#but i dont want to lose all the reference materials

[nikkidee]

Hey, forgive me redditors, I never really used reddit. Well, I did, but mainly by googling "specific troubleshooting issue with niche electronic reddit" or "how to do specific DIY process reddit", etc.

I guess my point is, are we currently at risk of losing years of knowledge, shared by dedicated people with incredibly specific skill sets?

As I understand it, currently subreddits are locked?? Meaning no new posts?? But people are talking of downloading their posts, deleting their accounts, etc.

I remember the fanfiction.net purges, and I've heard about livejournal. Hell we all remember how much was lost in the NSFW ban here on Tumblr.

Should we be archiving?

[tubbytarchia]

todays stream..... im watching the vod in 1.5x speed because i forgot to watch. another long one.................................

jim and oli meet up immediately. they go to jimmys graveyard and olis died a bunch and he called himself mrs canary. blond boyfriends is "one night only" and oli said no flower husbands. they started making jokes about closing tumblr and ao3..... blond boyfriends are dead </3 jimmy then says they dont spend their evenings browsing those sites then oli says speak for yourself im mr wattpad

oli says "put on something sexy" for the talent show because both of them forgot to make skins for it. jimmy says hes not putting on the maid one (oli: i will) then oli suggests they both put on maid skins. grrrrr

(oli: why dont you want to be a maid? why dont you want to be a maid? you loved it you had a thumbnail about it and everything, you loved it, you loved it! stop pretending you didnt love it!

jimmy: i only do it on special occasions...... i only wear the maid dress one time on one series....... i cant do it twice........

oli: yeah but this is a different character, this is blond boyfriend jimmy, its like a whole different action figure!

jimmy: right, right, ill put it on.)

then they ask chat to make oli a maid skin since he doesnt have one. specifically with the same face as jimmys (the derpy face) then they realise they need an invisiblity potion for their talent show thing so they go to steal one from pixs furious cocktail machine. they go material gathering for more talent show stuff and split up.

(he kept making spongebob references. i think im going insane)

they meet back up. on the way jimmy goes to sausages house to steal some milk and he sees saus so he stabs him and runs away. oli found a weird pillager looking base in sausages house and shows jimmy to see how he would react to it. (u know how his voice goes when hes lying? Yeah) then after talking for a bit about who they think is a pillager (lizzie) they split up again.

they meet up again and switch skins to their maid ones,,, then they start practising their dance for the talent show. not a lot happens other than flirting and oli theatening to kill himself if they lose. then they head over to the talent show and oli sings a gay little song on the way. he tries to make it sound less gay but it turns into sounding like a one night stand.

they arrive and sausage admires the outifts and asks if they want to work at the tavern later. oli says yes (only if they dont win) and jimmy doesnt say anything about it. they take their seats and jimmy sits in front of scott. hes standing on the back of the stair instead of the front so scott asks him to move so hes not blocking scotts view. jimmy says not my fault im 6 foot so scott hits him and he ends up landing on the back of the seat in front (which is eloises). eloise hits him back. he gets hit around a bit (notably laughing) then scott pulls his sword out and asks out loud how much of a blockage a grave will be. jimmy then shakes his head and goes please no i dont have any armour on :( and scotts like haha i know. then the talent show starts

mog introduces the show and prays for no deaths. first event with no deaths. please. he reads a poem for his pet sweetpea that died. its actually really good but the fact that its about a minecraft bee does make me giggle. the judges are fwhip, eloise, and katherine. not entirely people who hate jimmy.... he has a chance....... how the judging works is the 3 judges have redstone lamps that are ON and if they turn them OFF they dont like the act. if all 3 lamps turn off you have to leave the stage.

first act is shubble :) she makes cat jokes. i think theyre funny. fwhip turns off his lamp and shubble says "quit the catattitude". eloise also turns off her light. she ends her performance with 1 light on!

sausage goes next...... hes doing a play about boat boys. joel audibly sighs in the audience. sausage is wearing an etho skin and drags joel on stage. saus tries to get joel to say he loves etho but joel just goes I LOVE MY WIFE!! lizzies in the audience and she doesnt react at all. "etho" then goes on to say they have a kid together. then it ends with 2 lights on. (technically 1 but katherine turned off eloises light. then eloise turned off fwhips light but he turned it back on.)

then oli and jimmy go!!! fwhip turns off his light almost immediately but they basically just make puppy dog eyes at him until he turns it back on. they start with their dancing and they get the audience to join in. its much more organised than the rehersals. then they go onto the disappearing act. fwhip turned his light off again but eloise and katherine seem to be loving it. jimmy splashes himself with the invisiblity potion (and accidentally catches oli in it) then runs behind the seats and drinks milk. eloise turned her light off too :( but katherine and the audience really like it. they try to do their drowning act but theres a conduit power which makes it less interesting. they end the performance with 1 light on.....

then its mogs turn! hes. racing people. and jumping very high. then he starts flying. i genuinely think hes hacking and i respect the dedication to the bit. then he starts walking on water. i think he ended with all 3 lights on.

judging time....... notable thing is katherine gave oli and jim a 10/10.

IN A SHOCKING TURN OF EVENTS. JIMMY AND OLI WON. EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU KATHERINE FOR SABOTAGING MOGS SCORE FOR THE BIT.

1st: oli&jim. 2nd: shubble. 3rd: mog. 4th: saus. fwhip gives jimmy his coin and jim says thanks daddy fwhip. jimmy goes home and is very happy about it :) then he ends........ new sos video saturday and next stream is monday :P

long recap again.... this ones kinda all over the place cuz i was typing while watching. i equally love blond boyfriends and also want oli 100ft away from jimmy at all times

man oh man... the adventures of the blonde boy friends

Ok the maid dress......... I'm not too upset by it because I accept Oli joining in with the maid outfit thing as a valid form of helping Jimmy heal. Not that Oli INTENDS to do that (he's too stupid) but... Him insisting "you loved it! You did!" makes me want to throw up but he's stupid. He's his own fucked up thing who I don't see as participating in the Jimmy "bottom of the food chain" bullying culture. He puts himself down on that food chain alongside Jimmy... unintentionally, still, but. Mmmgh. If it were, say, Sausage instead whototallydoesnthaveamaidkink saying this... It'd be another story and I might just throw myself out the window

Oli's fooling around and I still hate his insistence on Jimmy liking the maid ordeal (and even here, Jimmy is voicing the opposite!! sobs) but then he goes and puts on a maid dress too. It might be unsubstantial fun and jokes for him, but at least Jimmy's not alone on that now in a sense... Even the derpy face is the same... And same with "I'm mrs canary now". It's more "haha we both suck" and less "you suck/I suck almost as bad as you". More affectionate and less derogatory

Oli saying he'll kill himself if they lose kinda sucks because Jimmy frequently gets blamed for failures of groups he's part of, and if not, he might just blame himself and apologize anyway. But at the same time if they did lose, I cannot imagine Oli blaming it on Jimmy. He'd only address it as them both being equally at fault. Shared failure... The bar is really low ok

OF COURSE Sausage is there to admire them OF COURSE Sausage whototallydoesnthaveamaidkink is asking them to work at the tavern. Fuckass sorry I'm gonna hold myself back in case any Sausage fans are reading this. Sorry Sausage fans. I don't hate you ok. and Jimmy not saying anything in response even when Oli said yes... he has trauma guys he has such trauma I cant fucking make this up its right there. This is making me so sad. Jimmy choking up.... Even if he were to voice displeasure he'd just be shot down again. Sausage won't take no for an answer and Oli being Oli would probably encourage Jimmy too. Unfortunately. This sucks

There's something about Joel here too but I actually can't talk about it I'm serious even Tumblr will cancel me

I can't tell you how fucking happy I am that they won though so that 1. Oli doesn't kill himself and 2. They don't have to go work at the tavern as is evident is against Jimmy's wishes anyway. He doesn't have to relive his trauma. Katherine you have no idea what you've done I love you Katherine

Also thank you Jimmy for stabbing Sausage. Deserved

[mulberry-leaves-yearn-for-envy]

Prompt Submission by @yiling-laozu-is-loml

Canon divergent. What if Madam Yu, pissed and vengeful but smart enough, marries Wei Wuxian off to Nie Mingjue?

CANON SOURCE: Please only use novel and donghua as source material and avoid everything that has to do with untamed/cql. For appearances and outfits, please refer to the donghua.

Bottom Wei Wuxian only please! the number of children they have depends on you but I'd love it if they had at least 2!

Trigger Warning/Content Warning: Underage Wei Wuxian, arranged marriage so Dubious Consent, Male Pregnancy/mpreg, violence/Canon Typical Violence (Sunshot Campaign), gore (because Nie Mingjue will look hot panting while covered in blood), age difference.

Canon divergent. What if Madam Yu, pissed and vengeful but smart enough to plan something as a form of revenge, marries Wei Wuxian off to Nie Mingjue after the Xuanwu Cave incident? How will it affect the war now that he retains his core and becomes part of Nie clan? How will love bloom between spouses with duty (mpreg possible...boypussy? omegaverse? foxxian? up to you) and war.

Nie Mingjue agrees because he remembers what its like to be young, lost and not knowing where you stand and Nie Huaisang will get better access to his bestie and Wei Wuxian's talent means that Nie Huaisang will be protected.

16 year old Wei Wuxian, 20 something Nie Mingjue (26??). They do consummate the marriage (dubcon, painful sex for Wei Wuxian who bears it for duty, its only good for Nie Mingjue), they forget Wei Wuxian can get knocked up and he does, during the war.

He still aids war efforts but doesn't lose his core. Nie Mingjue falls in love faster because competence kink and wwx falls in lust first and then love because lets be honest, if he sees Nie Mginjue covered in blood, surrounded by his enemies corpses baxia in hand, he'll totally climb him like a tree the minute all enemies were down and Nie Mingjue will enthusiastically go for it because sex with Wei Wuxian is marvellous! mostly a falling in love during the war amidst uncertainties sort of AU

Oh and Wei Wuxian definitely calls him "A-Jue" because I am a sucker for this. What Nie Mingjue calls him is up to you!

Do Not Wants: Nie Mingjue to have been in a past serious relationship, still having sex with someone else in the fic, children from other partners (as in, Wei Wuxian has to be the only real serious commitment), miscarriage and unhappy ending.

If you put Jiang Clan in the fic, please ensure they either have bare-minimum interactions with Wei Wuxian, are operating in the background and have no plot-related things OR outright Jiang clan bashing. I dont want JC/WWX reconciliation, nor do I wanna see Jiang clan positively please.

I'd love to be informed if anyone(s) writes this prompt. If you do, please lmk so I can read and be happy. And if you need to bounce ideas about it with someone? hmu! :D

[rainbowsky]

Hi Rbs,This is not an ask. Just wanted to share few words with you. Dont publish this if you not wanted to.

(Its not pointed at only Accio like she mentioned in comments.I can see some bxgs with large followers started saying the same nowadays in twitter also).Really sorry if the ask created issue for you.

I always look for your POV when i get confusion in my turtle journey for almost 3 years now. Thanks a lot for that .I am glad you are clear in your point of view that-bad behavior is the issue, not the headbands/toys.

There is a saying-'If you want to kill a culture, kill their language'

Likewise I think its one of the way to turn turtles to solos slowly by changing their mindsets (like its a shame to show cpf stuff when one of them only present )-That means we need to show solo banners and considered solos in events/we will be voiceless in that events and our identity will be lose eventually.

This is in reference to a previous post.

Hi, Anon. Thanks, I'm glad that you find my blog helpful.😊

I'm going to respond to those two separate topics, here - the topic of fan colors, and the topic of anonymous asks/responses.

First of all, don't worry about any issues. If I want to avoid issues I can just ignore questions that are potentially controversial. I don't generally do that because I'm a believer in discussing things in a healthy way and sharing perspectives.

Fan colors

I feel pretty strongly about fans' right to exist, and their right to show support. All fans, regardless of fandom color. I think there is far too much polarization and conflict in the world. Live and let live.

Perhaps my perspective is overly idealistic, but I would vastly prefer a world where people would have higher standards for acceptance of other people rather than leaning on divisions and differences as an excuse for excluding and marginalizing each other.

It feels like there is often an agenda whenever an event like this happens, where certain uncharitably angled and edited clips of turtles supposedly behaving really horribly suddenly appear out of the woodwork, and this narrative starts to spread around turtledom and solo spaces that turtles are behaving badly and being disrespectful. This happens every single time there is an event like this where turtles dare to show their faces.

I respect that there are many turtles who will disagree with me on this, but as far as I'm concerned turtles are innocent unless proven guilty to me. I will always do my best not to malign or chastise turtles without having all of the facts and without being absolutely certain of what really happened.

If fans really are being disruptive, that is unacceptable. However, if they are not, if they are just having fun and supporting DD, I do not want to be among those who join solos in attacking them.

I hope we can remember as fans that a lot of the supposedly damning material we see about turtles in situations like this is anti material! We shouldn't be so ready to believe the hype about turtles being disruptive and bad.

Even in cases where a turtle might be behaving badly - there are usually dozens and dozens of turtles at events. Why are we so happy to condemn all turtles based on the behavior of one or two?

I don't buy the solo narrative of turtles being uncouth, of turtles not belonging, of turtles not having a right to show themselves publicly. I think everyone could benefit from a bit of perspective. This is fandom, it's supposed to be FUN. Excluding certain 'undesirable' people from sharing their enthusiasm and support - it's just such utter BS to me. I made it all pretty clear in this post.

I'm a turtle. That's it. That's all I have to say about it. I'm not a solo I will never be a solo. I will always love both of them, no matter what happens.

Turtles have a right to exist. Turtles have to a right to exist and be seen as existing. They're not under any obligation to crawl under a rock or pose as solos.

I firmly believe that GG and DD appreciate the support of turtles. They have behaved in ways that I believe support this theory. There's even a LRLG rumor that came out a while ago that said that "turtles give them strength". This is something that I have always believed. I believe the evidence supports it.

Therefore, who is anyone to say that BXG support should be withdrawn or covered under a blanket?

I will never jump on the bandwagon with solos to cut turtles down. Especially not without clear evidence turtles are behaving badly.

When turtles are behaving badly, or when I feel our fandom needs to pull our socks up and behave better I will always be among the first to say so. I'm sure people get sick of hearing it. But this isn't one of those cases, as far as I'm concerned.

And just to be really clear: this is my OPINION. There are totally valid contradictory opinions out there, and I fully respect everyone's right to disagree with me. We all must engage with fandom in the way that feels right for us, and I think it's extremely important for people to form their own values and perspectives on things based on what feels right for them.

That includes you, Anon. While I'm glad you find my perspective helpful, I hope you will form your own ideas about these topics. I am often wrong about things! 😅

Anon asks/responses

As for the comment about anons contacting me when they have something to say about something Vic posted, surely you can understand why it looked like that's what you were doing. Your phrasing was very similar to Vic's post. While there's nothing necessarily wrong with writing me about what you're thinking/feeling about stuff you've read outside my blog, it's worthwhile to understand why it can rub people the wrong way in some cases.

I think Vic had a good point, that if people have a reaction to what they read on Vic's blog, they should respond there.

As bloggers we stick our necks out when we put our positions out there every day. Everything we say and do is attributed to us, and we take all the backlash (and praise) of people's reactions. That's fine - that's what we signed up for - but I think sometimes readers lean too much being anonymous, in ways that sometimes feel a bit gratuitous. Just my two cents, but

anonymous should not be the default.

I get it that some people are shy, and no one is ever obligated to respond or interact openly if they do not feel comfortable doing so, but I really encourage everyone to respond off anon in the appropriate place whenever humanly possible.

I think it's important for everybody to remember that all of us are Anonymous, even bloggers. We're all hiding behind usernames. Nobody knows our real identities. Therefore, I hope people will try a little harder sometimes to just interact and engage directly with comments or questions in the notes of a post. Especially with simple, basic questions.

And especially with responses that aren't questions. My inbox is for questions.

You are free to ask anonymously of course, but I hope everyone will give it a second thought every now and then and consider going off anon. There are a lot of benefits to that.

Not least of which is that when you go off anon you begin to build a relationship with me, with other bloggers, and with other readers. You begin to become a more integrated, engaged part of the turtle community here.

If I don't know who is asking the question, I can't associate those interactions with anyone, and therefore you're losing an opportunity to make friends. You might feel like you heard from me, but that doesn't mean I have any clue who you are.

I've made some good friends through people who regularly asked questions in my inbox off anon.

HOWEVER, my anonymous inbox is not a place for people to ask questions aimed at bloggers who do not have anonymous asks turned on. And yes, people do regularly send me anon asks about Vic's posts, and other bloggers as well. You don't generally see them because I don't answer asks that I feel aren't for me.

If somebody has a question about a post another blogger has made, the appropriate place to ask that question is in the notes or comments of that blogger's post. Unless someone is asking me for my opinion on it, or unless there is some other direct connection to me, it doesn't belong in my inbox.

Anyway, this is not aimed at you Anon, I just want to address that because I think that Vic's point was a valid one.

Neither of us bite. I know sometimes I can be a bit blunt by some people's standards, but I do my best to respond in good faith to people who approach me in good faith.

No one ever needs fear messaging me privately or commenting on my posts or sending me asks off anon if they are doing so in good faith and in the spirit of friendliness.

And as someone who considers Vic a friend, and who I've known for years, I feel the same holds true. People are selling themselves short if they don't take the opportunity to spark a friendship by engaging with Vic's posts.

Edit: follow-up post here.

[semi-imaginary-place]

trigun stampede

vash is waifu material. he's cute i want to eat him

this show has a thing for people losing arms. the village kid lost his arm. mad scientist dude and his cyborg son both lost an arm, bomber dude lost his arms, vash has a cyborg arm

uuuuuggg im getting confused: april/inepril (og anime), may/mei, june/Juneora Rock (og anime, town in stampede), july/julai, august/augusta, september (stampede), october/octovern, november (stampede), december.

I can't believe these people don't have solar powered water purification plants. do Plants collect carbon to make biomass or do they like poof it into existence, because if it's the later that could be the basis of terraforming, meat has a lot of water in it and that water doesn't just disappear from existence after you eat it. weird how people have a meat based diet such that plants are a luxury food. what are the sandworms and bird things eating?

where is everyone getting so much blood. humans have like 1.5 gallons max.

why the hell did roberto and merly stick around vash. they even said that if its discovered they're with him they're going to get fired also probably jailed. i wonder what their budget for the trip is like they're going to have to contact their employers eventually. although meryl gives sheltered rich girl vibes so maybe money isn't as much an issue. i find it hard to believe the publishing company is willing to pay for so long a trip.

typhoons are ocean derived phenomena. these people have never had a typhoon.

this is so christian in the least christian way

ep 5: the achronological order of events here made me think very hard. vash knew rollo as a baby and as a child. rollo was experimented on and 5 years later killed everyone in the town. vash returns with medicine at some point after he's taken. 20+ years after the town is wiped vash and co return. so rollo's like 35 or more when we see him. nicholas is the clean up assassin for human experimentation dude and he's probably after vash.

ep6: what is that symbol. its not the 3 cities. its associated with the windmill town cult, the yellow helmet suit people, the sand ship, and the orphanage nicholas lived in. oh ok so we have no idea how old nico is either. if his age could be accelerated the other dude's could have been too. oh not the sandship thats julai's, i got it confused with a flashback. what i dont get is if you dont want anyone to die, why isn't anyone disarming livio like there were at elast 3 opportunities to take his guns.

ep7: you all need deescalation training

huh in most single cour anime these episodes between intro and climax would be the slow section but stampede has done well with the pacing.

ep8: ah i was wondering why they were called Plants and not like Manufactories or Fabricators the double meaning of plant was intentional. so most plants are made clonally so asexual reproduction? but vash and knives were... uh born? sexual reproduction??? reminds me of wolf's rain (both series from the same era of edgy dystopian cyberpunk) and chell who's a human Flower hybrid. "his genetic makeup is very human" uhhh brain hurts. if rem is 29 and born on earth then the seed ships can't have been traveling for more than 1 generation. i was going to say so plants can make electricity and non organics huh but electricity is just chemistry too so it could be organic.

i was wondering if that grey pattern on vash as a kid was clothing or skin. if the later why would it stop at the neck? in his current outfit the only skin below the neck he shows are two fingers on his right hand. ok it was clothing

ep9: the plants are referred to as kanojo (her, women). why did Knives crash the ships. His hatred from the exploitation and use of plants happened 5 years after the fall. its been 150 years guess that answers that question.

Why did the SEED ships leave Earth? If they had Plants the resource scarcity problem would be no worse on Earth than No Man's Land. If they didn't have Plants and developed them while in space how did they survive the initial years in space. Both the above are plausible options, the former it could be because pollution/toxins/not a resource scarcity problem, for the later they could have stocked enough resources for many years while developing Plants or cycled matter in a closed system.

ep10: bro get a bulletproof vest. Everyone get a bulletproof vest. Was wondering if/when meryl's idiocy would come bite her. Poor roberto dying for her character development. Who's that kid? Looks like vash but they never met. Knives? Colors are wrong. More plant kids?

Ep11: a higher dimension... mentioned earlier but still ugg. What is this? promare??? "it was aliens all along" what is this gainx ending

tesl was created 50 years before vash and kni. If Rem is 29 than independent plants were made before seed ships. that or rem cryoslept and 29 is her biological age not her chronological age.

Wow the guilt tripping. "You caused the crashes" to "i crashed them for you". gaslight king

Not the pregnancy metaphor. And did no one notice that the bottom trailing part of Plants looks like legs

12: SEED spent 200 years in space. Weird luida and brad didnt show up as important memories for Vash given that he spent more time with them than anyone else.

Lol they just sent out an intergalactic flare. Ok so cross the wall of light makes me think the higher dimension Plant stuff again but "from earth"? That implies humans werent wiped out on earth and have discovered faster than light travel. This changes the tone of Stampede from gritty apocayptic, brink of extinction, sole survivor vibes to one of empire politics and No Man's Land being a very small part of a whole.

I was wondering if the memory thing would have permanent effects. Because knives deleted/overwrote all vash's memories, but then he remembered rem kinda. its unclear while fighting for the cube how much vash actually remembered or if he just remembered that he had a task to complete and a brother to stop. post timeskip dude didn't even get himself a new arm with his reality/matter manipulation powers.

vash is so cute. He's got that irresistible failboy swag. Pathetic and sopping wet.

Plants vs plants/flora. I find the ideological struggle between Luida and Conrad interesting. Luida is invested in terraforming the planet with plants/flora even if its the slower more risky option that could take hundreds of years or more and humanity could go extinct in the time it takes to accomplish. side note i know its more aesthetics but it sure is weird that all the flora gardens we see in the SEED ships are ornamental species instead of that space, energy, and water being used for food. In contrast Conrad is invested in Plants as the future for humanity, continuing to use Plants to generate the resources needed while modifying humanity to need less resources to survive.

I found the ost to be beautiful but an odd choice aesthetically for the series. the ost was similar in design to a lot of anime osts which are often orchestral with inspiration from the romantic and impressionist periods. And this is my favorite genre of music but given the strong visual identity of Stampede I was expecting a more distinct audio style to match? Like perhaps a mix of jazz and american folk or ragtime to match the Western aesthetic of the planet with some synth or electronica similar to Olafur Arnalds or Carlos Cipa to matching the futuristic space faring aesthetic. The ost reminded me of interstellar's ost at some points.

visual foiling between vash and knives in the finale. Knives is in all white with a sharp, metal, mechanical wing and uses long striings of blades to attack. Vash is in all black with a more organic looking wing and he sprouts root like structures and makes a giant figure out of plants (roots, stems, flowers).

I just learned why roberto de niro sounded familiar. Robert de niro is a famous actor i cant believe studio orange kidnapped a celebrity.

i was so distracted i forgot to write about how vash getting traumatized gave him a fighting game palette swap

I also found it interesting how he's a character that is constantly in motion, all his actions are oriented towards other people. He's very considerate in that way, even as those actions are tied up in his crushing guilt. The cheerful puppy-like demeanor is also fun to watch.

[magnoliamyrrh]

You’re posts have really opened my eyes and resonated a lot with me and I now find that I am in agreement with more radical feminist writings than I previously thought. I am interested in reading more and learning more about these topics, and I am someone who subscribes to trans inclusive feminism, but how do you walk that line and own your status as a radical feminist without people trying to group you in with TERFs?

hmm, maybe you wont find this answer too satisfying. people do all the time, i just dont care that much

because, heres the thing. in many regards its much like the "swerf" thing. you disagree with sex work or you question things and youre an evil bitch who hates sex workers and wants a genocide against sex workers and youre a prude and a conservative and also somehow youre a racist white supremacist too lmao and a fascist and a nazi andddd - ive fucking heard it all by this point. ive heard it all. i think its obvious by now that all that is bogus, and that "swerfs" dont exist, that im not any of these things and i dont want any of these things. i think its obvious now that these are baseless and exagerrated and insane accusations thrown around by people who lack the ability to understand or bear another viewpoint, lack critical thinking abilities, and find it much easier to throw around a whole bunch of shit to shut you up instead of coming with any half real damn argument or discourse. ive come across an incredibly small handful of radfems over the years who shame "sex workers" and i and many don't even consider them radfems, because how tf can you call yourself a radical feminist and shame women who are just trying to survive. every group has their looneys, every forest has its dry patches

thing is, as ive said many times on here before, liberal feminism is the way it is because it is postmodern and because it is quite literally a psyop of the cia to wreck class conciousness, which it is doing very well. when you fully get what postmodernism is, how it functions, and WHY exactly the cia found it to be the complete anthises of marxism and why it was "unconventional warfare at its best" and "an subtle covert operational carried out at the highest intellectual level" - the words of us government officials, many things about current day liberalism and wokeness and western culture and whatever the hell else click into place. m a n y. im not willing to shut up and play the cias game. i refuse. im not willing to shut up just because mostly priviledged western liberals who claim to be so open minded lose their absolute shit when you say anything at all outside of the narrative. ive lost friendships, ive had people threaten to beat me up over the "sex work" shit, had plenty of ppl online tell me i should kill myself or be raped lmao, i am very aware that quite literally at LEAST on a good day 40-50% of my university campus and probably more actually thinks i should be beaten up or whatever the fuck for not supporting "sex work." i dont give a shit. im still vocal about it both on here and at uni and wherever else. my women and girls are currently, as i write this, being trafficking and raped and some are even being non-sexually tortured and killed because of this ideology. a significant amount of my women and girls are stuck in slavery because of this, everyones priviledged 0-class-conciousness delusions detached from material reality aside. and ive personally been through way too much fucking bullshit and horror. i dont have the privilege of silence, no matter the sheer aggression, hostility, and violence that the western liberals have been deluded into

there are many things ive said on here which would instantly get me labled a terf. many. being a lesbian really doesnt help with this lmao. i use the word female, i use it to refer to the female sex - including trans identified females such as nonbinary ones or transexual men, i still know biological sex exists which even that is controversial to some, i acknowledged that transexual women are male, i acknowledge that the opression of biological women is directly linked to biological sex, i dont use the word cis etc. i still call myself a homosexual. i critique femininity and masculinity - social gender - for what they are - social constructs of stereotypes assigned to the sexes build in a patriatchal system which are particularly made to opress the female sex. i have said before i want the abolishion of gender. yes, this makes me gender critical. im not willing to spend 90% of my time talking about endless individualistic relativity and language politics and "does such a thing as woman even exist at all ¿?¿" because this is postmodernism. all of these things ive said on here before one way or another and all are already enough to get me called a terf by plenty of people - because most of these dont mesh with queer theory at all (postmodernism) - i just stopped giving a shit. because this is feminism in 99% of the world outside of western liberalism. because we need to be able to have language which allows us to talk about important shit. because postmodernism be damned we need to be able to deal with the issues we have in Material Reality. because as far as im concerned only privileged westerners have the ability to sit around endlessly spending most of their time going on abt how "WoMeN DoNt ExIst" "FeMiNiTy is OpReSsEd nOt FeMaLeNesS" and calling this feminism. because frankly a whole lot of this was accepted even in trans circles like less than a decade ago before queer theory (postmodernism) took off

you say any of the above, and to many youre already a terf. you dont 100% agree with modern day queer theory, youre a terf or a transmedicalist or both or whatever the fuck else. you dare to question anything ever, and youre a terf. you dare to be 0.5% critical, and youre a terf. sure, whatever. im not playing this game and im not dancing to this tune. i dont care about performativity and i dont care about virtue signaling. what the fuck am i supoosed to do exactly, never be able to make the most basic feminist statements accepted everywhere else on this planet? nah. similarly - am i supposed to shut up abt that whole sexual slavery thing bc im gonna be called an evil swerf? nah. this is not a healthy culture, this is not a healthy discourse, this is not a healthy mindset or society or community. open discourse and critique is necessary. everything should be up for questioning, everything should be up for critique. when this stops being the case, we have an issue on our damn hands

no, i dont believe in queer theory for a long list of reasons. no, i do not agree with 10000% of modern day trans ideology. no, this does not make a genocidal fascist maniac. no, this doesnt make me a racist - this concept is ridiculous anyway because a) theres plenty of nonwestern cultures who never had, even before colonializism, any concept whatsoever of a third/other gender system, b) the nonwestern cultures who have third-gender systems (the balkans being included in this frankly w the sworn virgins tradition, which comes from sexism btw, most known in albania but spanning several balkan countries including my own) dont traditionally believe in modern day western liberal queer theory, and in fact i think its cultural colonialization and the importation of western ideas to lable those ppl and ways of understanding things by modern western understandings. theres Plenty of nonwestern third-gender people who straight up speak against this,,, and who speak against queer theory- sooo,,, yea..things are really more complicated than baseless accusations being thrown around. theres plenty of nonwestern/woc who are critical of queer theory so, yea, more complicated than baseless accusations being thrown around

does this mean i "exclude trans people" thus the (te)rf? or that i hate them or that whatever else? no. i identified as nonbinary and agender and demiboy for a good while there, i understand where people are coming from, i understand the workings of the ideology. i just dont believe in it now for a long list of reasons. this doesnt mean that i exclude female people who are trans-identified from my feminism, nor that i exclude transexual women bc as ive said in another post, while they do not experience opression on the basis of being biologically female, and while theirs is a different experience from being female, a transexual woman especially one whose passed for many years does experience a form of misogyny, and we do have shared experiences and struggles in common. as ive said before, sex dysphoria can be a very serious and debilitating and painful medical condition ive experienced myself especially when i was younger, and i have sympathy for those who are trying to cope and live their best lives.... why is it than i must agree 10000% with the new woke ideology which has barely existed for less than a decade and changes every 5 days or i somehow want people dead, apparently? hell, theres plenty of transexuals, especially older generation ones, who dont agree with it, and i get why, all my sympathy to them because they cant even talk about their Own issues without being dogpiled

again, i dont believe in postmodernism. i dont agree with completely rupturing class consiousness, completely denying material reality, and spending 99% of the time talking about hyper-individualism and language. do i hate people who believe in queer theory? no. in fact, i have several friends who still do whove ive had very open, very long conversations with on being gender critical, and guess what, we were able to hear each other out and disagree on some things and agree on others and see eye to eye and either fucking way, they understand that i dont hate them or want them dead or exclude them or whatever the hell, simply because i hold another point of view. some have come to agree with me alltogether, some havent. either way, all got that its stupid as hell to call me a "terf," because sometimes, nuance still exists on this planet.

do i think there are radical feminism who are genuinely transphobic? yea. have i come across them yea? yea. i dont engage w them, i dont engage with anyone whose throwing around slurs or etc. do i think and know a whole lot of those women who get called ~terfs~ are just, get this, not transphobic but women (and some trans ppl frankly, there are indeed trans ppl who are radfems) who dare to even question shit or have a different opinion, but dont want anyone dead, or harmed, or see anyone as less human or deserving of saftey and care etc? yea, yea they are

so, to answer your question, i walk the line by not giving a shit anymore, and saying what the hell i think, because by this point if i didnt i wouldn't be able to say most things ive ever written abt feminism on this blog. radical feminism is not inherently trans exclusionary, it is not inherently transphobic, material analysis is not transphobic, most of radical feminism has a whole lot more to focus on than this particular issue anyway, and daring to have any sort of different opinion isnt trans exclusionary, either

[cozymochi]

1, 12, 4, and 7 for the artist asks!

Love the avant-garde non-chronological storytelling this employs

1. What canon character(s) do you love to draw the most? (And why?)

As of NOW, it’s changed considerably. Tbh I think I’m still finding out who is the favorite to actually draw vs. a character I just happen to draw a lot. …So on that end i’m gonna refer to old but gold, Yamcha MIGHT still be my top favorite to actually draw. It’s just been a hot minute. His design means the world to me. Even if in toriyama-land he’s default generic pretty man. with scaaaarssss. AIN’T NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT IN MY HOUSE!!!

12. Which OC do you love to draw the most? (And why?)

I have a new favorite now starting back in April. WHOMST? she’s hasn’t been introduced yet. At least not formally up here? I like drawing her because (and im gonna sound so,,,), anyway after all the bs irl from then to now, she’s now my comfort character. Im obsessed with indulgent scenarios mkay. Though she has cameo’d twice so far publicly. But she’s inevitable just gimme a hot minute to stop being cryptic for no reason , here’s important stuff

4. What type of colors do you like using in your art? (And why?)

I’M FINDING MYSELF USING A LOT MORE BLUES AND GREENS NOW and anything in that group.

7. Any funky lil art tips? ((WARNING I START LOSING IT ))

Not unless something is asked in specific and caters to a specific persons needs. TIP: there’s no ONE way to approach anything. Like!! If that video tutorial someone pedantically linked in a discord channel isn’t helping you then!! It’S FINE TO try something else! Or if google searching isn’t teaching you then ask someone else! …but plz be cooperative about it and open to listen, i know i just said there’s no “one way” to do something (and there isn’t, these arent contradicting statements) but the amount of times i’ve seen art advice fall on deaf ears because the asker just was not cooperative despite inciting kills me.

Also plz learn fundamentals i know they are tedious, boring, and seemingly useless (aND ARE THEY EVER so not-fun to learn, take from someone who had to start at the beginning every new class for a D E C A D E), buT it COMES BACK SO OFTEN and is more universal than people assume. Then hey, maybe that tiktok “art shortcut” will finally make sense or be a little easier to grasp. Yeah shortcuts are cool n all but that shortcut was made by someone who considers all this “second-nature” and has like, years of foundations under their belt to MAKE that sorta thing 😭

actually now that i think about it all this is like the equivalent of ppl buying those old “how to draw whatever” books back in middle school but instead of reading the material, people just looked at the pictures and skipped to idk tracing the final results. Meme the chris hart books all you want (there’s a lot to lol at, especially in a modern lens) but those foundational portions early on in those text blocks aRE sAying universal things!! IT ISNT GONNA CONDUCT A MIRACLE OR ANYTHING buT THE KNOWLEDGE DOES HELP A LOT AAAAaa reading!!

I JUST AAAAA

i literally trailed off im so fuckib sorry i have a 7 hour shift in an hour and dont wanna leave my bed

[severingt]

So, I was sacked was I?

This can all be traced back to a gig at Cafe Jubilee Gzira.  I stated at the time that if we let it, this will be the undoing of the band and we should put it down to square pegs in round holes. However, no one listened.  

Rehearsals started being boring and just really getting in the way of drinking beer. Songs that I wanted to cover were 'poo-pooed' as losing us half our audience [strangely as previously the same song was agreed to be worthy].  Strangely, Venus in Furs was not thought of in the same way when it was clearly of the same ilk.

We started doing Country songs and easy listening stuff with no clear direction and our original purpose for being a band was diluted beyond recognition.  

I went to the UK and whilst I was away clearly something happened.  I do know that Jan and Dick rehearsed and that they all were seen [scheming] in the Office one night  

I do know that when I came back to Malta and we rehearsed there was a strange atmosphere which I chose to ignore and just played and wrote a new tune [I was the only one that brought new material to the table].  Then we set about putting together a set list for the Beer Festival [I refer to this below].  Three days later the below conversation happened  

Conversation started 11 June  

11:00 Glenn Travers  I don’t know about you but I wasn’t impressed with last night  

11:27 Jan Joachimsen  Neither was I. In fact I had a rather sleepless night in which I came up with the decision we should step out of the beer festival. Will write you and Dick a thorough message in the next 3 hours . but in a nutshell that’s what I think   

14:54 Jan Joachimsen  Too risky for such a big event like the Farsons. I wrote to you and Dick on Facebook. My feeling is that it will be the same audience response as at Jubilee’s. Just a bigger crowd not liking it . and I cant do that L     

15:00 Glenn Travers  Well we might as well shut the band down now then   

15:23 Jan Joachimsen  We might as well do that too. With everyone leaving anyway....   

13:43 Jan Joachimsen  Hi Glenn and Dick, after our "audition" yesterday evening and a following sleepless night, I have come up with a decision: it's better to not play at Farsons Beerfest. Phil's reaction showed me that we are still far away from having achieved a quality and presence that can catch a crowd, no matter what we do. We are simply not good enough.

Also with all the insecure line-up and constant changes, there is no way we can put together a convincing show for such a big event. This is not just one little pub, this is THE Farsons. My instinct tells me we would get the same response as from Phil yesterday, but just on a bigger scale. And I personally am not a fan of suicide missions. It is a pity for an audience not hearing our original songs. But we can also achieve that via Soundcloud (which worked well for "Marsalfornication", who never played a single note live). I'm sorry to sound like a spoil-sport, but I hope you can understand my doubts. Regards, Jan    

16:23 Glenn Travers  Jan, nice to have such a positive picture. So, based on one person that you ASSUME didnt like what we played, youre prepared to throw away months of rehearsals - one persons opinion! and who is he? What credibility has he got that makes his opinion so believeable? I dont believe we're not good enough, I think you're clinging onto the Cafe Jubilee thing as support for this.

2 weeks ago we played to 200 people and to very positive feedback, we did this in spite of not being able to hear each other; I think that shows we are certainly 'good enough'   

16:38 Jan Joachimsen No matter who he is, his face was a good indicator, and he wasn't the first one. Do you have exact numbers for positive feedback at the Dolmen? The athmosphere was awkward there, too. And I usually sense that. And from my own feeling, too, we are simply not good enough.  

16:39 Glenn Travers This is pathetic   

17:29 Dick Woolley Sorry guys to be late into the conversation but my departure is going to be very soon and so have been very busy as a result. I have to agree with Jan on this. Last night merely acted as a catalyst which allowed my misgivings to form a solid opinion. If I was not going away, then I would say we might find enough time to create a revamped act that could take to that large stage and carry an audience of strangers. But this is not the case.

All the gigs we have played so far have been to limited and largely friendly audiences and yet they have been just about ok at their best. After six months I would have liked it to have been at a higher level and I cannot see it transforming overnight. I probably should have spoken out before, but I guess I was carrying false hopes. I have thoroughly enjoyed it all but I do not want to spoil the end by a flat performance. And for sure it is the end as Glenn is going to UK and I am not going to be here.  

17:35 Glenn Travers I'll leave it to you guys to tell the Farsons - Im out of this  

18:12 Glenn Travers Well, I'm sorry that I have not been able to raise my game to the required standard. I really thought we were doing ok, how pathetic is that? Just as well it's ending now so as to not waste any more of your time. I could have gone home at the end of June, I only postponed it so that we could do the gigs, ah well never mind. I kinda enjoyed it even tho now I know it was all false   

19:04 Dick Woolley Glenn, it is not about individual performances, it is about the overall performance of the band.

16 July

18:21, Glenn Travers: I have been informed that you have decided to reverse what you told me and Kevin and are playing the Farsons.  Good luck with that   As I clearly cannot believe a single word you say I wish to put this in writing -   I hold the copyright to my songs and if you or any of your co...[I dont know what non contemptuous word to use to describe] play any of them in whole or in part I will take legal action   I know its a long shot but if you have any ethics left, please do not push me into this as I will protect what is mine   You reap what you sow  

From: Jan Joachimsen   Yes, it took me a week to come to the conclusion that there is no reason why I shouldn't play the Farsons. After all, you yourself said more than once that evening that this was MY decision. So I after a week, I made my final decision. The show trial you and Kevin gave me at the Office, left me in a position where I just can't go back to where we were before. It surely is very understandable that you are hurt. But the level of aggressiveness with that you lashed out at everyone (or rather, at me as substitute for everyone else) was remarkable. As for your songs, you can have it here and legally binding that nobody is going to play any of them. Neither now nor in the future. My lyrics, my violin? Keep them. Consider them as a farewell gift. I have no intention to start a legal battle over some little songs we once recorded. Yes, what's yours is yours! That was never in question for me. You own your songs/music alright. But you don't own me. It is still up to ME who I play with and when I play. There is no reason to threaten me for that. Regards, Jan

17 July

Dick Woolley: Glenn, Apologies for having remained silent since my decision not to play at the beerfest as conditions apply. I believed it best to let matters rest as you have taken this as a personal attack and there is little I could contribute of a positive nature. However the correspondence that Jan has chosen to share with me has upset me deeply. Do you remember our conversation regarding copyright? Everything we do is a collaboration I remember you stating. When I suggested that you should establish ownership of material, you said you were thinking that Jan putting it on Soundcloud was a good basic position. I made my decision not to play as part of conditions apply at the beerfest in the belief and spirit of honesty and respect to a large audience as our act was not worthy of such an occasion in my opinion. You appear to have chosen to believe that this decision as a personal attack. It was never intended as such and I never thought that you would react in such a negative way as you have. Do you truly believe that an act that has only played the likes of the qawra access centre and the office has built such a great following to justify a direct booking as the opening act for the beerfest? It was (in my opinion) Maddee that landed the gig and she picked us to back her. I too have accepted her invitation to play in her backing band for the beerfest as I have the good fortune to be available. When I agreed with Jan to pull the plug on conditions apply I thought the beerfest was gone and lost to me, but I make no apologies for accepting an offer to play with another band. I wish to conclude with thanking you for not dragging my wife into this seemingly childish response to the current circumstances that you have chosen to adopt and to wish you and Seeta all the best for your future. I will state for the avoidance of doubt that I will not deliberately infringe any of your legal rights and will expect and require that you respond in a similar fashion. Dick  

Glenn Travers: Well Dick, every action has a reaction and I didnt deserve the way I was treated. I have always considered you all in everything, even choosing to tell you of my decision face to face re relocating as I thought that was the ethical thing to do. After the way you lot have treated me oh boy do i feel silly  

I take exception to being called childish as I am the only one that had the guts to face it out whereas you guys - going on a non denial from Jan - chose the back door route. Well what goes around comes around. I am more hurt by the way Jan has treated me as I considered him my closest friend and I think the way he has treated me is shameful but he doesnt seem to understand - or doesnt want to - that. Friends dont do that to one another, not the way I was brought up, I wouldnt do it to him. Even other people that have seen his response thought it laughable that he should try to become the victim. Let me say this just once, if you had a problem why didnt you share it? Why did we spend the last rehearsal putting together a set list if we were that bad? Where's your honesty guys?  

I didnt involve Helen specifically as she has nothing to do with this and has always treated me with respect...maybe she should give lessons?   The nastiness continues to this day with daily new posts of photos of the gig [strangely not much in the way of an audience can be seen in any pix] and written posts clearly aimed at me from others.

I heard today [7 August] that they are saying that they sacked me which is the reason Ive put this together. But that's the way with cowards, isnt it?

[this-should-do]

halopedia is so unserious, its constantly incomllete, literally uses the word "stuff" to refer to a collection if materials related to the topic which is sooo unprofessional (no i dont care that this is fan run), has such a bad time creating coherant and complete lists of items and information, and ita timeline article is so obnoxiously organized and hars to navigate if you simoly want to know which events and pieces of information are from which game or book, be for fucming real, someone should do a revamp of this god forsaken website do you know how hard it is to navigate to anything? if you input a word it doesnt even take you to a landing page of all the different things that word it could be refering to so you struggle to find information if you dont already know the exact phrase or how to get to it with their horrible linkpages ONE OF THE MAIN SECTIONS IF THEIR TIMELINE ARTICLE JUST DOESNT EXIST AT ALL so im gling to reiterate that this website constantly has incomplete pahed and tables and sections that have mo i formation whatso ever in them and nee dot be filled out si ce its Obvious that there is applicable information that belongs there, like it is so fucking bad, like ateociously bad, do you KNOW how hars it is to be able to find all the i formation you need to complete ur halo timeline without a solid wiki site to provide you information yourself, this is goinf to push me to fucking get physical copies of all the books just so that i can easily annotate them so i can get rhe damn i formation myself instead of just finding knline copies, dont even get me started on the hell thag will be going thru the games and movies/shows a million times iver since annotations isnt something you can really do in such mediums easily, im losing my fucking mind

[unlimitedhorsepower]

me writing my fanfic

honestly though i frequently think abt how many details i reference as truth are like actual canon things but theyre more obscure details from peripheral materials rather than in the anime.

but also some details i made up. would love to talk about my reasonings for those details. some of them are esoteric. but some of them are just based on reality to me. i refuse to call yuris mom "origa" bc it was the artist name of that one russian singer whose real name was olga and whos just known in japan for a bunch of anime collabs

its also my truth (but not totally unreasonable imo) that olga immigrated to sternbild and her surname is just "petrov" specifically due to simplifications for required forms/some minor mixups. not even petrova and nothing given wrt patronymic vs surname but i dont think sternbilds legislative system wouldve understood patronymics and its not rly important.

what is interesting to me is that olga petrova was a real person (well. im sure this has been the name of many people. but bear with me), a vaudeville performer, who actually adopted the name as a stage name. ive always felt that olga was running from something and wouldve explained why she has nobody else to care for her than her son. and nobody had ever heard of her either.

olga petrov is a bit of a fake name isnt it...

being a woman with no family nor connections in an unfamiliar city is such a ripe ground for getting an abusive fuck of a husband. i really doubt that mr. legend suddenly became abusive once his NEXT power started failing. i just think olga didnt have anyone else and she was willing to overlook all of his flaws for that long as someone who was rich and famous and kept a roof over her head etc

what choice does she have? also gives more basis to how nobody seems to ever acknowledge olga (or yuri) exist. i feel like mr. legend couldve just presented olga as his girlfriend of the day (who has a son) to maverick and he wouldve been like okay so...whatever...

and they never talked bc olga ~kept out of the way~ when her husband has people over or is on the phone etc. and this dynamic gets worsened when mr. legend starts to lose his powers bc he might not have a NEXT power anymore but what he has is total control and power over olga.

^ruminations of an unwell person who thinks narratives actually care about woman characters. objectively the name was given bc the writers had heard origa once LMFAO and petrov is a common surname

anyway. personally i still think it would be interesting if gregory sunshine was yuris real biological father (insert that theory post i made pre-cour 2) and olga just managed to get into a rlship with mr.legend so quickly she could pass yuri as his son. (or mr. legend was okay with the fact at least initially. doesnt matter). and that also adds to her plight of being stuck with mr.legend, and im sure she was also in love with him, but she didnt have any other choice... nobody to help her. heroes arent real

wouldve explained why olga was running and suspectible to shit freaks like mr. legend. i would be inclined to say nothing megaweird happened and gregory was just olgas weird creep boyfriend bc i dont want to torture olga for funsies. more of a situation where she got pregnant accidentally and was like fuck i cant raise a child with a total criminal freak... not that she was raped by him bc olga rly has enough bad shit in her life without that:/

gregory is a creep for sure considering even the scene where he makes ryan lose control (which is. really weird lets be real. the kotetsu scene mirrors it) but still.

AND would also explain why olga blames yuri so strongly for Everything...doesnt excuse her ofc but like. i also understand it. her life sucked. tfw women could be more than Mothers and perhaps even lead full and nuanced lives that explain their actions

this is irrelevant to my fanfic btw (kinda) though i explore yuris and olgas rlship in it. olga is someone who tries but she is so crushed by her circumstances that sometimes her best try isnt enough. its a tragedy is all.

and also interesting how gregory never showed up in sternbild before s2. like olga chose a good place to run to (in the case she had). ripping my hair out ahhh ahhh ahhhh the lore... its so deep (the lore i made up in my head that is)

[goodthoughts001]

Review: Eric สล็อตเว็บตรงMaking The Final Table

So I finished reading Making The Final Table by Eric Lindgren with special guest star Matt Matros. I give it a C.

Eric comes across as a likable guy, who is sharing some of his thoughts on tournament poker. Notice I say some of his thoughts. It seems very สล็อตเว็บตรง that he withheld alot of information. I think this book could have been so much more if Eric really went in depth into his strategy. Unfortunatly he didnt. I did get a couple of pieces that were usefull, but not much.

The book comes across as a promotional tool for the WPT. The WPT is mentioned so much in this book that it becomes distracting. I understand that they basically published this book, but they didnt have to keep bashing us over the head with WPT references. Speaking of bashing over the head, thats what Eric does with his 2 main themes. Be aggresive. Play to win, not to make the money. Good concepts, but Eric could have given us much more info oh how to do this.

E-dogs material is very easy to digest and you shouldnt have a hard time following the information. I did pick up two things that I will implement into my game. I suppose that in itself should pay for the book, however; you still feel kind of slighted once you finish Erics sections.

After Erics sections, Matt Matros take over for two chapters. Talk about a huge contrast! While you can casually read Erics sections and not really have to think much, Matt is the exact opposite. Matt starts off by saying that he is going to cover basic poker math. Well, maybe its basic if you are a MIT grad. I think Matt would have been better served by dumbing it down just a little bit. By the time I got to the end of Matts second section, I was completely lost and had to reread both his sections very slowly, take carefull notes, and hope that I start to grasp the material better.

So who should buy this book? Well, if you have read most of the poker books out there and need a fix, well then this is for you. If not, then there are many books out there that you should look at before this one.

Who Let The Idiots Out?

So I was reading Jason Kirks blog which can be found here Catching The Antichrist.

In his post titled "Damning The Grind" he talks about losing his love for the game. He attributes part of it online to the way some players interact with others. You know the types, "Nice catch you f'ing fish" and so on down the line.

As I read this, I realized that if I am not carefull, these fellow poker players could do the same thing to me. There is a reason I despise going to the movies, its the idiots in theaters who think we all want to hear their opinions on the movie, or listen to them drone on and on about their lives! I hate these people! If I wanted to hear you, I would have paid you the $9 instead of the theater. I will be the one to go up to them and ask them to keep it down. But it only works for a few minutes, then they start right up again.

If these assclowns can keep me out of theatre, can they also keep me off the poker table? The answer for me is no, but what about the other players? What about the new player that just got interested in poker, comes online, get berated by one of these dumbasses and then never comes back? What about the players that mainly play in the B & M's, decide to get over their fear of the computer? They come online, run into Mr. Assclown, and decide, screw it, I dont need this, back to the B & M.

These idiots are the ones who may dry up the online poker world. What can we do about it? I wish I had the answer. There just seems to be a general lack of respect to one another these days. Its really a sad state of affairs.

As an example outside of the poker world. I ended up getting in a heated debate at an Xbox live forum. A poster commented that he wished Microsoft would more closely monitor the user names because some of them are very vulgar and he didnt like to expose his nine year old daughter to it. (BTW, there is a stated user agreement that this is unacceptable) What was the reponse at that forum? Just about every single poster stated some type of freedom of expression nonsense and that they shouldnt have to worry about other peoples kids. WTF? I posted in agreement with the gentleman that this should not be tolerated. I got blasted for that. You would not believe the insulting comments posted just because I stood up for decency.

[bitwynn]

I have never watched yugioh but ive gained enough knowledge from pop culture osmosis to bullshit something out so-- SAGAU but the reader is a huge Yugioh/trading card game nerd

Even though the skills theyve learned from playing Yugioh and other such TCGs dont precisely translate, their skills in building a deck is UNMATCHED. And their skill in execution of their deck is also insane.

I remember that when i was watching a Drawfee stream or vid or something, Karina, Drawfees resident anime and Yugioh expert kept talking about these builds and decks of cards that would instantly just one shot literally anyone and everyone and i can see it so much. I imagine that before they get isekaied into genshin, they play a lot of rounds of matches against the cpu and the characters all around but thanks to their deck building, everyone is just decimated to the point that the only time they ever co-op in genshin is to either visit friends, farm for materials, or play Genius

I also imagine that they make just-- these INSANE meme decks that SOMEHOW FUCKING WORK?? Like Pokemon deck where you constantly spawn summons like Oz, Gouba, the fUCKING WATER SHITS FROM OCEANID, and so on.

Ofc, they still play the main game but they have spent... a LITTLE too much time playing Genius.

Okay onto the SAGAU part.

Since the world of Teyvat doesn't take card games and the like as seriously as we do (i mean cmon-- theres been news of certain cards and decks being banned in Magic: The Gathering tournaments and Yugioh tournaments with tons of security for calming down raging dedicated card game players for both events), i feel like its gonna HIT THEM LIKE A BRICK how utterly outclassed they are when they play against them.

Because theyre expecting like "oh, the Overseer/Creator/(insert whatever you wanna call urself here) is inviting me to a simple game of cards! This shall be a pleasant and calm afternoon in the Cat's Tail with them!! :))" but then in reality, you just called them over to see how good the "ai" is and to increase the diversity of your cards so you can make more decks. Meaning, they proceed to systematically destroy each and every character, POSSIBLY EVEN with a deck personalized to beating that characters deck into the ground. Card game culture is different here and there AHAHA

God i imagine that, since apparently Cyno is the best player of TCG, after losing you might just get so many pings of Cyno wanting a rematch. Or like, as your reputation in the game circles grows, he might just sneak into Cat's Tail and sit in on one of your matches to see what hes dealing with. Let me tell you, he is going to be stunned and is probably trying to formulate his deck against whatever deck you had on hand that round. And then he peeks into Cat's Tail again and HAH lol, diff deck for diff person. And he just starts making another fUCKING DECK--

When yall finally face off, its literally just This scene. Cyno still loses by a landslide but you had to get a little serious there.

God when you finally get isekaied, have fun integrating our worlds card game culture into theirs AHAHA-- also Cyno Will Be Asking For Rematches Everyday. Have fun making cringey Yugioh and card game references with him AHAHA

I know jack shit abt Yugioh and i used to play some TCGs but that was a long time ago, so if youre actually much more well versed in the subject-- FEEL FREE TO TAKE MY IDEA AND RUN AHAHAHA

[greater-than-the-sword]

🚩Scam, Fraud, & Cult Red Flags 🚩

This post deals primarily with scams and frauds, but there is some overlap in MLM and other spaces.

1🚩 Business cannot be independently verified

There is no information available about the recruiter, organization, businessperson, employer etc. outside of what they themselves provide you. Usually handwaved by being a startup. Testimonials they provide you do not count. Claims to be successful but has no references or contacts.

2. 🚩 No clear motive

What does the other person get out of this transaction? How do they benefit? If they were really as successful as they claim, would they still need you? Why don't they just keep all of the money for themselves? What do they stand to gain by becoming involved with you? "Giving back" + the kindness of their heart does not count.

3. 🚩 Not Interested In Verifying You

Why did they pick you? You don't know and you're not supposed to ask. The employer does not need to see your resume or portfolio. They dont need any due diligence to make sure that YOU are who YOU claim to be before working with YOU. This is because they have nothing to lose, they are risking nothing on you. They will take anyone, first come first serve.

4. 🚩 Flattery

Maybe they will not take "anyone", but instead claim you are being picked because of extremely outstanding merits that you can't remember ever showing them or that you're not sure they're even equipped to analyze.

5. 🚩 Urgency

Pressuring you into making a quick decision can be a sales tactic or a scam tactic, but if anyone wants you to hurry up and get them the money, watch out. The more time you have to think, the more time you have to realize something is fishy.

6. 🚩 Aren't you desperate?

How could you look a gift horse in the mouth? How could you question an opportunity this good?

7. 🚩 False Insight

"I can read your mind. I know what you're thinking- you're thinking I can't read your mind!" Old joke, but played completely straight every day. "I know what you're thinking- there's no way a new car could be this cheap. But you're wrong!" Pre-empts your skepticism (with no actual explanation), generating the illusion of empathy.

8. 🚩 Toxic Positivity

Good vibes only - a hint of criticism will be utterly shut down and never engaged with. In a group setting this involves banning and shunning, in a one on one setting the scammer will simply threaten to break off communication "if you don't really want it" or use guilt trips about how good the deal is. Expressing fears/concerns about negative outcomes is said to have the ability to manifest those outcomes. All the comments rave. Every post/comment is glowing with success, every review 5 star. No exceptions.

9. 🚩 Headquartered outside your jurisdiction

Harder to prosecute.

10. 🚩 Name in financial transactions doesn't match given name

No explanation needed.

11. 🚩 Wants credit card information over the phone

12. 🚩 Sends you money then wants some back

Hint: the money they sent you is fake. The check will bounce, etc.

13. 🚩 Capitalizes on strong emotion

For example panic, lust, etc.

14. 🚩 Seems too good to be true

The rule is if it seems to good to be true, it probably is.

15. 🚩 No test runs

You must invest the full amount right away. No trial runs, no samples. Any free material only hints at the success you will get if you pay thousands of dollars.

These are only SOME of the red flags please be smart

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated. 

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong)  Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

 They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

[doodler-jpeg]

Life [Wilbur Soot/Fundy]

BOOOM HI HELLO HOW ARE YOU UH UM SO I WAS INSPIRED WHILE I WAS BORED AND THEN THIS IS HOW THIS ONESHOT CAME TO BE. ITS NOT GOOD, BUT ITS DECENT. You’re gonna be taking Sally’s place so, uh, I’m sorry, Sally, you’re just another salmon. Still love you though  THIS TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE DEAR GOD ITS BEEN IN THE WORKS FOR LIKE A MONTH LMAO

ALSO, KEEP IN MIND THIS IS C!WILBUR/SMP!WILBUR

⚠️CUSSING, AFAB READER, PREGNANCY, THIS IS A REALLY LONG ONE SHOT OH MY GOD, PLATONIC FUNDY RELATIONSHIP SO YEAH⚠️

Pronouns: she/her or they/them [you’re referred to as wife, mom,, that stuff, but you can change those if you want]

You hummed as you strained out your clothing beside the river near your home. A smile graced your face, [Eye Colour] eyes glinting happily in the warm sunlight of that fine summer day. Autumn would soon turn the land into a seemingly barren wasteland, though, so you decided to savor every last bit of happiness the hot days brought you. 

Hanging the large amount of clothing upon thin clothing lines, you dumped out your bucket and made sure nothing got in the lake. Walking back inside of your home, you set the buckets in the corner of the cozy cottage and walked back outside. Your brown boots thudded quietly against the cobblestone path that lead into the woods around your home that would eventually be covered in snow.

A sudden childish giggle made you turn to the fields that were a ways away from your house, right in front of the sparsely scattered trees to the right of your little house. You furrowed your brows in confusion as a blur of yellow, white, and red rushed over to you.

“Hello there.” You couldn’t help but stare as the child looked up at you silently. “What are you doing here, little one?” He only blushed, his face flushing a vivid red before he ran off. You shrugged and continued your trek into the forest.

//

You watched as flakes of snow fell delicately onto the muted green coloured grass, bundled tightly in a burrito of quilts that you and your mother has made together. You shuffled slightly from your position on your warm bed, closing your eyes as you waited for sleep to consume you.

It seemed life had other plans, though, as a faint light came toward your home, edging closer and closer until you could make out a figure, their clothing a great contrast to the paw snow. They were shivering visibly, clutching their arms as their lantern shook in their hand.

You frowned as you peeled your blankets off of you, pulling your boots on quickly. Grabbing a lantern cage, you lit the candle inside of it and hurried outside, feeling nervous as the figure hurried over to you.

Soon enough, they were standing in front of you, a miserable look on their face, their eyes red and puffy as their teeth chattered together.

“Come inside,” you didn’t care for introductions or your safety. This person seemed nice. “I’ll start a fire. Uh- there should be a few blankets on the sofa. Would you like anything to drink? Warm milk, tea? I’m not gonna offer coffee because it’s late, so I’m sorry about that.”

“Just water, please,” they croaked out. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I was headed off in search of territory to claim. Turns out I chose the wrong day. God, it’s cold.” You let out a quiet laugh as you carefully tossed some wood into your fireplace, lighting the material on fire. Almost immediately, the flames grew and you sat up, placing your flint and steel on the fireplace mantle.

“I’ll go get you your water. Go warm up.” You urged before you walked into the kitchen to get the brunet some water.

//

““And then Tommy ran off!” Wilbur howled with laughter as he told the story of how he managed to lose his father in the forest close to his family home. ““Phil was looking for us for hours!” You smiled at the story as you carefully sewed up your friend’s heavy coat, making sure the patches were relatively the same colour as the rest of the jacket.

“You never really tell me about your family, so why are you telling stories now?” You commented, threading the needle in your hand through the fabric and back out of it, pulling the thread tightly. You snipped it with your scissors, placing the needle down to look for any other holes as Wilbur flushed a bright red.

“W-well— one day, I want you to meet my family, so- this sounds so fucking stupid. Never mind, forget about it.” He covered his face in his hands as you bummed, picking up a patch and laying it out on the brown fabric.

“What you’re saying is that you would introduce me to your family because you like me that much, huh?” No answer came from Wilbur, though he did let out a flustered groan as you chortled.

//

You placed a kiss upon your new boyfriend’s cheek, causing the brunet to laugh as he shrunk away from your lips

“Stop it,” you only grinned at the man, kissing various areas of his face in retaliation. Wilbur laughed harder, pushing you away gently as his face scrunched. ““It tickles!”

You grabbed his face in your hands and he looked into your eyes for a moment before you began attacking his face with kisses. When you pulled back for a break, Wilbur copied your actions from earlier and rubbed his thumb across your cheeks with a smile. He leaned his forehead on yours and let out a breathy sigh, closing his eyes as he basked in the moment.

“I love you so fucking much, [Y/N].”

//

““Dont be scared, darling,” Wilbur mused as he gently rubbed his thumb in circles on the back of your hand, lightly squeezing every few rotations. “Techno’s made sure to keep any weapons away and Tommy might be a little less wreckless. I’ll make sure to tell them during dinner.” You nodded uncertainly, playing nervously with the bracelet Wilbur had made you way back when the two of you first started as friends.

Wilbur rapped his knuckles on the door, his other hand never once letting go of yours as the two of you waited. A bit of shouting was heard through the door, slightly muffled, though it was evident that it was coming closer.

The door was flung open by a blond boy, his blue eyes shooting us to meet Wil’s not even a second after he opened the door. A grin was on the boys face as he turned and shouted for Phil [who Wilbur had told you was his father]. Soon enough, a blond man with a bucket hat trodden over, frowning at Tommy.

“Listen, motherfucker, you may be living here, but I’m not gonna fucking let you live if you keep fuckin shoutin.” You froze nervously and glanced over at your boyfriend. He just sent a small, awkward smile onto reassure you before he turned to look down at the two.

“Are you really gonna argue in front of my wife?” Wilbur piped in, feeling himself become giddy as Tommy and Phil shot their heads over to look at you.

“You brought a girl over?!” Tommy yelled in surprise as he stumbled back, eyes wide as he observed your movements skeptically.

“Wil? Can you come over here real quick? I just need to talk to you.” Phil forced a smile as he grabbed the taller man’s ear and yoinked him over to a different room, leaving Tommy and you alone.

“Hi,” you smiled nervously, raising a hand in a half assed wave.

“Do you happen to be American?” The blond asked, leaning his face over to stare at you.

“I mean- I’m a water nymph. I don’t really know if that counts because we usually just have different accents, but we never take into account where anyone’s from.” You laughed, scratching your cheek.

“Well where are you from?” Tommy urged, crossing his arms.

“To be specific, I came from the North Sea right by the Netherlands. I don’t really think that’s important though.” You shrugged.

“So you’re Dutch? Speak it.”

“Im not necessarily Dutch, I was just born in the North Sea, Tommy- I think you’re a Tommy. You seem like a Tommy.” You cleared up, ““The only reason I learned English was to communicate with certain humans.”

“Okay.” The boy sighed, shoulders slumping forward as you let out an amused chortle, “I’ll leave you alone. For now.” Tommy backed up, turning into a room while a big, burly pig person ducked under the doorway, a large sword in hand and an uninterested expression on his face. As he turned to the door, he spotted you and his eyes widened momentarily before going back to their half lidded position.

“Who’re you? Phil didn’t- oh. Oh, today was that day. Oh my god, how could I forget it?” The hybrid smacked his forehead harshly, ““I’m so sorry.”

You laughed, waving your hand dismissively as the pig moved to the side to let you in. You carefully stepped into the warm house and the tall hybrid closed the door behind you.

“Dinner’s nearly done, so you can go sit down in the living room. If you need anything, Phil has ears all over the place. Just look at those crows.” Techno motioned over to the few crows that perched themselves on the window, letting out quiet caws. You waved at the birds and they flapped their wings in response.

“They seem nice.”

//

You sat next to your husband, hand intertwined with his as Phil smiled over at the two of you.

“So, anything new happening with you two?” The blond man inquired, placing his hands on the table. 

““I mean,” Wilbur laughed, turning over to look at you. “Would you like to tell them, dear?” You nodded, a grin on your face as you sat as straight as you could.

“I’m pregnant,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm. Tommy let out a shocked ‘‘what the fuck??’, while Techno choked on his food, slamming a fist onto his chest.

Phil was quiet, eyes wide in shock as he took in the information.

“Pregnant? With Wilbur’s kid?” You nodded, swinging Wilbur’s hand as Tommy cheered.

“Im gonna be a fuckin uncle! Yeah! I’ll be the best damn uncle ever!” He cackled, leaning back as Techno snorted.

““Can I teach them PvP?” You and your husband glanced over at each other before shaking your head.

“Maybe when they’re old enough to know what they’re doing.”

//

““Hello, my precious baby,” you cooed gently, holding the newborn as they let out a quiet sigh. ““My baby. You look just like your father.” A warm but tired smile was on your face as your baby opened their eyes, brown meeting [Eye Colour].

“Love, is the baby okay? Is she doing alright?” Wilbur called nervously through the door, to which you laughed.

“Yes, they’re doing great,” placing a gentle kiss on the baby’s nose, they brought a hand up and lightly tapped their nose.

//

““Fundy! Come here!” You cheered, reaching your arms out to the toddler. They giggled, waddling over to you. Their scab covered knees were littered with bandages and the red overalls they wore were much unlike what Wilburs would have wanted your child to wear, but it was your kid! They deserved the best!

““My precious baby,” you placed a kiss on their cheek, causing the brown haired child to giggle and wipe the kiss from their cheek. You grinned, littering their face in kisses as they squirmed, ““My little champion!”

“Yah! Cham-champion!” They babbled, bringing up a finger to chew on as you set them down and smoothed out your dress. 

““Alright, sweetheart, papa will be here soon, so make sure to tell him what you want to tell him, alright?” Your boy nodded, a goofy grin on his face as he reached over to one of the toys you had brought.

//

You cradled your son’s head as he sobbed, shaking his head in denial as to what had just happened.

“He-he’s gone, mama!” He choked out, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His tears stained your shirt, though the feeling didn’t bother you as you rocked your son back and forth, combing your fingers through his hair.

“Fundy, it’s okay,” you cooed, ““He doesn’t have to live with all the mistakes he made in the past anymore. Who knows, maybe he’ll come back?” 

““But what if he doesn’t? That was his last life and- and it’s gone! My dad’s gone!” Letting out a pained wail, he continued to sob. And you let him.

He had gone through so much.

//

““Who the hell are you and what are you doing around my son?” You sneered, standing in front of your son as the transparent figure stared at you curiously.

“You don’t remember me?” They asked, voice echoing as they tilted your head. “I- [Y/N], it’s me! Your husband! I- I am your husband, right?”

“My husband didn’t push away his son and focus on a failed country more than his own fucking family.” You loaded your crossbow, aiming it at the ghost. ““You didn’t come to his birthday parties, didn’t get him anything, you barely paid attention to him when your country was in the spotlight! You’re no husband to me.”

“Mama-” Fundy gulped nervously, ““Mama, please.”

“You know what, whoever the fuck you are? You’re no damn husband to me and you never will be. Now leave me and my son alone, for fuck’s sake.”

The ghost was silent as you turned, leading the man beside you toward the house at the top of the hill, though a small smile made its way onto his face.

“She’s the one I married?” He murmured, moving his hand to where his heart was, “Was she really the love of my life?”

[dirk-has-rabies]

Gender variance and it's link with neurodivergency

Okay so this is it going to be another long one

All quotes will be sourced with a link to the scientific journal I took it from

Okay Tumblr, let's talk gender (I know, your favorite topic) my preface on why this topic matters to me is: I'm autistic ( diagnosed moderate to severe autism) I'm nonbinary trans ( in a way that most non-autistic people don't understand and actually look down on)  and I went to college for gender study ( Mostly for intersex studies but a lot of my research was around non-binary and trans identities) I will be using the term autism as pants when I have experience with however when ADHD is part of the study I will use ND which stands for neurodivergent and yes this is going to be about xenogenders and neopronouns.

autism can affect gender the same way autism can affect literally every part of an identity. a big thing about having autism is the fact that it completely can change how you view personhood and time and object permanence and gender and literally all types of socially constructed ideas. let me also say hear that just because Society creates and enforces an idea does it mean that it doesn't exist to all people it just me that there is no nature law saying that it's real and the “rules” for these ideas can change and delete and create as time and Society evolves and changes.  gender is one of those constructs.

Now I'll take it by you reading this you know what transgender people are  (if you don't understand what a trans person is send me an ask and I'll type you up a pretty little essay lmao,  or Google it but that's a scary thought sense literally any Source or website can come up on Google including biased websites so be careful I guess LOL) anyway to be super basic trans people are anyone who doesn't identify as the gender they were assigned at Birth (yes that includes non-binary people I could do a whole nother essay about that shit how y'all keep spreading trying to separate non-binary people from the trans umbrella)  some people don't like to use the label and that is totally fine by the way.

now autistic people to view the world in a way differently than allistic (neurotypical) ppl do.  we don't take everything people teach us at 100% fact and we tend to question everything and demand proof and evidence for things before we can set it as a fact in our brains. This leads to why a lot of autistic people are atheist (although a lot of religions and this is not bashing on religious people at all I am actually a Jewish convert)  this questioning leads to a lot of social constructs being ignored or not understood At All by a lot of autistic people and personally I think that's a good thing.  allistics take everything their parents and teachers and schools teach them as fact until someone else says something and then they pick which ones to believe. autistic people study and research and learn about a topic before forming an opinion and while this may lead to them studying and believing very biased material and spitting it out as fact it can also lead them to try and Discover it is real by themselves.

because of this autistic people are more question their gender or not fall in a binary way at all as the concept of gender makes no sense to a lot of us. “ if gender is a construct then autistic people who are less aware of social norms are less likely to develop a typical gender identity”

no really look: “ children and teens with autism spectrum disorder ASD or Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder ADHD  are much more likely to express a wish to be the opposite sex compared with their typical developing peers” That was posted in 2014. we have been saying this stuff forever but no one wants to listen. the thing is gender variance (being not cisgender or at least questioning it)  has always been closely hand-in-hand with autistic and ADHD people I'm even the doctor who did that study understood right away that it all made sense the whole time: “ Dr. Strang said they were initially surprised to find an overrepresentation of gender variance among children with ADHD. However, they later realized that prior studies have shown increased levels of disruptive behavior and other behavioral problems among young people with gender variance”  SEE YOURE NOT WEIRD YOURE JUST YOU AND YOURE NOT ALONE IN THIS!!

5% autistic people who did the study were trans or questioning. it was also equal between the Sexes fun fact. that may not seem like a lot till you realize that the national average is only .7% that's literally over 700% higher than the national average. That's so many! and that's just in America.

 in Holland there was a study in 2010 “ nearly 8% of the more than 200 Children and adolescents referred to a clinic for gender dysphoria also came up positive on a assessment for ASD” they weren't even testing for ADHD so the numbers could be even higher!

now I want to talk about a  certain section of the trans umbrella that a lot of autistic people fall under called the non-binary umbrella. non-binary means anything that isn't just male or just female. it is not one third gender and non-binary doesn't mean that you don't have a gender. just clearing that up since cis people keep spreading that. non-binary is an umbrella term for any of the infinite genders you could use or create. now this is where I'm going to lose a bunch of you and that's okay because you don't have to understand our brains or emotions To respect us as real people. not many allistics can understand how we see and think and relate to things and that's okay you don't have to understand everything but just reading about this could be so much closer to respecting us for Who We Are from you've ever been and that's better than being against us just for existing.

now you might have heard of my Mutual Lars who was harassed  by transmeds for using the term Autigender (I was going to link them but if it gets traction I don't want them to get any hate)  since a lot of people roll their eyes at that  and treated them disgustingly for using a term that 100% applied correctly.  Autigender  is described as " a neurogender which can only be understood in the context of being autistic or when one's autism greatly affects one's gender or how one experiences gender. Autigender is not autism as a gender, but rather is a gender that is so heavily influenced by autism that one's autism and one's experience of gender cannot be unlinked.” Now tell me that doesn't sound a lot like this entire essay I've been working on with full sources…..

xenogenders and neopronouns are a big argument point on whether or not people “believe” in non binary genders but a big part of those genders is that they originated from ND communities and are ways that we can try to describe what gender means us in a way that cis or even allistic trans people just can't comprehend or ever understand. Same with MOGAI genders or sexualities. A lot of these are created as a way to somehow describe an indescribable relationship with gender that is so personal you really cant explain it to anyone who isnt literally the same as you.

Even in studies done with trans autistic people a large amount of them dont even fall on a yes or no of having a gender at all and fall in some weird inbetween where you KINDA have a gender but its not a gender in the sense that others say it is but its also too much of a gender so say youre agender. And this is the kind of stuff that confuses allistic trans people and makes them think nonbinary genders are making stuff up for attention, which isnt true at all we just cant explain what it feels like to BE a trans autistic person to anyone who doesnt ALREADY know how it feels.

In this study out of the ppl questioned almost HALF of the autistic trans individuals had a “Sense of identity revolving around interests” meaning their gender and identity was more based off what they liked rather than boy or girl. That makes ppl with stuff like vampgender or pupgender make a lot more sense now doesnt it? We see that even in the study: “My sense of identity is fluid, just as my sense of gender is fluid […] The only constant identity that runs through my life as a thread is ‘dancer.’ This is more important to me than gender, name or any other identifying features… even more important than mother. I wouldn't admit that in the NT world as when I have, I have been corrected (after all Mother is supposed to be my primary identification, right?!) but I feel that I can admit that here. (Taylor)” and an agreement from another saying “Mine is Artist. Thank you, Taylor. (Jessie)” now dont you think if they grew up with terms like artistgender or dancergender they would just YOINK those up right away????

In fact “An absence of a sense of gender or being unsure of how their gender should “feel” was another common report” because as ive said before in this post AUTISTIC PEOPLE DONT SEE GENDER THE WAY ALLISTIC PEOPLE SEE IT. therefore we wont use the same terms or have the same identities nor could we explain it to anyone who doesnt already understand or question the same way! Participants even offered up quotes such as “As a child and even now, I don't ‘feel’ like a gender, I feel like myself and for the most part I am constantly trying to figure out what that means for me (Betty)” and also “I don't feel like a particular gender I'm not even sure what a gender should feel like (Helen)”

Now i know this isnt going to change everyones minds on this stuff but i can only hope that it at least helped people feel like theyre not broken and not alone in their feelings about this. You dont have to follow allistic rules. You dont have to stop searching inside for who you really wanna be. And you dont have to pick or choose terms forever because just as you grow and evolve so may your terms. Its okay to not know what or who you are and its okay to identify as nonhuman things or as your interests because what you love and what you do is a big part of who you are and shapes you everyday. Its not a bad thing! Just please everyone, treat ppl with respect and if you dont understand something that doesnt make it bad or wrong it just means its not for you. And thats okay.