'm so proud of this tiny little fandom and all of its flame-carriers <3