#despite all the free time I have that I should be capitalizing on

[jeanforestauthor]

Hey, My Book is Great and You Should Read it For Free

Hi there! I wrote a book, and I want to let you read it for free!

In The Princess and the Peaches we follow Ethan, a young man with a lot of heart, and not much spine, who is struggling to run a small failing grocery store after the untimely death of his parents. Ethan also has the misfortune of being a thoroughly Normal Guy in a world where fairytales are far more fact than fiction.

Ethan has always lived with the understanding that magic was quite firmly None of his Business, but when a wayward Princess falls victim to a curse inside his shop, he is informed by an iron-fisted Fairy Godperson that it has suddenly become Entirely his Business.

As a result, Ethan is forced to deal with flirtatious dragons, sadistic Princes, and more than a few deep seated insecurities.

So, you may be wondering, if this book is so great, why is it free? Well, because of my burning resentment for the stranglehold of capitalism on the accessibility of art. Uh, Marketing... or something. The point is, I think my book rules, and I wanted it to find people who also thought it ruled, so here it is!

You can access it on multiple e-reading platforms, including Apple and Smashwords here:

Or on Google Play here:

If you STILL aren't totally convinced, that's cool! I generously put the first three chapters under a read-more so you can check them out without even having to leave the safe harbor of Tumblr.

Copyright © 2025 by Jean Forest

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. 

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Andrew Filion

First edition, 2025

Chapter 1

It was always the same dream.

For twenty-some years Ethan Green had enjoyed placid, peaceful sleep. He'd had boring, pointless dreams and loved it. Then everything had changed, and now, for four years, it had been the same stupid nightmare, every single night. He drifted through it, carried along in its insistent, unchanging rhythm.

He passed through the living room, warm and full of light. Meandered towards the door, his stride easy and unhurried. At this point, Ethan always somehow felt calm, even eager, despite knowing how this was inevitably going to end. Reflecting on it later, he knew it made a sad kind of sense. This was the only way he could see them now.

He heard them before he'd even reached the door. Laughter so deep and loud it sounded like trains passing outside the window. Then a quiet, lilting tone, rising and falling like birdsong.

With one twist of the handle, one swing of the door, he stepped out into the bright, sun drenched storefront, and for just a brief moment, everything felt right.

Ethan's gaze traveled over the deep velvety green of the walls, the worn pine floor, dappled with light. He looked at the big, arched windows, draped in the same old green gingham curtains, heard the quiet chatter of customers, and now, just like every time, he could swear he smelled the scent of sweet, ripe peaches.

And then came the moment he always anticipated. His view swept from the windows, to the neat, trim counter waiting at the front of the store, over the battered old till, up into the lively, animated face of his father.

He was exactly the way Ethan remembered him. Big as a bear and nearly as hairy, booming with laughter, his rough, calloused fingers almost too large for the spindly keys on the register. Ethan took in his twinkling eyes and crooked grin fervently, as if to fix every minute detail in his memory.

And then there, nestled in amongst the bins and barrels of fresh fruit was his mother, as small and willowy as his father was large, but no less intimidating. Her voice was bright, her movements brisk and efficient. Ethan watched her long, elegant hands tug trimly at the curtains and found himself remembering the way they'd often done the same at the collars of his shirts.

Ethan basked in this moment, like the sight of a sunset, brief and fleeting.

Because of course, it never lasted. It started with the windows, like Every. Single. Time. 

Small cracks, that began to spread, like ugly, spiraling spider webs, reaching greedily for the corners of the panes, until suddenly with a deafening crash, the air was full of cascading shards of glass.

As usual, his parents made no reaction, still cheerful, unshaken. Ethan always tried to reach them, even while knowing it was pointless.

"Dad!" He cried, working off the same unending script. "The windows! What's happening!?"

His father turned to him, a placid smile in place.

"It's alright, kiddo, don't worry. I know you can handle it." He replied in his deep, bass rumble.

Ethan stared down at his feet, shifting through the piles of shattered glass.

"But dad-"

Then the fruit would go. Where there was once jewel-bright piles of fresh, ripe produce, suddenly there would be putrid mounds of rotted fruit, their stench overpowering.

"Mom!? How did this-!?"

His mother would give him that soft, exasperated look, like he'd forgotten to comb his hair again.

"Ethan, it's okay, honey. We know you'll take care of it."

And then came the groaning, rending sound of splintering wood, and Ethan's heart would drop into his stomach. The long beams overhead would begin to tear, shaking dust from the ceiling. Every inch of the walls would begin to crack and buckle.

Ethan would look to his parents, still blissfully smiling back at him.

"Everything's falling apart! Can't you see it!? Come on, help me!" He'd cry.

"Ethan calm down," His mother would laugh, "Everything will be fine."

"Yeah kiddo," His father would add with a grin, "You'll just need to take care of it."

And like every time, Ethan would find himself brought up short, paralyzed. He'd stand in the midst of the destruction, his whole life going to ruins around him, and he'd be useless. 

"You can do it." His father would add, with such perfect, maddening certainty.

"But..." Ethan muttered, as always, his voice strangely clear among the chaos. "But I don't know how."

Ethan awoke, a few seconds before his alarm, like always, just a little too late to stop it from going off. It's grating, jangling tones piercing straight into the center of Ethan's brain.

He levered himself out of bed immediately. A Green did not snooze, he told himself wearily, not when there was work to be done. Ethan had never once in his life slept past the alarm and today was no exception. 

Groggily, he shuffled into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. There was that curly mop of comb-destroying hair. There were those same, tired brown eyes. A nose a little too long, a mouth a little too feminine, a frame far, far too scrawny.

Nothing new here.

He went through his usual routine, dressing in the same white shirt, and the same green slacks he wore just about every day of his adult life. He slipped on the same, stiff loafers, and then… Well, then the apron.

He'd thought he'd have gotten used to it by now. He'd seen it on his parents since he was a child. He'd worn it himself since he was a teenager. But somehow, it still managed to give him pause. Probably because it was hideous.

Family legend said that his great grandmother had chosen the color because it reminded her of springtime, of freshness. Most people Ethan knew would never in their wildest dreams have come to these associations. Looking at it, the words of Ethan's best friend ran through his head. 

"If that's fresh anything, it's fresh vomit. Unhealthy vomit. Go to the doctor, something's gone wrong, vomit."

But... It had been a family tradition for generations. It was the Green family's trademark.

And so, dutifully, Ethan put it on, tying it in a tight double knot, even though it made it near impossible to get off later. It was what he always did. It was how it had always been done.

With heavy feet, he trudged downstairs, into the living room.

In truth, it looked almost no different from his dreams. Everything was still in its place, untouched, as it had been for four years now. A few low couches, huddled around the room, a tall bookshelf standing sentinel in the corner, a battered TV sitting silent nearby. The same pictures, arrayed on the mantelpiece, familiar faces staring out. It was exactly the same, an almost perfect monument to the way things used to be... except.

It was so empty. Ethan had managed to preserve every inch of the room, as though nothing had changed, but somehow, like sand slipping through his fingers, he hadn't been able to keep the life that had once existed here, the almost palpable feel of warmth and joy. Now, absence seemed to hang like dust in the air. 

Well, that wasn't the only change. Slowly, Ethan made his way over to the bookshelf, and ran his fingers over the glossy, cool stone of the urn sitting high on its shelves. He muttered a quiet, customary, "Good morning." For a moment he forgot his rituals, forgot his duties, and let himself get lost.

The soft tinkle of the bell on the other side of the door jarred him out of his reverie though. There wasn't really time to pause, he reminded himself. With brisk, purposeful steps, he crossed the room and exited out of the dim, musty corners of his home, and into the bright halls of the storefront.

This too, like the living room, differed little from his dreams, although Ethan thought hopefully that the store at least, was less melancholy than the rest of the house. The soft light of sunrise was just filtering through the tall arched windows, catching in the gingham curtains, painting the pine floor. 

There was no boisterous, laughing man behind the front counter though. Instead, there sat Todd... Or lounged Todd, his sandy, brush cut head lying in a nest of insultingly well muscled arms.

This too, Ethan had to concede, wasn't exactly new. Since Ethan had begun running the shop, Todd worked every morning, the same time, same as Ethan, and yet somehow stubbornly refused to adjust himself to actually being awake during sed time. And as he had every morning,  Ethan considered that if Todd hadn't been his best friend, he'd probably have fired him by now. That, and he was pretty good at moving boxes.

Sighing, Ethan made his way over to the stool Todd had precariously perched himself on and gave it a lazy kick. Todd awoke with a start, scrambling to keep upright.

"Am I keeping you awake Todd?" Ethan asked with a weary smile.

"Bro, you are single handedly destroying my sleep cycle, but what else is new?" Todd replied groggily, "Why'd you wake me up? You don't even need me for anything."

"The produce shipment-" Ethan began.

"-Probably won't come until noon," Todd concluded sourly.

Ethan scowled. "You've noticed that too huh? He used to come first thing a few years ago... Now he's been coming later and later..."

"Fine by me, I'm in no hurry to play packhorse." Todd replied with a jaw cracking yawn.

"It's your job Todd. Being awake, by the way, is also your job."

"Yeah, when there's shit to do. Trust me, I'll be all over those boxes when they come. I'll hit those boxes like they owed me money. Fuckin' Prince of boxes over here. But for now, no boxes, no customers... So no Todd," He muttered, laying his head down again.

"Todd, come on man. You've gotta do something. Remember what dad used to say? If you've got time to lean-"

"- You've got time to clean, yeah I remember. And don't get me wrong bro, your dad was a regular fountain of wisdom, but it's gonna be a long friggin' day. The dust will still be there after my power nap." 

Shaking his head, Ethan abandoned his efforts to rouse Todd and fetched his old push broom from its resting place nearby. 

It was worn, it's bristles tattered, it's paint chipped, and it was heavier than a broom had any right to be, the shaft made of what Ethan suspected was solid metal, but it had been in the family for generations, and it fit in Ethan's hand like it was made just for him. 

Wearily, he took it and made a few halfhearted swipes at the floor, but had to concede that all he was doing was likely wearing more of the already thin varnish off the boards. He'd spent most of last night aimlessly sweeping too, after all. It wasn't like there were customers to keep them busy.

Todd looked up, and seemed to notice the despondent look on Ethan's face. 

"Hey man, I'm just fuckin' around. You know I'll work hard today." 

"Yeah Todd, I know, I'm not really worried about you," Ethan replied quietly.

Todd stood and made his way over to Ethan,  awkwardly clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry so much dude. Things will get better. Today's gonna be different! I can feel it!" Todd exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as one could have at six in the morning.

"I don't really want it to be different," Ethan sighed,"I'd rather things... went back to being the same."

Todd scowled. "Well, tough. I said today's gonna be different, and it will. You wait and see, bro."

"Alright," Ethan laughed, "If you say so."

As the day wore on, things certainly seemed far from different.

As Todd predicted, the produce shipment came extraordinarily late. True to his word, Todd tackled the task with gusto. Ethan was forced to admit, when there was actual work to be done, Todd was a model employee. It was just sheer boredom that tripped him up. Unfortunately, boredom was the one commodity they had in plenty at the store. Once the crates were squared away, the produce stocked, there was little else to be found, because as Ethan had predicted, only a few, meandering customers made their way into the store all day. Even fewer had bought anything. 

As evening began to fall, Ethan gradually found that even he was running out of mindless busywork for himself, and so, he began to fall back on entertaining Todd's inane chatter.

"Hey, bro!" Todd called from the front of the store. From where Ethan stood, crowded in the far corner, surrounded by crates of fruit, he could only just make out Todd's frame leaning languidly on the counter, a newspaper in hand. "Did you read this story? The one in the paper today?"

"You mean that paper we're supposed to be selling?" Ethan sighed.

"Yeah, whatever dude, listen up. Apparently there was a dragon attack in South Mills. Isn't that crazy?"

Ethan scowled. "A dragon? An actual like... wild dragon? I thought those were pretty rare."

"Yeah, I know right? I guess it's the first attack in like, five years or something," Todd paused, laying down the paper, "Hey... do you think something like that could happen here?" He added, in a tone far more hopeful than frightened.

"Here?" Ethan didn't even give the question a moment's consideration, "No way. That stuff happens out in the country, not in the middle of downtown. Not here."

"I dunno, could happen. Oh! like I heard from my cousin’s friend's sister, there was that place down on Pine St, that mom and pop diner? Anyhow, so I guess the health inspector was due to visit, and they were freaking out because they'd never make the grade, right? And then like, overnight, they get one of those... Uh, those little bastards... What're they called? Something like food... a muffin?"

"A Brownie," Ethan supplied wearily.

"Yeah! That's the thing! Anyhow, I guess one of those moves in, and suddenly the next morning their kitchen is totally clean and up to code! So see man, that kind of thing happens around here."

Ethan shook his head. "Don't hold your breath Todd. This place isn't exactly magical."

Ethan had always been vaguely aware of Magic, in the same way one could be vaguely aware that elephants existed. It was a part of life for some people, and sometimes interesting to hear about, but Ethan sure as hell didn't want it in his shop. A Green, he could almost hear his father saying, did not rely on Magic. Hard work, courage and love had their own magic, he would state, and it was all their family ever needed. Ethan held by this attitude dutifully... Not that anything remotely Magical had ever shown up at his door. Life at the shop had been blissfully routine for years, so much so that it was almost easy to forget that Magic even existed to begin with.

"Still, it'd be cool," Todd muttered.

Ethan smirked. "What, you want a dragon to come burn the shop down?" 

Todd heaved a sigh. "Well at least then I'd get weekends off..."

Ethan paused, a twinge of guilt running through him. "Look..." He began awkwardly, "I'm... I'm really sorry you've had to work so much lately. It's just, you know, money's tight... I can't really afford to hire..." 

"Bro," Todd cut in with a laugh, "Shut the fuck up man. I don't care. I didn't really mean what I said, you know that."

"I... Yeah," Ethan sighed, "I just... Feel bad."

"You always feel bad. Constantly. You're like a little rain cloud of pure downer. Come on, bro, don't take me so seriously. I don't." 

"Yeah okay. Just, I don't wanna be that boss, y'know?"

"You aren't dude. Calm down. Sweep or something, that'll cheer you up." 

"Great advice. Thanks, Todd." Ethan shot back sarcastically.

"Anytime." Todd replied with cheerful sincerity.

Aggravatingly, as closing hour neared, Ethan really was still sweeping. 

There was no real aim. He just skated his broom around the shop, letting his mind wander, trying to keep visions of red ink and out of business signs out of his head. He was startled out of these thoughts however, by a sharp jab to the back.

"Ow! F-Fudge!" He muttered.

He heard Todd creak on his stool. "The spinning wheel?" He drawled lazily.

Ethan wheeled to eye the contraption in question. "Yeah, the stupid thing."

"Goddamn, that's got to be the fifth time this week. You'd think you'd steer clear of that thing by now.”

"You'd think..." Ethan muttered darkly.

He hated that spinning wheel. Hated it. Nearly every day of his life he'd had to dodge its spindle, jutting out into the aisles, taking up precious space. But his mother, and his grandmother, and her mother before that had been enamored with it. Made the place look rustic, they'd said, homey. Made it a death trap, Ethan thought murderously to himself. But still, he couldn't bring himself to remove it. It was a part of the shop. Tradition. 

He was still rubbing his sore back when the smell met his nose. He felt his stomach sink. Rotten fruit. Again. Just what he needed.

Striding over to the produce, he bent over the bin of peaches and poked at them experimentally. Their flesh gave way, revealing their slick, browning insides, releasing that same putrid odor. Ethan suppressed a groan of frustration.

"Todd!" He called.

"Yeah, what?"

"Did you forget to swap out yesterday's peaches?"

Todd poked his head down the aisle, scowling. "No man. I restocked those today, my own two hands."

"They're friggin' rotten again!" 

"Again? That's weird. They looked okay when I stocked them, I guess," Todd shrugged.

"Well, they're garbage now," Ethan sighed.

Grumbling, Ethan seized a trash bag and set about the unenviable task of discarding the moldering peaches. He was so consumed by his frustration that he didn't even hear the bell tinkling on the front door. After a few minutes though, he couldn't help but notice Todd's frantic attempts to get his attention from behind the counter.

"Bro!" Todd hissed, "Bro c'mere! C'mere c'mere!"

Ethan wasn't sure why Todd was bothering to whisper, considering that he was also windmilling his arms enthusiastically. With a sigh, Ethan set down his bag and wandered over.

"What is it, Todd?" He asked wearily.

"Check it, bro. Unbelievable," Todd breathed, gesturing down the central aisle.

Ethan followed his gaze. It was a girl. That was unsurprising. Todd never hesitated to point out a shapely looking lady or two, with just as much finesse as he was doing now. Ethan usually didn't humor these gawking sessions, a little too respectful and very much too terrified to scope out women, but this time, he found he couldn't quite tear his eyes away.

She was beautiful. Radiantly, impossibly beautiful. 

She was short, but not too short, perhaps a full head below Ethan. Her hair was cropped startlingly, boyishly close, but it was a color that Ethan, though a not poetic sort, could only describe as honey-gold. Though she wore loose, casual clothes; a t-shirt, jeans, a scarf hanging about her neck, she bore them as if they were the finest regalia. 

She stood near the coolers, inspecting a drink, and as she moved Ethan found himself taking in even the tiniest aspects of her delicate form. She had slender, perfect fingers. Rosy, cherubic, perfect lips. A pert, perfect nose. Indeed as Ethan stared, he began to realize that just about everything on her was perfect, in a very uniform, depthless kind of way. This idea suddenly changed his awe to unnerved fixation. There was something... uncanny about her.

If you'd asked a man to describe what a perfect woman looked like, aside from her haircut and clothes, they likely would have rattled off her exact attributes. There were no flaws, no quirks, nothing curious or odd on her body anywhere. Not a single freckle, beauty mark, scar, wrinkle. She was of perfect proportion, curvaceous, but not overly so. Her ears were cute ears, her brows were cute brows. Even before he caught sight of her eyes, he could predict their color, a pure brilliant sky blue. The entire effect was one of a lovely woman, to make no mistake, but something struck him as off. She seemed so... generically gorgeous. So... homogenized.

Still, she was a girl, and she was beautiful, and so Todd's next words brought a twist to Ethan's stomach.

"Go talk to her, bro."

Ethan whirled to face Todd. "What!?" He hissed.

"Yeah, dude, go talk to her! One of us has to! We can't let a babe like that walk out the door without saying something!"

"Yes we can! And why me!?"

Todd shrugged. "I know my limits dude. A girl like that? Wouldn't say two words to me. But you've got that whole kicked-puppy thing going on. Girls love that. Go talk to her."

"I... What?"

"Besides, you deserve a break. Maybe if you got a girlfriend you'd stop moping for once."

"I am not going to go over there and hit on her!" Ethan exclaimed, a little more loudly than he'd intended. He froze, panicked for a moment. Had she heard? He snuck a glance at her, but she was still staring impassively at her drink. He could have sworn he heard a snicker though.

"Relax dude. I didn't tell you to go ask her to marry you. Just say something to her."

"Like what!?" Ethan demanded quietly.

"I don't know man, like, "Hey, need help finding anything?" At the very least you gotta go help her out. It's good customer service."

Ethan paused. In a roundabout way, Todd was right. She was a customer, and so far all he'd done was stare at her. His parents would be mortified.

"Okay, well... yeah. I'm going to go help her. But I mean... Just because it's my job," He stammered.

"Sure bro. Good luck. I'll be here, thinking up baby names for you."

Ethan scowled and shook his head, but nonetheless gathered his courage and began to approach the mystery girl. He saw her gaze slant over to him, and it hit him like an electric shock. Suddenly Ethan became painfully aware of his every flaw, and imagined a few new ones for good measure. Was he walking funny? Did he always walk like that? How did walking work again?

His suddenly stilted gait carried him to her, and as she stared up at him expectantly, he remembered that now he was supposed to talk.

"Hhhh...." He began. It was supposed to be Hi, but the I had jumped ship somewhere between his brain and his lungs. "So, can I... find... anything?"

Somewhere, in the back of his skull, a cruelly rational part of him began dissecting his sentence, and concluded that it was at least missing a verb and a pronoun. It decided that the obvious remedy to this problem was to make him blush furiously. The girl bit her lip. Ethan wasn't sure what this was supposed to mean, but he had a suspicion it meant something, in the mystic language of girl. 

"Uh, yeah, no, I'm just looking at the sodas," She replied with a fluttering smile.

She had a soft, lilting voice. The kind you expected to hear raised in song. Just listening to it Ethan had the impression that pan flutes and violins were on standby.

"Oh. Okay. Sodas are... good," Ethan murmured. He could hear Todd's hand hit his forehead all the way from the front of the store.

"Yeah, uh... right. So..." The girl murmured back awkwardly.

"So..." Was all Ethan could manage to reply.

He knew this was his cue to walk away. But he just... couldn't. It was as if something intoxicating was radiating off this girl, like a perfume. It fixed him to his place, denying him the dignity of a hasty retreat. He was struggling for some kind of rational explanation for this when the girl cleared her throat.

"Look," She began. Her lyrical voice had taken on a wearied, flat tone, to very odd effect. "I'm sorry. This isn't your fault."

"Wait, what's not my fault?" 

"The awkwardness."

Her bluntness was surprising, but somehow Ethan found himself laughing. "Oh. No. I'm pretty sure it's all my fault. It's kind of what I do."

The girl laughed in return, and it sounded like bells. "No, seriously though. I have this effect on everyone. It's not just you."

Ethan's mouth beat his brain. "Well, yeah, because you're gorgeous."

From the front came the distinct noise of Todd falling off his chair.

To his relief and bewilderment, she laughed again. "Uh huh. I know. It's kind of part and parcel of the whole gig. I'm, uh... Well see, I'm a Princess."

Ethan blinked. Even as his mouth was saying, "What?" His mind was quickly putting the pieces together. It made sense, actually.

Up to now, Ethan had only seen Princesses on the television, generally being paraded as some kind of prize in reality shows. The formula was always the same, a few handsome Princes, some perilous trials, and in the end, a happily ever after, or so the tabloids purported. The Princess in question had always stuck Ethan as more of a prop than a person, bubbly, vacuous, grinning glossily as men risked life and limb in the pursuit of their hands, cooing breathlessly as they were carried away into the sunset like hunted pelts on the back of some ridiculous horse. And they all looked the same. A minor variation in hair or skin color, height, features, but nearly always the same, tame, brand name beautiful. Looking at this girl now, he realized that she fit the same mold perfectly, as though she'd been crafted on the same assembly line.

At any rate, Princesses, like Magic, were something that didn't happen to Ethan Green. So despite instantly believing her confession, it took a few moments for the gears in his head to restart.

"Yeah, so, I guess it's normal that you're... y'know, staring and everything," She muttered, "It's okay. Well actually it's not okay, I mean, it's kind of a pain in the ass, but it's not like you're the only one." 

Ethan shook his head. "I... I'm sorry. I just... Why are you in my shop!?" He blurted.

The Princess regarded him frostily, a strange expression on her angelic face. "Excuse me?"

"No! No no, I didn't mean that like, 'Get out of my shop or anything' it's just that... Aren't you guys usually-?" 

Her expression only darkened, her long fingers gripping the top of her soda viciously. "Aren't we usually what? Fawning out windows, waiting for our Prince to come? Embroidering our wedding gowns? What are you saying, 'Shouldn't you be in your tower?!'" 

"No! No, jeez, no," Ethan cried, holding his hands up placatingly, "I just... You're here, doing... Normal people stuff. I mean, Princesses aren't... Normal."

Somehow, he knew it was the wrong thing the moment he said it. Still, he didn't expect the tears that sprang up in her eyes.

"No. We're not. Thanks for reminding me." She seethed. Roughly, she jammed the soda back into the cooler, and wheeled around. Ethan expected her to storm off, but instead she froze.

"Miss? Please Miss... Uh, or your highness, or... whatever. I'm sorry." Ethan stammered out.

She didn't turn, didn't move. 

"Miss? Are you alright?" 

He walked as close as he dared to her. She was still fixed in place, and as Ethan watched her, he could see she was barely breathing. Baffled, he followed her gaze. She was staring, wide eyed, unblinking, at the spinning wheel.

She let out a small, defeated breath. Spoke only two words.

"Oh, fuck."

Then, moving like a woman possessed, she stepped forward, stretched out a hand, and pricked her finger on the spindle.

Then dropped like a sack of rocks.

Chapter 2

Ethan gaped for a second, staring at her sprawled body, stepping away from it like it was toxic. It took him a few seconds to find his voice. It took him longer to form actual words.

"Oh fu- Oh sh- Oh God. Oh god oh man. Ohhhhhh god oh man oh god..."

"Bro?" Came Todd's voice tentatively from the front.

"TODD!" 

"Whoa, Bro, what!?" Todd called, scrambling out from behind the counter. 

"TODD!" Ethan cried again, pointing to her prone body.

"OH SHIT!" Todd yelped, jumping back. "WHAT THE FUCK, BRO!? I told you to talk to her, not club her like a fucking seal!"

"I didn't! I was talking to her, and then she flipped out, and then she... died?"

"OH FUCK, IS SHE DEAD!?" Todd roared.

"I DON'T KNOW! I don't know! I don't know, I just... SEE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I TALK TO GIRLS!"

Todd let out a small burst of hysterical laughter. "Oh shit, Bro, you're a real lady killer."

"NOT FUNNY!" 

"Okay. Okay, just chill, just... Just chill," Todd took a deep breath, ran his hands through his crop of hair, "Okay. First aid right? Do we check her pulse, or... CPR? Mouth to mouth?" He offered vaguely.

"I wouldn't recommend that." Came a dry voice from behind them. 

Both of them jumped. Todd let out what could only accurately be described as a squeal. 

Whirling, Ethan came face to face with the most bizarre looking woman he'd ever seen in his life.

She wasn't quite young, but she wasn't quite old either. Something about her eyes suggested a certain august maturity, but her face had a glossy, flawless quality to it, not unlike the Princess. Her hair was a faint lavender, pulled into a rather intricate bun at the crown of her head. In truth, everything about her was lavender, from her severe, sensible pumps to her glittering, wire rim spectacles. She even seemed to emanate a nearly imperceptible lavender aura. Her clothes smacked of the same sickly hue. Ethan was just a bit at a loss for how to describe them though.

It looked like a pantsuit, tailored by someone given only the barest description of what that entailed, and with a fanciful imagination. Flairs and curlicues and embroideries plagued the thing. Ethan absently made out that her buttons were in fact twee little violet butterflies. 

And then of course, there were the wings. Gossamer, gaudy affairs, in the same precise shade of Lavender. They reached above her head, and came to an almost menacing hooked peak. They swallow-tailed beneath her, trailing just above the ground.

Ethan absorbed all of this in just a few stunned seconds. Sheer panic made him a studious observer. As the shock wore off, he felt Todd, gripping his arm so hard he was losing sensation.

"Whathafuckisthat?" Todd squeaked.

The woman... person... thing, straightened her glasses and scowled. 

"My name is Louise. I'm your Godperson attendant for this juncture," She answered. Her voice was somewhere in a bland, middle range, sterile and professional, the type of voice one chose for answering machine menus.

"Our what?" Ethan breathed.

"Here, take my card." She twiddled her fingers and in a blink of an eye a small card appeared in her hand, lavender of course. As Ethan took it, he noted absently that it gave off a strange, nauseatingly sweet smell.

"Wherethafuckyoucomefrom?" Todd cut in again.

"I teleported. Standard procedure. Much more efficient than flying," She stated as if this were self-evident, "Now, before we continue chatting, I have to observe protocol," She cleared her throat, staring Ethan square in the face. Her eyes were god damn lavender colored, "We have received notice that on these premises, a Princess has succumbed to a Curse, and as such as initiated her Trial Phase."

She had a remarkable ability for pronouncing capital letters. Everything was said with an inflection of slight annoyance.

"Uh, Miss Godperson... Louise. Ma'am. May I ask a few questions?" Ethan ventured, struggling to tread water.

"By all means."

"Okay. So. Princess?" 

"Her." Louise replied flatly, pointing to the girl sprawled on the floor.

"Okay... Curse?"

"The Spinning Wheel's Spindle. A rather old fashioned method. Usually avoided nowadays, the whole Coma business can put Princes off rather a bit, but it was deemed... Necessary in her case. Nonetheless, it was rather hard to trigger. I have to say I'm grateful for your assistance in that matter."

"Assist? I didn't push her into the thing!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Of course not. It would have drawn her in the moment she saw it. All the same, I'm glad you have one lying around. They're hard to come by."

"I... Yeah, sure... Anyhow. Uh... Trial Phase?"

"Ah, now here is where we really talk business. Are you the owner of these premises?" She demanded, fixing Ethan with a piercing gaze.

For a moment, Ethan almost said no. Some part of him still knew it as his parents' house. Their shop. Their home. But no, it was only his now.

"Yes. Yes I'm the owner," He nodded.

"Well then, as such, you are required, by code, to permit the use of these premises for use in the Princess' trials, and house her person until such a time as the trials are complete and a suitable Prince has awoken her."

"Waitwaitwait," Todd chimed in, "Trials? Like... Those crazy fuckin' things we see on TV? Riding up glass hills, and slaying dragons and shit?"

Louise looked at Todd as one might regard a diseased dog. "Yes, sir. Those sorts of trials. It's customary, once a Princess enters her Trial Phase, for Princes to compete for her hand. The onus of hosting these trials always falls on the owner of the-"

"Premises the Princess conks out on," Ethan surmised.

"In the cases of Magically Induced Comas, yes," Louise agreed.

"So you're going to roost a dragon in my SHOP!?" Ethan roared.

"There's no need to become excitable," Louise huffed, "Any and all damages you suffer will be compensated for. Honestly, most people are delighted to host Trials. It can be quite lucrative, you know."

"Lucrative?" Todd mumbled.

"Indeed. If you so choose, many Media outlets are happy to televise the proceedings, and pay a handsome fee for the privilege."

"No," Ethan replied firmly.

"Are you sure? It's quite routine nowadays," Louise replied airily.

"No. No media, no money, no... No trials! I don't want this! Take the girl but leave me alone!" He cried.

A look of frosty severity crossed Louise's face, momentarily contorting it into something that appeared not entirely human. Both he and Todd backed up a step. "You Don't Have A Choice Mr. Green," She intoned, every capital crisp.

"But... But this is my shop! It's my family's shop, it's been ours for generations!" Ethan protested.

"From the minute that girl fainted on your floor, for all intents and purposes, this shop became property of Fate, Mr. Green," Louise insisted.

"You can't..."

"I can. I will. You have very little choice in the matter. What choice you do have, I suggest you exercise wisely." She put firmly. Ethan felt the argument close like a pair of iron doors. "Now, as I said, you can still make a fine profit from this venture-"

"No, I still stand by what I said. No cameras." Ethan pressed. She was right. If this was the only choice he had, he was going to make the proper one. The Greens did not indulge in spectacle. The Greens didn't caper for money. The Greens did not seek fame. These were truths Ethan understood as firmly as his own name.

"Suit yourself," Louise dismissed, "It's not required. All that is required is that you don't impede the process. Do what you like with the Princess' body. Whatever is most convenient. I warn you though, lest you get visions of glory, that kissing her would be ill advised. Or any other kind of... miscreancy with her body, but kissing will have the most adverse effects."

"I... What!? No! God no! I'm not kissing a girl in a coma!" Ethan exclaimed. 

"Fuckin' right! That's creepy as balls!" Todd nodded.

"Good. See to it you maintain that attitude and I think we'll have a very amicable partnership." Louise declared cordially.

Ethan was less than reassured. He looked around his shop and fervently began to wish he really had told the Princess to get the hell out, customer service be damned.

"Oh cheer up," Louise pronounced. She sported something that it took several seconds for Ethan to realize was supposed to be a smile. "You're about to be aiding in the pursuit of True Love." 

She pronounced the last two words in such a fashion that Ethan almost saw the letters TM floating after them.

"I... Okay?"

"Don't worry, dear," The endearment came off more than a little scripted, "I'll take care of the particulars. All you have to do is sit back and stay out of the way. Who knows, you may even find it entertaining."

"I... But... Okay?"

"Good lad. Now then. I have a lot of business to attend to. We must get cracking as soon as possible, very eager to wrap this case up. That being said, how does tomorrow night, around nine o'clock fetch you?"

"For what?" Ethan asked numbly. 

"Well the trial of course!" Louise exclaimed, "Honestly, do keep up."

"Uh, well, it is after close," Ethan reasoned lamely.

"Lovely. Works for both of us. Good to see you're becoming more agreeable." Louise flashed another dubious smile. 

"I... Yeah, no problem," Ethan replied dazedly.

"Well, if that's all that sorted, I'll be on my way. You can expect the Dragon sometime around Eight, I expect."

"The... wait, what, seriously!?" Ethan exclaimed.

"Good day!" Louise replied brightly. There was a slight flash, a small sound like rushing air, and then she was gone.

He and Todd stood stock still for what must have been minutes. When Todd finally released his grip on Ethan's arm, he left sweaty fingerprints on his shirt.

"Dragon," Ethan muttered absently, "She said Dragon."

"And you said this shit doesn't happen here!" Todd replied with a faint laugh.

"Why Dragons? Why here? Why... Why me?" Ethan whispered. He looked to Todd frantically. "Did I like, murder someone and forget about it? Kick some kittens? How did my luck get this bad!?" 

"Well, you did get this chick zonked," Todd chuckled, prodding the girl with his foot.

"Don't kick her! God, what do we do with her? We can't just leave her here," Ethan moaned. Looking at her, sprawled on the hard floor, he already felt a bit guilty he'd ignored her as long as he had. 

"We could prop her up in the corner, tape her eyes open, scare the shit out of shoplifters."

"Todd!"

"Alright, dude, just kidding."

"It'll have to be the couch I guess," Ethan sighed, "Come on, help me move her."

Awkwardly, Ethan bent and slipped his hands under her arms, and Todd obligingly gathered up her legs. Lifting her, Ethan found she was actually rather light. He guessed that Todd could have lifted her on his own, but it would have hurt his pride to admit he himself likely couldn't. Together, they shuffled her into the living room. 

"She's not really breathing, Eh?" Todd ventured quietly.

Ethan had noticed the same thing. She looked still as death, but her skin was warm, her face rosy. "Yeah... It's creepy," He grunted as he struggled.

"Fuckin' creepy," Todd echoed.

Gesturing with his head, Ethan guided Todd over to the low, green couch set flush against the stairwell. "I don't know if her heart's beating either," He said as they laid her down.

Todd looked down at her, shook his head. "Nope. Nope I don't think it is."

Ethan shuddered. "So creepy."

Todd nodded, then considered a moment more. "Hey so... Hopefully that means she doesn't have to pee, right?" 

"Oh jeez. Oh wow that's gross but, yeah."

"Or eat. Or drink or anything..."

"God, where is that stupid Fairy Godperson when you need her?" Ethan hissed.

"More like Fairy Godbitch. What a cu-"

"Todd!"

"Country fried fool, as my grandma used to say," Todd recovered. 

Ethan shot him a smirk, but looking down at the stranger on his couch, he began to get the sensation that he was sliding down a very steep ravine. In actuality, it was a feeling he'd had for a very long time now, but the pace of his descent had gotten markedly faster.

"Bro? You okay?" Todd ventured quietly.

Ethan looked up, aware he'd been staring into space. "Yeah… I mean, well no, but yeah."

"I hear you. Weird fuckin' day, right?"

"Yeah, no kidding," Ethan laughed softly.

They fell into silence again for a minute. Todd seemed to become aware of his surroundings all of a sudden. 

"Hey. I just realized. I haven't been back here in like, years. Man, nothing's changed," He remarked.

"Yeah," Ethan replied vaguely. He knew Todd hadn't. No one had, except for a few well-wishing aunts, uncles, cousins, but even they'd stopped visiting months ago. The Princess was the first person to make use of the couch in ages. It always felt too big to sit on alone.

"So what now man?" Todd asked hesitantly.

Ethan shrugged. "I guess... We just close up. Go to bed, right?"

"That's it? You sure I can't do anything else?" 

"No. Wait, yeah," Ethan considered, "Can you... Can you get rid of that stupid spinning wheel for me? Just wrap it in a tarp and stick it in storage or something?"

Todd gaped openly, "Wait, for real?"

Ethan nodded wearily, "Uh, yeah. If it's not too much trouble."

"Hell no! I'd cart that fucking thing to an active volcano if you asked me, bro! But, I mean, I thought you wanted to keep it around. Because of... You know..."

Ethan knew. Some part of it felt like a betrayal, even thinking about discarding it. It was a piece of his memories, something his mother had been fond of… But he HATED it. The thing had stretched his tolerance just by hulking in the corner, but now it seemed it was actively trying to spite him. No more. It had to go.

"Yeah, Todd. I knew I said we should keep it around but... Well that's before I knew the thing was a friggin' Princess trap.," He laughed.

Todd chuckled in return. "It was like a freaking predator man! Waitin' for nubile young Princesses to wander into its clutches. It was probably practicing on you all these years."

"I don't look like a Princess," Ethan pouted.

"Sure, whatever you say, bro." Todd laughed. Turning, he strode on his heel, whistling cheerfully.

Chapter 3

The store closed and the spinning wheel properly squared away, Todd left, and Ethan found himself alone in his silent house. 

Well not quite alone. 

Standing in the living room, he caught himself staring at the Princess again. It was embarrassing, but in truth it was hard not to. Not because of her extraordinary beauty, though that was a factor, but because Ethan couldn't shake the eerie, unnatural sensation she engendered in him. His eyes fixed on her hair. It seemed... Longer somehow. He could have sworn it was just an inch when she'd walked in, but now it seemed long enough to brush her earlobes. That was impossible right? 

Confounded, he let it go. He'd already been through at least four or five things he thought impossible today. What was a few extra inches of hair compared to a half-dead girl on your couch?

Wearily, he fixed himself a haphazard supper before wandering off to his bed. Slowly, he went through his morning ritual in reverse, struggling with the knot on his apron, shuffling off his shoes, combing his hair, culminating with a brief, despondent look in the mirror. Finally, he threw himself down on his bed.

Ethan's nerves were frazzled, his mind racing, but the benefit of a long day of hard work was that it was nearly impossible to suffer insomnia. Ethan had never once in his life had trouble falling asleep, and tonight was no exception.

It began the same way.

He glided into the living room, drenched with light, radiant, warm.

He headed for the doorway, eager, hopeful.

He heard their voices. Thunder and birdsong. So close and so familiar it made his heart bleed.

He reached out a hand for the doorknob and...

Suddenly, discordantly, the door flew open. A small figure pushed its way through it, walking so briskly they bumped into Ethan's chest, giving a small squeak of surprise. Baffled, Ethan looked down.

It was her.

The Princess, in all her uncanny glory. She stared up at him with her vivid blue eyes, her honey hair cropped short over her brow. Ethan stared, open mouthed at her for a long minute, his bleary mind scrabbling to understand.

"Y-you!?" He exclaimed at length.

The girl scowled up at him. Roughly, she pushed him backwards a few steps, shutting the door behind her. "Hey, douche," She replied scathingly.

Ethan tried once or twice to speak, but words wouldn't come. He grasped at his hair, frustration, panic, confusion all battling in his chest. 

"What are you doing here!?" He cried, when his voice finally decided to show up.

She shrugged, avoiding his eyes.  "I got bored I guess. Saw this was open. Decided to snoop." 

"But... What!? How are you here, you... you're unconscious on my couch!" 

The girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Which is why I'm stranded in fucking dreamland, isn't it?"

"D-Dreamland?"

"Limbo, purgatory, the veil, whatever you want to call it. I got bored cruising around in the dark, figured I'd come crash this dream. I didn't know it was yours," She said with a note of disgust.

"A... a dream," Ethan murmured dazedly.

Suddenly, he heard it again, the bass rumble of his father's laugh. It drew him like a magnet. Instinctively, he tried to shift around the girl, but she noticed his maneuver and leaned against the door, arms crossed.

"Move," Ethan demanded.

"Yeah, I'm not done talking to you," The girl snorted.

Ethan began to feel frantic. "You need to move."

"Why?"

"Because I need to be out there! Move!"

"You don't need to be anywhere, it's a dream," She dismissed with another roll of her eyes.

"Move!"

"So have you tried to kiss me yet?" The girl replied, her voice casual, but her glance cutting.

Ethan paused, becoming aware that his breathing was galloping away from him. "W-What?"

"Well, you were hitting on me before. I figured you probably tried to get lucky right?"

Ethan could feel himself flush scarlet, though from indignation or humiliation he didn't know. "I was NOT hitting on you, I was... offering assistance. And no, I don't kiss girls in comas, but y'know, thanks for assuming!"

"Oh, seriously! You expect me to believe you didn't try to cop a feel!" The girl shot back. There was a ragged edge to her voice, something verging on tears, but Ethan barely noticed through his rage.

"No! Jesus, no!" He shouted, throwing up his hands.

"I know how it is! You get a pretty Princess in your shop, she passes out, is totally at your mercy. Figured I was public property anyhow!? Thought it was your lucky day!?"

Even high and screaming her voice was aggravatingly lovely. Her flushed face and teary eyes were still picturesquely perfect. It only threw fuel on Ethan's anger.

"LUCKY!?" He roared. A few tight, hysterical laughs bubbled out of his chest. "LUCKY!? You think it's LUCKY when a stranger passes out in your store!? You think it's LUCKY when some psychopathic fairy-lawyer from hell tells you she can do whatever she likes with your home!? You think it's LUCKY when... when everything you love could be burned to the ground tomorrow!? Is THAT your idea of LUCKY!?" Ethan buried his face in his hands, and took a few, sharp breaths before continuing. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for you, or your curse, or any of this... So just... God, will you please just leave me alone and get out of the way?" 

He looked at her face for the first time since he'd begun his tirade. She stared back, wide eyed, lips pursed. Her bitterness was gone, but she still remained frozen in place.

"Why do you want to get back there so bad?" She asked in a small, blank voice. "It's just your storefront. It's barely even different from when I saw it."

Ethan's patience had dissolved. Roughly, he pushed her arm aside, grasped for the doorknob.

"I need to see them," He answered flatly.

"See who?" She still stood stubbornly in the way. Ethan turned the knob, tried to prop it open. 

"My parents," Ethan continued, an edge of desperation entering his voice.

"But it's just a dream-" 

"I need to see them before they disappear!" Ethan cried, wrenching at the door.

He heard the girl give a small gasp, and suddenly she sprang away from the door. Ethan flung it open, heart beating wild with anticipation, but...

There was nothing.

The doorway opened into darkness. A complete and unending void.

"I... What... What happened?" Ethan whispered.

He reached out a tentative hand, pawed at the abyss beyond. He felt only dry, empty cold meeting his touch.

"They... They're gone. It's gone. Everything's gone," He intoned.

"It's just a dream," Came the girl's voice, meek, soft. 

"They're gone," Ethan repeated, choking over the last syllable.

Ethan slowly backed away from the door, shut it. The endless blackness was more than he could bear. He felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and shakily raised his hand to cover them. He stood in silence for what must have been a very long time, grappling with the void that swelled inside him, the echo to that dark and empty doorway.

"They aren't gone forever," The girl chimed in.

Ethan took a quick, gulping breath. "Yeah. Yeah they are," He replied thickly. 

The girl didn't reply, but her silence was answer enough.

There was another long pause, as Ethan tried to collect himself, tried to just breathe. Eventually though, he couldn't ignore the feel of the girl's eyes on him. Wearily, he straightened up, turned to face her.

"What do you-" 

"I'm sorry!" She blurted.

Ethan blinked.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry!" She cried. Perfect, crystalline tears began to roll down her cheeks, and Ethan dimly considered that it was almost unfair how prettily flushed her face was, compared to his doubtlessly blotchy, red eyed one. "I'm sorry about your house and your shop, and your parents... I'm sorry I was such a fucking bitch back there... I just... Oh god, I'm really, really sorry about everything!" She sobbed.

Ethan found himself in the odd position of immediately feeling guilty. Instantly all his rage and pain were forgotten as he scrambled for a way to make things right.

"Hey, no, it's okay. It's alright. I, uh... I don't mind." He stammered.

She gave a small, tinkling laugh, between gasping breaths. "You don't mind? I've fucked up your life!" She exclaimed.

"No, I mean... Kind of. But it's not your fault, and I mean... I'm sorry?"

She gave another, louder laugh. "You're sorry? Wow, Jesus, why on earth are you sorry?"

Ethan paused, trying to puzzle out an answer, brow furrowed.

"Uh, I'm sorry... that you're sorry?" He ventured.

The girl laughed again, and suddenly, like sun peeking out from behind clouds, something new, something genuine slipped out. Her laugh started musically, but a surprising, brash note snuck in, and then a small snort. It was jarring, but oddly refreshing. Ethan found himself smiling without exactly knowing why.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh at you." She began, misinterpreting Ethan's curious stare, "It's just... You really don't like crying people, do you?" 

Ethan returned with a laugh of his own. "No, they kind of freak me out." 

The girl smiled, and sniffling, began to swipe away her tears. "Sorry. I just... I really am sorry. About everything."

"Noted," Ethan replied with a smile.

She sighed, and the two of them regarded each other for a suddenly painfully awkward minute. Ethan cast about for what one said to a half-dead dream Princess. A question leapt into his head and he couldn't stop himself from asking it.

"Do you eat?" He blurted.

"What?" The girl looked up at him, smiling bemusedly.

"I mean, like... If you don't eat, in the real world, will you die? I should have asked the fairy god-lady or whatever but-"

"Oh. Oh no. I don't. I don't need water or anything. It's like... Magic stasis? I should be fine." 

"Oh, okay, thank god. That... that would have been weird."

They both paused for a moment, no doubt musing over the undignified scenario of trying to feed a passed-out stranger. Ethan tried to push it out of his mind. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well anyhow, uh, your body is good - I mean it's okay! It's fine. It's uh, on my couch," He supplied.

"Oh, yeah, thanks. That's nice," The girl replied hurriedly, "One of... one of these?" She queried, pointing around the room.

"What? Oh! Yeah... uh, that one." Ethan answered, gesturing.

"Huh." The girl crossed over to the couch in question. Stiffly, she sat, bounced on it a few times. "Seems comfy enough. Thanks," She added with a smile.

"Yeah, no problem," Ethan smiled back nervously. Hesitant, but feeling gawky standing over her, he crossed to the couch and sat as well, taking care to seat himself on the far opposite side. "I mean. It's not exactly... uh... fit for a Princess or anything," He muttered.

The girl gave a loud snort of derision, another strange, fascinating slip of her veneer. "I would sleep on the lumpiest couches on earth if I could stop being a fucking Princess."

Ethan smiled at her nervously. "What, seriously?"

The girl nodded, her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, seriously."

"But I mean... I thought being a Princess was every girl's dream?"

The girl gave a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, for some girls it must be. I've seen ones that seem happy enough. I mean, money, fame, a handsome husband... It sounds pretty great. Maybe I'm weird for thinking it's not, but... Jesus, it's not." 

"What do you mean?" 

"What do I mean!? I mean it's... It's... It's a trap, you know? It's a perversion, it's a violation, it's... It's a fucking nightmare."

"A violation?" Ethan gulped.

The girl nodded vigorously. "Yeah, you have no idea. I mean... Where do I start?" She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, and seemed to be struck with inspiration. "Okay," She said, holding them up, "First of all. This isn't me."

"Oooo...kay?" 

"This, all this," She pressed, circling her finger around her face, "This isn't what I look like. I was made to look like this."

"How do you mean... you used to look different?"

The girl nodded. "My mom tells me that when I was born, I looked like her. I had freckles, and a bigger mouth, and a different nose... But then the fucking godpeople came." She sighed.

"The fairy ones?"

"Yeah, those ones. So... Okay, you know how Princesses used to be a monarchy thing?" She enquired.

"Uh, yeah, vaguely," Ethan nodded.

"Well now it's just a random thing. Maybe because of the march of democracy or something, I don't know. All I do know, is that one day, a few months after you're born, fairy godparents just zap themselves into your fucking nursery and decide you're a Prince or a Princess. There's nothing your parents can do, nothing anybody can do, they just decide it, and that's that."

"So... just for giggles? Why do they pick who they pick?" 

"I don't know. I think they have some reasoning behind it... I mean, they're like magical lawyers, you're right, they've got all these rules and regulations, they've got to have a reason, but... I don't know. Anyhow. So they decide you're a Princess and then you get blessed."

"Blessed?"

"Uh huh. You get some kind of special gift. Three of them usually. So Princes get stuff like Courage, or Strength, or Dashing, or something like that. With Princesses though, it's junk like Grace, or Poise, or Good Posture."

"That last one sounds annoying," Ethan observed.

"I know, right? At least I didn't get saddled with that one," She laughed, gesturing at her slumped frame, "And of course they're never anything useful. I could be happy with, like, Good at Math, or Tells Good Jokes or... I dunno... Remembers Birthdays Really Well."

"Talented Beekeeper," Ethan offered. 

Another laugh, another slipped note. Ethan smiled.

"Yeah, why not? Anything like that. But no. Useless bullshit. And then with Princesses, one of the gifts is always Beauty." She sighed bitterly.

"Seems kinda... subjective," Ethan muttered. 

"Yeah, well not to the Godparents, apparently. When a girl is gifted with Beauty, she doesn't just become a prettier version of herself, or just stays the same and everyone thinks she's beautiful... She actually physically changes. I changed. I used to look different. I used to look like my mom. Now... Now I don't know how I really look anymore. I just look like what the Godparents think is beautiful. Like... like the most baseline kind of beauty they could come up with."

"Wait... So your face-" 

"Not my face. Not my original one at least."

"And your eyes?" 

"Not blue. Mom thinks they might have been Hazel... I don't know." She shrugged defeatedly.

"Oh man, that's a relief!" Ethan blurted.

The girl looked at him, startled. "A relief?"

"Well, yeah, I mean..." Ethan stammered, "I just... There was something odd about you, and it was kinda freaking me out - Not that you're freaky, it's just... You looked... Uh, a little... off?"

She stared at Ethan, face unreadable. "You don't like the way I look?" She asked flatly.

"Yes! I mean no - well wait not no, but..." Ethan could almost hear the sound of a shovel pitching dirt out of his grave.

"It's okay, seriously, do you?"

Ethan gave a small, high laugh. "Uh... Well, I mean yeah, you look pretty... and everything... but it's kind of... Uh... boring? Oh wow, that came out wrong. Just not... Interesting. Wow, still wrong!" 

"No no, it's okay!" She replied. Ethan was flabbergasted to find her smiling.

"I-I like your hair though. The cut I mean," He offered.

"Oh," Her smile grew, "Thanks. I cut it myself. Every day."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. Turns out when they make you beautiful, they want you to stay beautiful, according to their standards. So, wounds don't scar, piercings fuse up, tattoo ink beads up and falls off. And your hair just grows and grows and fucking grows."

"Holy cow, that's weird," Ethan breathed. 

"Right!?" She exclaimed. "I once tried to put on purple lipstick and it melted in the tube! Doesn't do that with pink or light red. Such bullshit."

"So, you cut your hair and wear uh, Un-Princessey clothes because..."

"Because it's the only way I can be myself," She murmured quietly.

Ethan was silent for a moment. He looked at the beautiful face that wasn't hers and saw a sorrow beneath it that she seemed to own all too much.

"Jeez, that sounds... Bogus," He offered lamely.

She laughed. "Understatement of the year, but yeah. But I mean, that's not really the worst of it. Not by a longshot."

"Oh?" Ethan ventured.

"It's not enough to take your identity, they fucking own your life. From the moment you're Princessified, you belong to them. You don't get to choose where you live, where you go to school, what you want to do with your life. No, you're as good as a slave from that point on."

"Seriously?"

The girl nodded. "On your fourteenth birthday, right? The godparents show up, and give you a Curse. Something to begin your trials. Maybe you bite a bad apple, maybe you run into a vindictive goblin, maybe you drop candle wax on a bear..."

"What?"

"Don't ask. Anyhow, they give you this curse to hang over your head for the rest of your life. Once it gets activated, you're locked in. The contest for your hand starts, and congratulations, you've lost any control you had over your life. You're just fucking Prince bait from then on."

"Okay, wait, but... Why? I've been thinking this since you passed out on my floor... Why? Why bother, why all the trouble and magic and rules? Why marry off Princesses? What's the point?"

"I don't know. It seems insane, right? All this pageantry. They practically devote themselves to forcing this weird routine... Again, I mean... there's gotta be a reason. If you ask them they'll tell you it's all about True Love."

"Trademark," Ethan added absently.

"Oh my god, you got that too!?" The girl exclaimed. "It's like they own the patent on Tru Wuv or something. So fucking annoying. It's always True Love this, and True Love that. Which is bullshit. I mean, my parents met when they were in college. They both liked bad horror movies and jazz music. They traveled the world together on like, five bucks and a prayer. Dad proposed with a twist tie ring. That... That seems like True Love to me. I don't get any of that. I can't even date!"

"At all?" Ethan asked, very conscious of trying to sound casual.

"Nope. Do you know what happens if you try to kiss a Princess if you aren't a Prince?"

"No. I get the feeling it's ominous though." 

"You get turned into a frog. No fucking kidding. An actual frog. One of my childhood friends found that out the hard way, got an inch away from my lips and suddenly he's hopping. I cried for like, six days before the godparents showed up and changed him back." She'd begun to talk very fast, her face flushed. Ethan began to get the sensation that she'd forgotten she was even talking to anyone else. "If anyone tried to cop a feel, my clothes go all rigid. Like steel. No matter what I wear. They refuse to come off. For like, an hour. You know how hard that makes doctor's visits? Even though Princesses never really get sick... And even when I'm naked? Anyone who comes within eyeshot is left blind and paralyzed, and it doesn't wear off until I put clothes on!"

Ethan gulped, his face burning. "Uhhhh...."

"Because GOD FORBID anyone take my chastity! No! Gotta save that for our Princes! Gotta be pure, and demure, and fucking CHASTE. I'm twenty two years old dude, and I still haven't lost my...!"

She trailed off. Ethan heard her breath go out in a little dwindling squeak. He felt her eyes on the side of his head, but he stared devoutly at the floorboards.

They sat. They fidgeted. Ethan coughed twice.

Eventually, Ethan couldn't resist sneaking a look at her face. She looked embarrassed, yes. But also a little... Worn down. A little defeated. And more than a little scared.

"Hey," Ethan said quietly, breaking the silence, "I'm, uh... Sorry. About this. That all sounds really, really awful."

She looked up, a small smile tracing her face.

"I'm sorry about your hair," He continued, "And your life, and, uh, you know... your chastity." He finished with a slight break of his voice.

She burst into giggles, and Ethan was strangely delighted to hear her little snort crop up again. He found himself grinning.

"Thanks." She replied once she'd caught her breath. "And I'm sorry too. About all the stupid shit I said, and your shop, and all the trouble I've caused," She paused, looked towards the door, "And, um... Sorry about your parents."

Ethan's smile disappeared. "Why are you sorry about that? You didn't even know them."

"Yeah, but I mean... They're gone, right?" She asked quietly.

Ethan closed his eyes. Nodded.

"And that sucks, right?"

He nodded again.

"So... I'm sorry. And I'm really sorry I stopped you from seeing them," She added, her voice heavy with sincerity.

Ethan gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry about it. It's just a dream, right?"

Another moment's silence. This time broken by the girl.

"Hey. What's your name?"

Ethan looked up, smiled wryly. "Oh. I'm Ethan. Ethan Green."

The girl smirked, a strangely incongruent expression on a Princess's face. 

"Green? You own a Grocer's and your name is-?"

"Yeah yeah, hilarious right? Trust me, you haven't said anything my friend hasn't already. Repeatedly," Ethan replied with a sigh.

"Sorry," She giggled, "Uh. Well, my name's Penny."

"Penny," Ethan repeated, trying it out, "Penny what?"

She blushed. "Uh, Pierce," She mumbled.

Ethan laughed. "So wait, you're-?"

"Princess Penny Pierce." She groaned.

"Oh wow." Ethan chuckled, "And you thought my name was funny?"

"Would you believe I knew a girl whose last name was Prince? The godpeople referred to her as Princess Prince. Confused the hell out of everyone."

Both she and Ethan began to laugh, and kept laughing for longer than was truly warranted for such a small comment. They'd start to calm down, and then glance at each other and be set off all over again. On some level, Ethan understood that this was because they'd both reached a point in their stress and strangeness where they could either laugh, or cry. Laughter just seemed like the more enjoyable option.

As Ethan's giggles subsided, he looked at Penny, and suddenly saw in her... a person.

He'd seen a Pretty Girl at first, and then a Princess, and then a Pain in the Ass, but now, she was just a Person, and like that, all his awkwardness dissolved. 

"Well," He smiled, extending a hand, "It's nice to meet you, Penny Pierce," He said, purposely omitting the Princess part.

She grinned back, and Ethan thought there was something fantastically crooked about it this time. "Yeah, nice to meet you too, Ethan Green," She replied sincerely.

She stretched out her hand to meet his. He felt her fingertips brush his palm.

And then everything was tangled blankets and screaming alarms.

[quibbs126]

*sigh* I don’t know. I don’t even really know why I’m posting this in the first place, I don’t really like it

I’d say what it is, but you can read what’s on the tin. I thought it’d be cool if I drew that g2 Optimus design, because I think it’s cool looking and Optimus might look good in black and red, and with pink eyes

This was my reference by the way

But no, I couldn’t figure out how to make him look right. I thought maybe I could try sketching him in another style, but no, that didn’t work either. But I finished the sketch and thought it looked halfway decent, but when I went to do lineart I realized it wasn’t. But halfway through lineart I just gave up and slapped it together, slapped some colors on him, wrote some stuff on the page, I guess to fill up the black spaces I know I wasn’t gonna fill with actual drawing, and now we’re here

It’s the fucking arms I tell you. I still don’t know how they’re supposed to work, and I don’t know how to pose them either. So they look like shit. But I can’t just not have them, so they have to be there

And I don’t really know what’s happening on the shoulders either, particularly the wheels. I know I made them too small but I don’t know how to make them look how they do on the toy either

I considered trying a more stylized art style since the 3D was fucking with me, but my brain couldn’t figure out how to do that either, so I’m stuck doing the same thing over and over again, drawing in circles and wondering why I’m not getting anywhere, while simultaneously being unable to figure out what I’m doing wrong

So now we’re here. It looks bad. The shoulder pentagons are too small. The face is too tall. The colors on the face are all wrong. The arm is all off anatomy wise. I forgot to color in the black on the back despite going in and adding lines for them. The grill’s off. The chest doors don’t look like doors the open up, they look stuck to the rest of him. He barely looks 3D because I’m bad at doing this

But I got far enough, and I knew that even I start over on a new canvas, I wouldn’t want to delete it by this point, so I might as well finish it instead of having it taunt me every time I see it. So here we are, as I’ve said multiple times

I really wish I was better at drawing Transformers. I should be at this rate, it’s been a couple months. But no, I don’t know how to improve and I keep staying with the same mediocre art, because I don’t seem to like trying. I do try, but it’s not improvement, it’s just me making the same mistakes over and over again. Like with arms and the joints

Why can’t I get better? Am I just not trying? I don’t know how to try better

I have thoughts I want to share with people because I think they’re neat, and I know any thoughts I do have will only gain traction and be seen if there’s art attached, at least here on tumblr, and because I am an artist, I have to try and draw them. Especially because I’m anti-social and a cheapskate, so I can’t ask someone I know who can draw Transformers good and I won’t commission anyone for it either. I’ll only get what I want if I do it. But I’m bad at doing it

So it’s either write it out and see some people like it, but it’ll only be for the next couple days before it gets forgotten and I too forget about it, and it’ll never do as good as if I did draw it, or draw it but not as good as it needs to be, so people won’t really care about it anyways. Because my flat drawings aren’t really good anyways, just mediocre, and I write too much on my drawings and go on tangents, meaning people probably aren’t gonna reblog it with their own thoughts on anything I said either

But this is just me being greedy anyways. No one’s entitled to give me their opinions, especially when I know my thoughts are stupid anyways. I don’t really know anything about Transformers, not like other people do, I’m just some casual person who just got here and should just go back to Cookie Run at this rate, but is stupid and keeps thinking that maybe she’ll get good at this and have opinions people actually care about

And don’t go on here telling me that I shouldn’t put so much emphasis on what other people think, so long as it makes me happy. It doesn’t work like that with me. Drawing the thing’s only half the fun for me, and sometimes that varies. The real fun comes from telling people about the thing I made, and the ideas I made for it, especially when they tell me what they think of it. If I draw something and nobody sees it, and I don’t tell anyone about it, what was the point of me drawing it? Even if I enjoyed it, heck when I do, I’m even more motivated to show it to people, because I’m proud of it, or that pride comes later when I see people really do like it. These things are intrinsically tied together for me, I can’t separate them

What’s even the point of all this? I’m just complaining at this rate about basically nothing, at least nothing to do with what I drew. But I don’t like what I drew. But I made it so I have to show it, at least to get a semblance of what I was going for out there. I’d like to think maybe if it did, someone better could get what I’m going for and do it better, and I can see it better, but no one ever does. I’m not good enough for that. Maybe some people did, but not anymore, I’ve grown too big for my britches. And also we’re not in the same fandoms anymore

And I write all this, but it feels almost performative. Like I’m putting on an act of frustration and disappointment and anger and whatever other emotions I can’t quantify right now. Because this’ll still be on the post. I’m still gonna post this. I’m still gonna diligently put my tags in it like any other post. Like I’m doing this for show. I’m not, but I’m making a deal of it publicly online, aren’t I? So I must be doing this for attention

*sigh* Well I suppose it’s my own fault

I’ll probably try to attempt this again some day, maybe even later today or tomorrow (actually probably not, I work tomorrow), because I never got out what I wanted, but I can’t figure it out right now and I’m too lazy to make it any better. So take this not very good quality art that I really shouldn’t even be posting, but hey, it’s content, isn’t it?

[strawberrystepmom]

ready to eat

pairing: Yami Sukehiro x F!Noble Reader

word count: 4.9k

contents: NSFW - minors and ageless blogs dni, I will hard block you. Takes place in canon universe, there is a slight age/experience difference insinuated between the pairing but reader is at least 25, reader has named magical ability (movement magic), so much banter, oral sex (f receiving and finishing and it's sexy)

cw: mentions of marriage and misogyny, virginity (reader is a virgin)

notes: brain rot has proven to be fatal so here you are. this is open ended and i would not consider it a oneshot bc i'd love to write more about these two. hope you enjoy! thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3, divider by @cafekitsune

you can find more about these two here, here, here and here 🖤

Nighttime is your time, a lesson you taught yourself independent of your instructors many years ago. 

Movement magic allows you the luxury of blending in with your scenery, rushing unseen toward a capital district that is on the opposite end of where your family has made their name. Nobody here would recognize you even if you were less discreet, cloak gathered around your face and obscuring any unidentifiable features, and the freedom is indescribable; better than every sunny day or freshly made tea dessert. 

You are free to be yourself. Unmarried, unattached, unimportant, it doesn’t matter. You stumble into the usual inn you make your domain until the sun rises, ready to watch the way people you have little in common with live. If anyone knew you’d get reprimanded, probably rightfully, though you have never quite understood the scandal that lies in being a well informed woman. Your mother was a gossip and isn’t that another way to become informed? 

It’s society's acceptable way, anyway.

You slink into the corner table, away from the crowd gathered nearer the bar, and slip your hood off of your face. No glances of recognition from anyone else, too engrossed in their own drinks and their own conversations, and you sink down against the back of the chair you’re sitting in. It’s nice to be anonymous, you decided months ago when you began doing this. You aren’t certain you want to continue being so inconspicuous when you remind yourself why you’ve been doing this to begin with - to gain even the slightest bit of the life experience that continues to elude you. To love and laugh and feel joy that you’ve been told only comes with marriage, something you are too apprehensive about committing to. 

It’s why you come namelessly into a district that does not belong to you or your kind. You hope that someone will find you interesting, a beaten path off their life’s track. Someone to laugh with or tell stories to. It’s all you’ve ever really wanted, a romantic to your core despite the decidedly unromantic life you lead. Caretaking, getting earfuls from your father about being a responsibility that the family no longer wants to have when taking your age and failed proposals into consideration. So lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice when a man slides into the chair next to you, glancing down at your hands and then at your face.

“You need to stop wearing whatever is making you smell like that.”

The interruption to your quiet evening makes you jump, no longer dissociating and now in the present. You recognize the man sitting next to you, a captain of a Magic Knights squad. Their faces are plastered all over the capital and you’re shocked that he stumbled into such a low brow establishment though getting a look at him up close convinces you that he may not be in the entirely wrong spot.

“Captain Sukehiro,” you offer politely, formal as ever. “I regret having to request clarification from a man as esteemed as yourself but what do you mean?”

The captain snorts, shaking his head in response to you as though your manners are piteous instead of a courtesy that should be extended to all. 

“Don’t call me that, Yami is fine.” He sniffs, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. “I’m talking about the shit you’re wearing that is filling every corner of this place. People don’t wear things that make them smell like bakeries around here.” 

Scrunching your nose, you lift your wrist to your nose for a sniff. He’s referencing the perfume you spritzed on after bathing and the way it sticks to you, the smell wafting around the table with every move you make. It hasn’t caught any eyes yet, thankfully, but he can see how this will end if you don’t correct your mistake now. 

“What are you doing around here anyway? I figured women of your, uh, breed or whatever stuck to their own districts.” 

Bristling slightly at his insinuation that you find yourself too good to hang out here, you square your shoulders and clear your throat. A low chuckle rumbles in Yami while he lights his cigarette, raising his brows and eagerly awaiting whatever argument you are clearly cooking up in that little head of yours. 

“I’ll have you know that I enjoy exploring parts of the city that I rarely see. I am out here thanks to my own curiosity.” Your eyes shift from Yami toward the rest of the tavern, a small smile on your face watching the patrons laugh amongst themselves. “I think it’s really wonderful that people are happy no matter how they were born into this world and I’m thankful to be able to experience this side of life too.”

The captain could spend all night laughing at your naivety if you’d let him but he doesn’t wanna let you dig any deeper of a hole than you’re already finding yourself in. You’re clearly a fully grown woman, even the doll-like roundness of your eyes and cheeks can’t convince him you’re under 25 judging from the way you carry yourself. You aren’t the first noble girl he has ever seen sneak off in an attempt to find herself yet it strikes him as hilarious you clearly believe it.

“So you aren’t like the other nobles? You see people as people?” The brusque individual takes a long drink from the mug in his hand, Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallows, your eyes fixed on the sheer size of his neck and throat. “What do you want? A prize?”

Even the enticing muscles of his body (how can one person have so many muscles bulging off of them anyway?) cannot distract enough to forget that he’s insulting you. You place your hands in your lap and fiddle with the edge of the cloak that covers the simple nightgown you are wearing, covering it enough that no one is suspicious about why you’re wearing nightclothes in the first place. 

“No, I’m simply telling you what I’m doing here because you asked.”

Sipping from his mug, the man glances you up and down. He swallows and squares his shoulders.

“Okay? That still doesn’t tell me what you’re actually doing here, you’re only talking about feelings and shit.” Another sip and he places his ale down. “So what are you doing here? Isn’t it a little late for your type to be out with the rest of us?”

He considers you for a moment. Not bad looking. Pretty, even. Not plain in the way some overly manicured noble women can come across and you clearly aren’t using magic to enhance anything about you or else he’d notice. He’s a pro at sniffing out transformation magic in women having seen so many who have taught themselves to dabble in the arts to subtly tweak their appearances. You sigh and he finds it impressively naive to do so, your shoulders pinching in while you exhale sharply out of your nose. 

“I’m looking for someone to help me.” Now this is interesting. He raises a brow, glancing you up and down. You lean toward him, creating a veil of intimacy in a crowded tavern, elbows resting on the table rudely. “I, um, I fear I’ll be woefully unprepared for my marriage bed once the time arrives and I want to avoid embarrassment. I’m already too old to be considered marriageable to most and my heart could not take physical rejection from my husband as well.”

“You’re a virgin and feel weird about it and now you’re makin’ it my problem.”

Gasping, your eyes widen and you shake your head rapidly. Yami smirks when he senses how quickly your heart is pounding beneath those layers of fabrics most in this place could only ever dream of seeing much less feel against their skin, curious enough that he won’t just tell you to get lost at this point. 

“Please do not repeat my predicament so loudly, Captain Sukehiro.” You whisper hiss, fighting the urge to kick him beneath the table as you do the rest of your fathers’ unruly issue you are the eldest of. “It’s not something I’m terribly proud of.”

The captain scoffs, humming to himself and adjusting his posture so that he’s leaning toward you instead of on the back of his chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers. You’ve captured his attention, at least for now, and he’ll give you all of it that you can handle. Pursing his lips, he glances around the bar for a split second before focusing on you, gray eyes locked on your pouting mouth.

“Then why is it your situation in the first place? Thought you nobles were too proud for your own good.” He flicks the lighter in his pocket. “And don’t call me that. Yami is fine.”

You should find it very rude that you are being asked so many questions and being made to suit so many demands made by a lesser born to begin with but the curiosity feels like deeply personalized attention, causing you to bloom in response. Hunched shoulders stretch out, the graceful posture you’ve spent what would amount to months of your life if you stretched the hours out perfecting appearing. No one at home is this curious about you outside of when you will no longer be around to tend the younger children your father continues to spawn and it feels different to be the center of a man’s attention. 

Not a weak, defanged little noble whose only function is to act as an additional limb for his father. A man with rough hands and battle scars and overgrown hair down his neck. 

“I haven’t felt a spark with any of the men I’ve been introduced to. They’re lovely individuals with proud lineage but it has always felt so…” you search around the room, lifting your hand to your mouth to idly nip at the cuticle around your thumbnail. “Forced. I don’t want to be with them and they do not want to be with me. Four men and none of them made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with them.”

Once again, Yami chuckles at your predicament. Your cheeks heat in response, ears tingling and burning as that familiar feeling of being mocked encourages you to retreat inward. The awareness that you do not have to put up with this kind of treatment from a man beneath your station 

“Sounds like you’re hard to impress, kid.” A plume of smoke is blown over your head, the cigarette he was holding now dangling from his lips while he examines you with narrowed eyes. “Little darling won’t settle for less than a fairytale.”

Retreating further into yourself, you move your hands from your lap to fold your arms over your chest.

“I’m no child, obviously.” 

Your retort is as petulant as your posture and the man smirks, the corner of his mouth jumping, tenting his fingers in front of him and leaning toward you. Despite himself, he likes you. Your willingness to shit here and just shoot the shit with him has impressed him but not enough to let you off easy. 

“You’re here beggin’ for attention like one so I dunno about all that.”

Scoffing, you shift in your chair but make no effort to get up. You won’t be picked off by him that easily. 

“You know nothing about me, sir.” You raise your brows and shift your head to emphasize your point, arms still folded. A grown woman behaving like a little brat shouldn’t draw a man like this in yet he considers himself intrigued, stamping out the nearly depleted butt of his cigarette on the edge table in front of him. 

“Can’t argue with that. Keep talking.” 

He leans back in his chair and sizes you up, boots stacked on top of each other where his ankles are crossed and his long legs are extended out in front of him. It’s one thing to be keeping him here against his will because you won’t stop talking, it’s another when he is a willing audience. Your mouth runs dry and you gradually unfold your arms, placing them above your knee so you can subtly rid your clammy palms of the prickling sweat across them.

“I want to experience the things that a husband and wife are to experience together though I do not have anyone to enjoy them with.” Even the way nobles describe sex is stuffy and uncomfortable, Yami realizes, brows raising slightly. He lets you continue speaking before butting in, letting his arms dangle from the sides of the chair. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to believe it will change my luck but I won’t change my mind. I have to know how to…perform.”

Perform is such an interesting choice of word. All of the sex the captain has ever had has been far less of a performance and more of a two person dance, locked in repetitive motions and tangled up as one form. He isn’t much for the sappy, intimate shit you’re clearly insinuating you’d like though he feels like he could help you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts, leaning back toward you and closing the distance to once again grant you some semblance of privacy. “I can show you how a man should treat a woman but I can’t promise you it’s how a husband will treat his wife, you understand?”

Your eyes widen and you nod once, picking up on his meaning immediately. Impressed by your sharp wit he smiles although it’s nearly as unfriendly as the ones exchanged at court and only slightly less smug. Leaning in toward him, your brows knit together, and you bunch your skirt up in your fists.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for, you know…” you trail off, frowning slightly. He pretends like he doesn’t understand what you mean, shaking his head and staring vacantly at your mouth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for you to take me.”

Another snort from him and your face heats like a wildfire. The two of you remained locked in this strange posture, whispering but not quite, discussing the terms of whatever is occurring here. Blood rushes from your face to your chest to your stomach, a familiar tense feeling between your legs making you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“The only one who would be doing any taking in that scenario is me and you don’t have to worry about that tonight.” He tips his mug and finishes off the last droplets of his ale, sliding the empty vessel across the table top where it stops just short of you. 

“What if we never see each other again after tonight?” That sappy shit he was right to assume you wanted has surfaced earlier than he expected. He shrugs flippantly, arching a brow. “Then we never see each other tonight but at least you can say you know how it feels when a man takes care of you.”

Inhaling loudly, you weigh your options. 

You can always get up and go home, turn tail and run to where you will always be viewed as something akin to a decorative sconce on the wall instead of a human being. Your opinion matters not, you’re a glorified caretaker for your younger siblings, some of who are your fathers rightful heirs thanks to the boyhood the Gods so mercifully granted them. You can retreat and continue wasting away waiting for a man who thrills you enough that you can ever see him as someone deserving of being your equal. 

Or, you can consider Yami’s offer. He’s rough around the edges and speaks with no formality or regard and you like it. At least you think you do. He doesn’t care who you are any more than the others around you do yet he makes you feel the most seen anyone ever has. He’s interested in your words, your ideas, and even your pleasure - a realization that makes the knot in your stomach tighten further.

“Okay.” You concede. “I think that I’d like that.”

The man rises from his seat, smirking, tossing some coins down on the table in front of him for the drink. 

“I know you will,” he finishes, words dripping with honesty but not arrogance. 

He begins to head toward the stairs that will lead the two of you upstairs and your breath catches when he looks over his shoulder and raises his brows, signaling with a wave that you should follow him. You toss a few more coins on the table in front of you, uncertain of how much a room in an establishment like this would cost to begin with, and rush to follow him with your cloak pulled tightly against your body.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

This room is nothing like your quarters at home where everything around you gleams in gold and marble and silk. It may be decidedly less impressive though it’s twice as cozy if you’re honest. 

The bed is barely large enough for two and there’s a well loved desk pushed against the wall, magical light flickering from the wall. Shutting the door unceremoniously, you swallow and feel the captain at your back, a large palm covering the entirety of the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t recall him seeming so imposing downstairs, glancing upward to meet his eyes. He can tell you are inexperienced solely by how skittish you’ve become beneath his fingertips, an intriguing shift from who you were sitting opposite him.

Boldly asking a man to pleasure you has told him everything about the person you are beneath the skirts and the trappings of society. If he waits long enough he knows that hungry girl will once again show her face to him and while he isn’t particularly patient, he believes it would be worth his while to wait. 

“Go sit on the edge of the bed.” He instructs right above your ear and gently shoves you toward where he’s commanded you be. 

You follow directions and sit, legs dangling off of the edge, unfastening your cloak and letting it rest on the bed. The knot in your belly remains tight, keeping you on edge with all of your movements while your walls throb weakly, arousal and curiosity bearing down on you with similar weight. Sukehiro towers over you, slowly unfastening his belt and cloak, leaving the leather goods and his katana on the desk. 

“I’m going to lick your pussy. Do you know what that means?”

Cheeks warming, once again surprised by his lack of decency, you nod once. You have read about this particular act more than once and have also heard about it secondhand from some of the married women you call friends although their reviews have been mixed. Books have always made it seem far more interesting, an exchange in the same way a kiss is between a man and the paradise between a woman’s legs. 

“Good, at least I won’t have to explain all the technicalities.” He approaches you slowly and squats down, now face level with your middle. You glance down at him and wonder if you should touch him, if he’d like it, if he’d want you to. “Lift your hips.” The next command gives you reprieve from overthinking and you do as asked, raising them enough that he can pull your nightgown from beneath your thighs, spreading them to fit between.

“If you don’t like something, speak up.” He glances up at you, holding your nightgown halfway over his face. “If you do like something, speak up and I’ll keep goin’.”

The linen of your nightgown stretches and tents in the shape of Yami’s head and shoulders when he pulls it over himself, too big to be fully covered by the fabric. His back is curled into a C shape and the muscles ripple while he positions you, hands that you can feel but cannot see gripping the outside of your soft thighs to keep you from deciding at the last minute you are feeling shy. 

It’s too late for you to fall back on the shy act now, your panties dangling off of one of your ankles. Even if you attempted, you know the man currently fixated on spreading you open with his fingers would surface from beneath your skirt and laugh at you. Your heart simply could not take the open derision and ridicule, already feeling overextended thanks to this evening’s excitement.

“Alright, you’re about to feel something different,” he warns kindly, puffs of his breath fanning out against the slickened skin of your labia. The low rumble of his voice sends another rush of wetness seeping out of your cunt, excitement mixing with terror while you await the pleasure you were promised. 

Your hips shift impatiently on the edge of the dingy inn bed, legs on either side of his still dressed torso. His tank top is untucked from his pants and he no longer wears his belt, discarding the unnecessary while remaining firmly in control of the situation. There isn’t much that makes his mouth water but the sight of warm and just for him pussy is doing just that, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

His thumbs massage the outside of your thighs, keeping you as relaxed as possible, and he leans in to kiss the temptation he can no longer deny himself. A simple smack, loud enough that you can both hear it, yet the moan that escapes you is positively sinful. High pitched and breathy and immediately obscured, clapping your palm over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. 

“Nope,” he simply responds from beneath your nightgown, hand reaching up to remove yours from over your mouth. “What’d I tell you? Half’a the fun is hearing how much you like it.”

One of the thumbs that was rubbing circles into your thigh now does the same on the back of your hand, calloused digit occasionally catching over the surface of your smooth skin. It’s no shock that your hands are soft like your body and your hair and your eyes, it’s what your life was meant to be like the minute you assumed the role of it.  Soft and easy, no roughness to throw you off track.

Yami chuckles and lets his tongue feel you this time, dragging the wet muscle through your folds, rewarded with another of those breathy moans. You do not rush to cover this one, tilting your head backward and letting your eyes flutter shut to focus on the sensation of another lick. He takes his time to get to know you slowly, brushing the flat of it over your hole and dragging the arousal he receives as a reward upward toward your clit.

He doesn’t release his skills on your sensitive bud so quickly but a simple brush of the side of his tongue against it is enough to make you squeal, shoulders rounding in momentarily. Repeating the motion, you squeal again and arch your back, thrusting your hips forward into his face and dragging every bit of you he can see across his mouth.

“W-what are you doing to me, Yami?” You ask breathlessly, elbows propping you up on the bed and keeping you grounded. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Your head swims with unfamiliar pressure, sparking a line from your brain to between your legs, all connected and you fight the urge to slump back onto the bed, too curious about the way that the light linen covering the man between your legs shrouds him. 

“Eating, obviously,” he mumbles against your body, tongue lapping against your clit. Your body reacts to each touch, thighs tensing on either side of his face, hips slowly bucking in pursuit of the feeling again and again. Your back arches and your moans are staccato babbles, elbows finally failing to hold you up when he gives your clit full attention.. “Oh my, wh–,” your back arches off of the bed before you can finish your thought, another rough lick to your throbbing clit followed by the warmth of his mouth while he sucks it between his lips, flicking the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. 

There is no denying that you may be prissy and perfectly pampered but he was clearly correct in his assumption about you being more than meets the eye. The way your body responds naturally to his ministrations, hips grinding and toes curling and lips keening, tells him every little secret you’re too demure to spill. You want to have sex for enjoyment, to chase your own pleasure and have your own fun. 

He’ll never fault someone for that although he believes he can get you to admit it’s the truth. Maybe not tonight but eventually he’ll convince you to drop the “good wife” act. If he weren’t enjoying himself so much he’d grumble about considering a future where the two of you will meet up for this again, too lost in his own enjoyment of your pretty noises to realize how unreasonable this was to begin with.

“Please keep going,” you beg, a tearless sob thickening your voice. 

Yami doesn’t look up, well aware of what he is capable of, but he keeps his hand over yours and continues rubbing gentle circles into it. You flip your hand and face your palm upward, loosely tangling your fingers with his, your hips now dragging across his lips wildly. It’s messy and you are dripping like a peak season fruit, drenching his chin and sending little droplets down onto his tank top and chest. Moans increase in pitch when his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your sweetness and drinking it down with satisfied grunts, though he can tell you’re close solely by how you ride his face alone.

You lack the words to describe how you feel, not that you are a stranger to self pleasure, but it’s different when someone else is showing you the maximum of how you can feel. Every inch of you buzzes with a pleasant awareness, nerve endings sparking like celebratory fireworks, and you lift yourself up with your elbows to glance down at the man making you feel more than you ever thought possible, your nightgown no longer around his head. You were so lost you didn’t even realize he shifted to holding your nightgown up above your belly button with the hand you aren’t keeping occupied, those astute eyes appreciatively watching your chest heave and face twist.

“Yami, I think,” you start and he chuckles, sucking your clit between his lips again, sending you over the edge and effectively making sure you know how exactly it feels when someone else makes you cum. 

Dots of light spark in the corners of your vision and you slump down onto the bed, too spent from the strength of your orgasm to remain upright. The perpetrator of your current state untangles your fingers from his wordlessly and he rises to standing, leaning over your exhausted body and propping himself up with his forearm.

“Good as you thought it would be?” 

Giggling, you nod. It’s all you can think to do, truly left wordless and thoughtless, grateful that what you read on the pages of the books you hide amongst your more chaste picks were somewhat accurate to how the experience feels. There has been no insinuation that he expects reciprocation so you don’t bring it up, quietly glancing up at him and noticing that the distance between your face and his decreases every few seconds.

“Now taste.” 

He closes the little distance left, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips. You grant him entrance and whimper when your mouth fills with the taste of his tongue, a mixture of acrid tobacco and ale and something you could only recognize as yourself. 

“Pretty good, right?” All you can do is nod dumbly, still splayed awkwardly across the bed. Should you leave? Should you stay? Is that pesky reciprocation going to come into the conversation now? Yami glances down at you with something you’d almost mistake for warmth in his cool irises, rolling onto his back beside you and folding his arms over his chest. “Are you going to head home now or what?” 

You shake your head, letting your flipped up skirt rest against your belly, the air of the room cooling your heated skin. “No but I’m not going to expect you to stay if you have other business to attend to. I will stay the night and leave before sunrise.”

It’s what’s polite. You did pay for an entire night, after all, and your raising will not allow you to be rude. Pushy and precocious at times but never outright disrespectful. The man next to you sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, turning his face to look at you. 

Maybe you are as pretty as he originally thought. It could be all the blood rushing from his head to his dick, a problem he is attempting to solve mentally by envisioning anything but the satisfying contractions of your cunt while it cums for him, but you glow even in this low light. 

“Only thing I have to do is go downstairs and drink and then I’ll just end up running my mouth and losing money.” 

You giggle at his honesty, turning your face to look at him. The gruffness only adds to his aura, as unrefined as a man can be, yet you really do like it. Even if the two of you sit here in silence for the rest of the night, there’s much you feel you can learn by simply gazing at him, a quiet battle of wills unfolding between the two of you like the mist that fills the city on a summer morning. 

Permeating, inescapable, potentially trouble.

[ogorodami]

Finally read F&B in full, some thoughts:

Oh, they ruined the Greens that bad, huh.

Weird, still haven't found that part where George was like "noooo dark fantasy royal women nooo stop that you can't do that dark fantasy royal women, you're girls and all girls should be friends and never fight like dem boys do all the time" I looked everywhere, guys

I really enjoyed Rhaenyra and Alicent as characters. I mean, was I supposed to not enjoy the cutthroat rivalry between two powerful, rich, entitled women who would burn the whole world down for their families and have the absolute audacity to salivate at the thought of destroying their enemies?

It's so funny how the show seems to completely trust Mushroom's pornbrain account of events, except when it comes to Nettles (who doesn't even exist in the show) or absolute lowlife scumbags like Hue and Ulf.

Nettles has got to be the showrunners' sleep paralysis demon: bonds with a dragon without any "superior blood" (gasp, the horror), cucks their one true qween (which is solely on Nyra's creepy ass hubby), exposes her racism by just existing, lives free while their fave ends up in dragon dung. Yeah, traumatized Dany stans wouldn't have survived that. I'm willing to bet that Nettles' removal from the story was the first order of business, they were never going to bring her in.

The way it's implied that Daemon's feelings for Nettles are some true love shit because she's not as young as the girls he's used to molesting (she’s 16).

Book Daemon's whole personality not being some edgy fanfic male lead manchild took me by surprise, not gonna lie. Turns out, he had genuine connection to people in his life besides precious Rhae Rhae. You know, like people usually do outside of Condalland. In fact, I wouldn't even consider Rhaenyra "the love of his life", that's either Laena or Nettles.

I will never take show Mysaria seriously after reading the book. I mean, she’s boring and pretentious, so I pretty much forget about her existence half the time, but wow, they really made westeros diddy a fighter for women and children’s rights. That’s embarrassing.

Book Aegon loved Aemond a lot more than his brother loved him. Doesn't change the fact that Aemond's betrayal in the show makes zero sense, and you know what book Aemond doesn't do? That.

Man, Aegon's post-munch arc is dark. as. fuck. Him watching Sunfyre die, his solitude, the unfathomable pain, his quiet return to the capital. The motherfucking burning of the Shepherd and his followers. Oh my god, what if something happens? What if Ryan and Sara just leave hotd for any reason? What if TGC will be allowed to devour all these scenes? What then, what would we even do with our lives?

jk the smallfolk will storm the Dragon Pit inhabited by actual man-eating dragons because of misogyny or something. And not because they were starving, isolated, and terrified out of their minds under Rhaenyra's rule. Then it will never be mentioned again and the show won't even attempt to tackle other characters after her death. Alicent will probably poison Aegon on Dragonstone and steal the rest of his arc.

I was so ready for the Mad King Aegon II Targaryen, I was not prepared for the "pay me money for your betrayal, oh and that toddler usurper will be raised in my castle" Aegon II Targaryen. C'mon man, you could've at least killed Mushroom.

People arguing over which queen is more feminist while completely sleeping on Gaemon's mom and her gf, rip legends

Aegon being granted a dignified death despite all the humiliation he has suffered

Cregan Stark ratio'ing everybody and being the only adult in the room (literally)

It would've made a lot more sense for either Alicent or Aegon (preferably Alicent) to be the main protagonist of the show. And I don't mean Condal's idea of a protagonist, just the central POV. Make Rhaenyra a wet-eyed victim, whatever, but don't butcher such a grand story down to her tiny ass arc. She spends at least a full third of it in mourning for her children and that's exactly what CondalHess chose to focus on for the better part of s2. In a show that's supposed to be the prequel to Game of Thrones. You know? THE Game of Thrones? Well, sucks to suck.

muppet tallys

[misfitwashere]

ROBERT REICH

FEB 7

Friends,

I wanted to make sure you saw this piece by Lina Khan, who until a few days ago was chair of the Federal Trade Commission. IMHO — as someone who was once an official of the FTC — Khan was one of the wisest and most courageous of its leaders. She wrote the following in the February 4 edition of The New York Times.

Stop Worshiping the American Tech Giants

By Lina M. Khan

When Chinese artificial intelligence firm DeepSeek shocked Silicon Valley and Wall Street with its powerful new A.I. model, Marc Andreessen, the Silicon Valley investor, went so far as to describe it as “A.I.’s Sputnik moment.” Presumably, Mr. Andreessen wasn’t calling on the federal government to start a massive new program like NASA, which was our response to the Soviet Union’s Sputnik satellite launch; he wants the U.S. government to flood private industry with capital, to ensure that America remains technologically and economically dominant.

As an antitrust enforcer, I see a different metaphor. DeepSeek is the canary in the coal mine. It’s warning us that when there isn’t enough competition, our tech industry grows vulnerable to its Chinese rivals, threatening U.S. geopolitical power in the 21st century.

Although it’s unclear precisely how much more efficient DeepSeek’s models are than, say, ChatGPT, its innovations are real and undermine a core argument that America’s dominant technology firms have been pushing — namely, that they are developing the best artificial intelligence technology the world has to offer, and that technological advances can be achieved only with enormous investment — in computing power, energy generation and cutting-edge chips. For years now, these companies have been arguing that the government must protect them from competition to ensure that America stays ahead.

But let’s not forget that America’s tech giants are awash in cash, computing power and data capacity. They are headquartered in the world’s strongest economy and enjoy the advantages conferred by the rule of law and a free enterprise system. And yet, despite all those advantages — as well as a U.S. government ban on the sales of cutting-edge chips and chip-making equipment to Chinese firms — America’s tech giants have seemingly been challenged on the cheap.

It should be no surprise that our big tech firms are at risk of being surpassed in A.I. innovation by foreign competitors. After companies like Google, Apple and Amazon helped transform the American economy in the 2000s, they maintained their dominance primarily through buying out rivals and building anticompetitive moats around their businesses.

Over the last decade, big tech chief executives have seemed more adept at reinventing themselves to suit the politics of the moment — resistance sympathizers, social justice warriors, MAGA enthusiasts — than on pioneering new pathbreaking innovations and breakthrough technologies.

There have been times when Washington has embraced the argument that certain businesses deserve to be treated as national champions and, as such, to become monopolies with the expectation that they will represent America’s national interests. Those times serve as a cautionary tale.

Boeing was one such star — the aircraft manufacturer’s reputation was so sterling that a former White House adviser during the Clinton administration referred to it as a “de facto national champion,” so important that “you can be an out-and-out advocate for it” in government. This superstar status was such that it likely helped Boeing gain the regulatory green light to absorb its remaining U.S. rival McDonnell Douglas. That 1997 merger played a significant role in damaging Boeing’s culture, leaving it plagued with a host of problems, including safety concerns.

On the other hand, the government’s decision to enforce antitrust laws against what is now AT&T Inc., IBM and Microsoft in the 1970s through the 1990s helped create the market conditions that gave rise to Silicon Valley’s dynamism and America’s subsequent technological lead. America’s bipartisan commitment to maintaining open and competitive markets from the 1930s to the 1980s — a commitment that many European countries and Japan did not share — was critical for generating the broad-based economic growth and technological edge that catapulted the United States to the top of the world order.

While monopolies may offer periodic advances, breakthrough innovations have historically come from disruptive outsiders, in part because huge behemoths rarely want to advance technologies that could displace or cannibalize their own businesses. Mired in red tape and bureaucratic inertia, those companies usually aren’t set up to deliver the seismic efficiencies that hungry start-ups can generate.

The recent history of artificial intelligence demonstrates this pattern. Google developed the groundbreaking Transformer architecture that underlies today’s A.I. revolution in 2017, but the technology was largely underutilized until researchers left to join or to found new companies. It took these independent firms, not the tech giant, to realize the technology’s transformative potential.

At the Federal Trade Commission, I argued that in the arena of artificial intelligence, developers should release enough information about their models to allow smaller players and upstarts to bring their ideas to market without being beholden to dominant firms’ pricing or access restrictions. Competition and openness, not centralization, drive innovation.

In the coming weeks and months, U.S. tech giants may renew their calls for the government to grant them special protections that close off markets and lock in their dominance. Indeed, top executives from these firms appear eager to curry favor and cut deals, which could include asking the federal government to pare back sensible efforts to require adequate testing of models before they are released to the public, or to look the other way when a dominant firm seeks to acquire an upstart competitor.

Enforcers and policymakers should be wary. During the first Trump and then the Biden administrations, antitrust enforcers brought major monopolization lawsuits against those same companies — making the case that by unlawfully buying up or excluding their rivals, these companies had undermined innovation and deprived America of the benefits that free and fair competition delivers. Reversing course would be a mistake. The best way for the United States to stay ahead globally is by promoting competition at home.

[painted-flag]

TENDER, part 1/3 - Marcus Acacius

₊˚⊹♡ your father leaves on a campaign to germania, entrusting you under the care of his good friend marcus acacius. ₊˚⊹ marcus acacius x fem!reader ₊˚⊹ warnings: age gap and future descriptions of smut. ₊˚⊹ part one | part two | part three | ₊˚⊹ masterlist.

The cool night breeze brushed over your exposed skin as you stood leaning against the stone railing of a balcony in your estate. Though the night was peaceful, the insistent chatter of courtesans, senators, and high-ranking military officials underscored by the musical ensemble performing cut clean through the balcony doors. 

This was supposed to be your moment of respite, but even being outside could not free you from the stifling conditions inside. This was your home, yet you felt a stranger in it. Your father had hosted this celebration in dedication to his upcoming campaign in Germania. It was not unusual for him to go out and fight in some distant land, but it was the first time he was leaving after your mother’s death for a significant period. Weeks you could cope with, but months?

This time was the last moment your father would have in the capital for the better part of a year. Because of that, he had spent the majority of the night carting you around the party to eligible men in an effort to find you a husband before he left. It was not meant to be purposefully pressuring and you knew that, he only wanted what he believed was best for you. 

You did not wish to marry any of them. They were not in your taste, but your father did not see that. 

As you gazed wistfully into the night, the balcony door opened and the noises from inside got louder before it closed. 

A soft voice edged with a deep timbre shook your bones. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not know this place was occupied.” 

You turned around to see a man standing behind you. For a moment, you were stunned. He was older, though your father still beat him by a few years. His skin was tanned and his stature was strong. There was a leanness to his muscle that was not as ostentatious as many of the men in Rome tended to be. Despite that, you could tell by the way he carried himself that he was deadly if need be. You grew up around soldiers, you could recognize one when you saw them; they often never left the battlefield but continued to foster it in their minds. 

His hair was dark like the bark on dark oak trees, yet strong in colour. Though there were yet to be any silver strands in the thick volume of his hair, she could tell by the aged lines on his face that they were only a few years away from growing out. It sent a stirring in her stomach to imagine the silver patches in his hair and beard. Looking at his jawline, it seemed to be even more defined by the hair there. He was dressed in fine clothes like all the other attendants, but there was something about his form that screamed to a more humble nature. 

What startled you the most were the browns of his eyes that looked like bark on the trees in summer – dark but covered in a golden light that exuded nothing but warmth. They were captivating, he was captivating. 

“You are not disturbing me. Please, stay if you wish.” You spoke. There was a part of you that wished he would stay so you could talk to him for a moment. 

He paused for a moment and looked back at the balcony doors. With his head turned you could survey more of him and notice the hidden strength in his arms while you marvelled at the veins under his skin. When he turned back to you, your head came up as if you were not staring. If he noticed, he made no mention of it. 

“I could stay for a while,” The man moved to stand beside you and looked out at the darkening grounds below. “Forgive me if this is forward, but you do not seem to be enjoying yourself.” You could easily tell he was good at reading people, though you still had yet to receive his name. 

“You are sound in your observation. If I have to dance with one more eligible man in that room I should fling myself off of this balcony.” You said. He laughed at your words, catching on to the slight lilt in your teasing tone. 

“Surely, a beautiful lady such as yourself would be drinking in the attention?” He asked. You tried to pretend his words did not affect you as much as they did. 

It was your turn to laugh and you turned to lean on your side against the stone railing and face him. He was already facing you with those piercing summer eyes. 

“Not from boys like that.” You answered. 

His eyebrow quirked up, “Boys?”

“They are not as… mature as I like.” If it were not for the poor lighting, you could have sworn you saw the ball on his throat move as he gulped. The insinuation in your words was not lost on him. 

Handsome and smart. A good combination. 

It seemed as though your words caught him off guard, so you spoke more, “Surely, in the beauty of such a celebration, a handsome man such as yourself should be with his wife?” You wanted him to deny the assumption. However, you were not stupid. A man who looked like him was not one to stay solitary – women would have flocked to him in both his youth and older age. 

Though, to your great relief, his words comforted you. 

“No, my lady, I am not married.” You rejoiced on the inside but continued to act calm. Immediately after though, you felt stupid. He was beyond your years, beyond your experience. Why would he care for a young woman such as you, only in their twenties? 

The growing tension between the two of you was almost tangible. His appearance was entirely too alluring for you. The energy he gave off was both dominant and reserved, making you want to sink under his protection. 

Before anything else could be said, the balcony doors opened. Your father walked out, seemingly oblivious to the heat between you two. 

“Ah, Marcus! I was wondering when I would see you tonight. How are you doing, my good friend?” Your father’s hands clasped his shoulder in a friendly manner, face smiling and tinged red due to the wine affecting his system. 

“I am well. This celebration is rather grand. You have outdone yourself this time.” There was an underlying tension in his voice that went unnoticed by your father, but you caught it. Was it frustration? Why would he be frustrated in this moment? 

However, the name Marcus struck a chord of familiarity. You glanced at him again and took in his clothes and stature. While your initial observation about him being a soldier had been correct, it was only then that you realized it was slightly off. He was a general. General Marcus floated around your mind until it landed on something surprising. 

General Marcus Acacius. 

The most accomplished Roman general and a name your father had mentioned many times throughout the years. 

And you had just flirted with him. 

“It seems you have met my daughter.” Your father moved to stand beside you. 

You watched as Marcus’ face dropped, “Your daughter?” His eyes moved to you for a brief moment before returning to your father. 

“Yes,” Your father wrapped his arm over your shoulder and squeezed you to his side, “I do not believe I ever introduced you two. My wife tended to keep her away from the prying eyes of the public,” At the mention of your deceased mother, you cringed slightly. It was still a sensitive topic for you. It was also the truth; your mother often kept you away from events in the hopes that Rome would not corrupt you. 

“She is a lovely woman. Raised well.” Marcus responded though he kept his eyes on your father. It was obvious that he was avoiding looking at you and you almost yearned for the returning warmth of his eyes. 

“I hope you have gotten to know one another a little bit before I leave her to your charge.” Your father spoke. 

His words had you furrowing your eyebrows, “What?” Your father turned to you with an incredulous look, as if the answer was obvious.

“I told you I would be leaving you in the care of a good friend while I am gone,” He responded. 

You remembered it. You also remembered thinking it would be another one of his very old friends who had since retired and lived a quiet life. Never once did you think you would be handed over to the care of the most accomplished general in Rome who also happened to be a man you could not help but be very attracted to. 

Before you could respond, your father perked up as he looked inside through the open balcony doors, “There he is! Forgive me, Marcus, but I have been wishing to introduce someone to my daughter. I hope to speak to you later.” 

Your father tugged on your arm and dragged you back into the estate. For a moment, your gaze flickered behind to spot Marcus already staring at you. When he was caught looking, he turned back around to look out at the night sky. 

Now that you were back in the throes of people mingling with the sound of the band in the background, you could feel yourself beginning to itch. It was a feeling you would get under your skin with the looks of the other members of the aristocracy. They were suffocating. However, you played the game of a general's daughter and continued with a smile on your face. 

Your father stopped in front of a man, “Lucan, I was telling you about my daughter.” The man appeared only a few years older than you. His formal attire spoke military, low ranking, but enough to warrant some level of respect. Lucan was not bad-looking, rather pleasing actually. Youthful with an air of ruggedness in his short blond beard. His eyes were blue like the sky during the day, yet they did not feel as bright as the golden light in the dark browns of Marcus’ eyes. You bit your lip to stop yourself from thinking of a man you had only just met. 

“You are as beautiful as others have described, my lady.” Lucan grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles. While the compliment was nice, it did not feel as good as Marcus’ voice calling you beautiful; there was something in his voice then that sounded more genuine. 

“Lucan Luctuca, I’d like you to formally meet my daughter. Perhaps a dance would be nice?” Your father's eagerness was not lost on you. It was obvious that he had been, in recent years, more desperate to find you a suitable husband. He could not take care of you forever and your presence in his house felt odd. The longer you remained unwed, the more members of the court believed you to be defective or undesirable. 

Lucan seemed to take your father's words seriously and took your arm from him to lead you to where many people were dancing. The two of you began as a new song started to play. 

“I apologize if my compliment sounded disingenuous. I was lying about your beauty,” Lucan began and you had half a mind to punch him because of his words, “If I am honest, beautiful is not good enough to describe you, my lady. However, I felt it would be untoward to say such a thing in front of your father.” 

“Thank you,” Your skin turned slightly red at his compliment and you could feel your face warm up slightly, “How is it that you know my father?” 

“He trained with my father when they were starting their service. I have grown up outside of Rome and have only just come here. It seems your father is intent on us getting to know one another.” Lucan spun you around. 

“My father is insistent on finding me a husband,” You responded. Over Lucan’s shoulder, you could see that Marcus had come back inside and was talking to a group of men. Yet, his gaze was locked on you as you danced with Lucan. He was clutching a goblet in his hands. If it were not made of metal, surely his grip would have broken it.  

“Then I hope I am a sufficient contender,” The musicians transitioned to another song, but you stayed dancing with him. 

“Well, I’ll have to get to know you better,” While flirting was fun, it felt odd to do it with Lucan. He was nice, from what you could tell. Level-headed and respectful to boot. None of it entirely mattered when Marcus’ gaze had yet to leave you. 

“Sounds wonderful,” Lucan said. 

The rest of the time that the two of you danced, you only slightly paid attention to what he was saying. The rest of the dance was spent trying to cool yourself down each time you glanced at Marcus and found that he was still looking at you. The men around him had gradually left until it was just him standing on the outskirts of the mingling groups and leaning up against a pillar. 

It was hard to pay attention to Lucan’s words when your whole body felt on fire. By the time the two of you separated, it was already terribly late and you were tired. You looked around for your father as you wished to bid him goodnight before retiring to your room. 

When you finally spotted him, he was standing with Marcus and talking merrily. You sucked in a breath and realized you would have to be near Marcus again. You wondered if the Gods were pulling a terrible joke on you. He was a man beyond your reach, yet your body felt such a connection to him despite only meeting a few hours prior. 

It was ridiculous. The two of you had what could barely be construed as a conversation and already your brain was picturing yourself with him. 

You approached both of the men, “Father, it is late and I wish to retire.” 

“Ah, well I hope you rest well,” Your father sipped from his goblet, “What did you think of Lucan?” At the mention of Lucan’s name, you could see Marcus turn to face you. His gaze was piercing the side of your head. 

“He was nice. Pleasant to talk to.” You responded.

“Mature?” Marcus asked. While seemingly innocent to others, but a little odd, the words stuck a chord in you. He was bringing up your previous comment about the men attempting to court you not being as mature for your taste. You could not tell if it was a subtle jab at you, or perhaps an attempt to undermine Lucan and bolster himself. 

Like the daughter of a military man, you too knew methods of war. 

“He was, General.” You stared him in the eyes while speaking and enjoyed the vein in his temple flex. He hummed at your response, a noise deep in timbre that sent a wave of warmth all over your body. 

“Well,” Your father was oblivious to the tension between you two, “Good night, darling.” He gave you a quick hug and you smiled. You nodded to Marcus to be respectful and began walking towards the door to exit the large hall. You were glad that this celebration was in your home, as you would not have to walk far to reach your room. The only downside was the nagging feeling in your head to go back out and spend the rest of the night with Marcus. 

It would be wrong.

You knew it would be wrong. 

Marcus was older than you and he was your father's friend. 

The air in your room suddenly felt hot and you scrambled to undress from the clothing you wore. It was quiet save for the distant sound of the party still going on, though gradually decreasing in numbers. 

You plopped down on your bed and let out a loud huff. Still, even in the privacy of your room, you could feel the searing heat of Marcus’ gaze. What disturbed you the most about it was that you liked the attention from him. You liked the thought of him undermining Lucan to bolster himself in your favour. That competitiveness and confidence lit a fire in your heart. 

You thought of tomorrow when your father left for his campaign. For months, you will be living at Marcus’ estate, under his guidance and protection. A part of you, the one loyal to your father, was dreading this. You did not want to do anything untoward that would disrespect both him and Marcus. 

However, the other part of you was thrilled to be in close proximity with Marcus. The dreamy side of your mind was hoping, maybe, that he could look at you the same way you looked at him. But that would be a betrayal to your father.

You wondered how you would survive in the coming months.

This was edited while I was doing the 12-3-30 challenge on the treadmill so I apologize for any errors -- I was sweaty and delirious.

[myfriendpokey]

tunnel notes

i wrote some extra little notes and thoughts for the bonus tunnels in anthology of the killer, and then removed them before release; i didn't like the prescriptive feeling of leaving that stuff in the "final package" as if it was something people should feel obligated to engage with. but as of today it's been 30 days since the loader came out, so i figured i'd dump some of them online, for the benefit of whoever is interested in these things.

History: HISTORY IS A NIGHTMARE FROM WHICH I AM TRYING TO AWAKE is one of many famous zingers given to Stephen in Ulysses and I’ve always wondered if it’s especially Irish as a sentiment, Ireland sort of feeling like the “Oops! All Peasants” edition of European history as a whole – same misery, exploitation and death minus the occasional episodes of feudal colour or triumphant empire-building that seem to make the past tolerable for other people, and give them their own sense of demarcated time. But then I’ve never been much good on Irish history, which has always just felt like an interminable, indistinguishable series of massacres and betrayals and missed shots. Was I not paying attention or was this how it was taught in school? Well, it would have fit the style at the time – I was born in 1989, smack at the start of the famous end of history era. The 90s in Ireland meant the peace process and infusion of American capital to our backwards shores, all the more reason to cosign the idea of an abrupt and permanent break with a history notably lacking in the non-depressing or picturesque. All our history textbooks seemed to trail off at the point we’d joined the EEA. And even as this new modernity just started seeming like the monstrous antiquity dressed up in different clothes – hooded prisoners transported to torture sites through Shannon airport, our patchy social infrastructure dismantled by burghers, ghost estates and half-completed monuments scattered around like the ruin theory of value with more leprechaun imagery – there was still a sense that any change was off the table. You didn’t want to drag us back into history, did you? History seemed to have “ended” in the same sense Freddy Krueger did – done away with in ways that none of the grown-ups ever wanted to talk about, and now officially a non-presence, even if all the kids in town were mysteriously disappearing.

--

Art: One reason I wanted to do an episodic series is just to see what would turn up, if any recurring interests would build despite a minimum of planning. One of the themes turned out to be, “art” – or specifically modernist art – and I am curious about why that would be. A recurring tendency in modernism was the idea that only by destroying the world as it currently existed could we clear space for anything better to emerge. Under the cobblestones, the beach! But this was always attended by a kind of fear: that clearing away the old structures would just allow something even worse to emerge, unmasked. Under the cobblestones, more corpses! And that the bleakest tendencies of the period would now run free without even the emptiest symbolic constraints to chafe against. Max Ernst’s painting of the fascist victory in Spain, of a huge, grinning oaf rampaging over the landscape like a kaiju while a miserable birdlike figure remains haplessly grafted to its leg – is titled both “The Angel Of Hearth And Home” and “The Triumph Of Surrealism”. As if to suggest that these are each the same thing, as though a cause of creative liberation worth devoting your life to and an empty cliché of domestic repression had so little light between them as to not even be worth the effort of distinguishing.

Part of the reason works like that make their way into the games in little ways is because I just like them, and go back to thinking about them. But the status of modernism in the 21st century is an odd one; the most tentative and inventive parts got dropped, while the brashest and stupidest aspects curdled into a kind of official state ideology – the idea of “creative destruction”, which just seems to mean a vague sense that it’s punk rock to create ridesharing apps. The monkey’s paw curled and the emptiest version of the modernist credo became something we all have to live with.. and yet I still can’t help but be moved by the source works and the goofy, ridiculous temerity of that wish to transfigure the world. sometimes it feels like only way to keep faith with those ideas is to travesty them, to try returning to them some of that sense of fear and doubt without which they just sound like so many web design agency manifestos. Kept alive in the breast of so many grimacing waxworks, underground.

Another reason to put this stuff in a horror game: to try getting at that feeling in a dream of looking in the eyes of people you know, people you love, and seeing nothing there anymore, seeing them look right past you. An earlier horror game idea I used to think about would have ended with the protagonist being dismembered and eaten by Gertrude Stein.

--

The moral: I’ve seen people express a sense, now, that merely working in the negative is not enough; to just outline what’s bad without also trying to give a vision of the good, some glimpsed utopia to shoot for. For the benefit of these people here is an epilogue. Imagine it’s the future and the long nightmare of prehistory is over; history proper unfolds as the full expression of human powers unhindered by material subjugation. Some students are given an assignment by a professor to investigate the meaning of a term that no longer exists, the meaning of horror. Well, the students do their best: they watch lots of old movies, put on rubber masks, comb through old fragments of the world that was. They’re enjoying themselves and that enjoyment warps the process, they keep drifting into pleasure, unsure what’s meant to be funny and what’s not. They get lost, get confused, lose the thread, famous faces appear under the wrong names, espousing things that are the opposite of whatever they believed. In the end they all have to admit defeat: they hand in their assignment with a note saying that in the new world, we can’t even imagine what horror may have been. The professor reads their findings, nods, and gives them all an F. No moral.

[image source: James Ensor, "The Intrigue"]

[bogkeep]

(For the morning)

I like books where characters struggle with autonomy ;0 I recently got into Queen’s Thief and I’m loving it, and I enjoy the Raven’s Tower a lot. Goblin Emperor is next on my list currently

ohohoho yesss one of the tastiest themes of all... the queen's thief is SO good!! i haven't heard of the raven's tower but i should look it up :3

- murderbot diaries by martha wells is the first thing that comes to mind. it's about a 'security unit' who has hacked its government module and has free will now. it mostly uses the free will to watch tv series while doing its job because it still exists within the hellscape of capitalism. most of the books are novellas and they're all so delightful. big hit among aroace and autistic audiences.

- the second book of the wayfarers series is also about a robot struggling with her newfound autonomy that she never asked or wished for. i love this whole series a lot - it's often described as a 'cozy sci-fi' that focuses on characters and personal struggles than the general fate of the universe. each book follows a different set of characters, but they usually have a connection to the previous characters and there is a bit of continuity. i've seen that becky chambers' work can often be a hit or miss for people, depending on whether they feel like the plot has stakes enough for them of if it's too saccharine and optimistic. (i personally think it hits just right, or at least it did when i read them. i feel like these books heralded the current 'cozy fantasy' trend, which i haven't really looked into but seems to be the subject of Discourse)

- if you like the goblin emperor, the lays of the hearth-fire series (hands of the emperor + at the feet of the sun) by victoria goddard has More Of That :3 it follows cliopher mdang, who has scraped his way to the top of the government despite all the doubts and naysayers and systems against him, to become the lord emperor's secretary and right hand man (well, both hands man, as the title implies). his lord emperor is so deeply bound by the taboos and traditions of his position he can't touch people, look them in the eye, or even eat fresh fruit, and it's slowly killing him from the inside. it all starts to change when cliopher invites the lord emperor to visit his faraway homeland for a vacation, something he's never had in all his years as the emperor. i just read these books and i'm obsessed haha

- some desperate glory by emily tesh is a sci-fi one-off about a warrior girl who grows up in a death cult that's supposed to avenge earth. despite being the best at warrioring, she gets assigned to the nursery so she can breed even gooder warriors, which is such a horrifying notion even she struggles to follow orders, and then many things unravel spectacularly. very much a book about clawing your way through the death cult programming, also the kind of book one might check the CWs for first (such as forced pregnancy, though the MC escapes it herself)

- all for the game by nora sakavic!! the original trilogy follows neil josten, who's been on the run from a criminal empire most of his life, but gets violently roped into playing college sports which is also the only thing he has ever cared about. the sport (exy) is made up, the whole plot is absolutely batshit bonkers (think sports anime but the yakuza is there), everything is super edgy, and i love this series so so much i think i've read it four or five times by now (and i will read it again). the author has recently started writing a sequel trilogy that follows jean moreau, a character that died in every original draft but stayed alive in the final story, and now has to deal with the horrors of that (cult deprogramming arc baybeeee). also the kind of series i can't recommend without a hefty dose of content warnings - it's got Everything, from SA and SH to non-consensual drug use to character death and violence.

- captive prince trilogy by c s pacat is another favourite series of mine. it's a fantasy court intrigue & romance, about a prince who's given as a slave to another prince who is Also a captive in many ways, and if they manage to ally together, maybe they can outmaneuver the forces against them... it's just too bad that the first prince killed the other prince's beloved brother so many years ago. big big content warning for SA as a recurring trauma theme in this series. i have read these books several times, i know exactly what happens next, but they keep me up reading late at night every single time while i kick my feetsies with delight.

anyway those are the books i can think of right now...!!! maybe i will add more later if i remember :3

[anne20055]

it’s honestly insane how much dan and phil do to try to be as accessible to everyone as possible. and they litteraly only get better.

like for the three tours:

you can watch tatinof on youtube premium, and while that’s great, you still have to buy youtube premium. you could get it then cancel it, but then you’d only be able to watch it once.

for ii, they were able to put it on dvd, which is great! you still have to buy the dvd, but you can watch it as often as you want.

and then we have wad. first, he was able to do a screening with a pre and post show at the end of feburary, but you still had to pay at least $15 for it, and you could only watch it for 48 hours.

we all knew dan wanted a place for it to stay forever, but i think it’s safe to say that we all assumed we’d have to buy it one way or another. even when he announced it was going on youtube, there were people, myself included, that had a tiny thought in the back of their head that we’d have to pay for it, cause why wouldn’t you? our society runs on capitalism and this is a huge, insane, and expensive project, it makes sense for it not to be free, and yet dan made it accessible for litteraly anyone with an internet connection. i dont think people realize how huge that is, and i respect the hell out of him for it.

even with phil, we all joke about capita£ester cause of all the sponsorships (and it being fucking hilarious), but you can still tell, he doesn’t like to hold people hostage like that, even with society telling him to. even if he isn’t always as explicit as dan. even with the sponsorships, every time he takes the time to still make them as entertaining as possible as if to say “yeah i know this is awful, but hey! at least i didn’t put a paywall on all my videos and then take it down a day later cause people were calling me a capitalist pig!”

everybody should really appreciate everything they do, or at the very least try to do, despite all of society’s bullshit telling them otherwise

i’m proud to call them my dads

[possessesnightshift]

regarding the beautiful bisexual italian man who allegedly is responsible for the uhc shooting...

look, i totally get the impulse to obsess over this random guy and turn him into some kind of a working class hero. we're all desperate to root for someone who can take direct action against healthcare tycoons who make our lives so much harder.

but lately i've noticed a shift in the gravity of this discourse away from "why the hell did a man need to die to get pharmacies to stop rejecting all my claims?" and more towards "i want to hear the cute italian twunk moaning and gagging on it..." and like...

i do get it. not only is he just a very clearly attractive man (despite all the media trying in vain to find the worst pictures of him to show), but he has a grab bag of random personality traits that manage to make a lot of people relate to them, even if the claims are dubious at best

he was an avid reader, he was an elon musk follower, he went to an ivy league, he was a chronic poster, he had anxiety, he was a stemcel, he was bisexual, he had mein kampf on his goodreads list, he wanted a white girl to go bug on his dick...

all of these things combined are enough to make this man fascinating to almost anyone. some of them even make him sympathetic to a lot of people (even if stuff like the bi thing is most likely unfounded)

but i want to make something absolutely clear.

this is not. about. luigi mangione...

hell this isn't about ANY suspect that could be the perpetrator (we do not KNOW if luigi mangione can be found guilty until an actual jury goes into deliberation. otherwise we're just putting our blind faith into the nypd which is definitely sketchy, even if the evidence does seem to indicate it's him thus far...)

no this is about one man and one man only:

Brian. Motherfucking. Thompson.

even if this act had been done by some unglamorous 60 year-old trailer trash person instead of a fit, attractive 26 year-old, this shooting is still not about him or his politics or whether he should or shoudln't face justice

no this is about the fact that brian thompson was valuable enough to his company to be a multi-millionaire, but not so valuable that the meeting he missed due to his execution had to be postponed. not so valuable that his position wasn't filled in a matter of days.

this is about the fact that the unceremonious death of an "innocent" man was a better policy in terms of increasing people's access to health coverage than anything the democrats or the republicans advocated for in the past decade. it's the fact that brian thompson's death apparently hurt people very little and helped people a lot.

it didn't have to be this way.

they made it this precarious on purpose because they assumed they could get away with it.

gun to my head? i personally think luigi mangione doesn't deserve to see jail time even if he is guilty. daniel penny executed a black homeless man and he doesn't have to go to prison. kyle rittenhouse is a free man. meanwhile marcellus williams was proven innocent and executed anyway for the crime of not murdering anyone. you can't convince me there are no murders the state wouldn't just unconditionally support if it's in their class interest. if that's the way it is, we deserve to allow this man his "legal kill" that serves us in our defense against the violence of the capital class.

but even if he goes down, even if they make an example out of him, it does not matter.

because this story is not about the killer.

it is about the man who was killed...

and the question of why he had to die for our healthcare needs to be properly addressed...

enjoy the memes for this brief moment in time. but once the glamor and intrigue dies away and we can stop drawing horny fanart of the alleged shooter, we need to circle back to talking about brian thompson. he needs to be the centerpiece of this story. his actions. his ruthless drive to turn a profit. the community of billionaires looking out for themselves. THAT is what this should be about...

we are brushing up against severe disempowerment in the new trump administration. we CANNOT fumble this opportunity for class solidarity...

get it all out of your systems

and turn right back around and demand to know whether these ceo monsters are planning on rejecting our claims the moment this story has faded into the background

[blue2jay]

Family Game Night

Summary: During a casual family gathering, your parents and siblings treat you like the “black sheep.” Leon uses humor and wit to turn the tables, making everyone see your value while keeping things light.

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

“Family Game Night”

The living room was buzzing with energy as your family gathered for “a little fun,” as your mother had called it. Board games, snacks, and banter filled the room—but it didn’t take long for the usual dynamic to creep in.

You sat at the end of the couch, quietly munching on pretzels, while your older sister Melissa basked in the spotlight as usual. Every joke she made was met with laughter, every win met with cheers. Meanwhile, your attempts to join in were either dismissed or brushed off.

Leon, sitting beside you with his arm casually draped behind your shoulders, picked up on it immediately. He’d been watching all night—the way your family interrupted you mid-sentence, overlooked your clever plays, and treated you like an afterthought. He wasn’t about to let it slide.

“Okay, next round!” your father called, handing out cards for the trivia game. “Let’s see who’s got the brains tonight. Melissa, you’re always great at these.”

Your sister preened at the praise, shooting you a smirk before turning her attention to Leon. “What about you, Leon?” she asked, her voice taking on a sugary tone. “I bet you’re good at everything, huh?”

Leon didn’t look up from his cards as he replied, “Not everything, but I am great at cheering Y/N on.” He flashed you a quick wink, making you grin despite yourself.

Melissa blinked, clearly surprised at the lack of attention her comment earned. “Right… well, I’ll just have to win this for the team,” she said, flipping her hair as the game began.

The first question went to you: “What’s the capital of Mongolia?”

Your mother scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, Y/N won’t know that. Let’s move on.”

Leon tilted his head, clearly unimpressed. “Actually, I think she does.” He turned to you, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “What’s the answer, babe?”

You sat up straighter, a mix of surprise and determination bubbling inside you. “Ulaanbaatar.”

“Correct!” your father said, surprised.

Leon smirked, clapping dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N, the trivia queen. You should’ve seen her take down a whole team at trivia night last week. She’s unstoppable.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. Your mother frowned slightly, clearly thrown off by Leon’s unwavering confidence in you.

The next few rounds continued, with Leon using his natural charm and wit to redirect the conversation back to you. When your brother teased you about a wrong answer, Leon quipped, “I think she’s just saving her brainpower for the hard ones. Unlike us, Y/N doesn’t need to show off.”

Your sister chimed in again, her gaze lingering on Leon. “So, Leon, what do you even do with your free time? Someone like you must have an exciting life.”

Leon shrugged, completely unfazed. “I spend most of my free time with Y/N. She makes everything exciting—trust me.”

Melissa’s smile faltered, but Leon didn’t seem to notice—or care. Instead, he turned to you, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Right, babe? What about those hikes you always drag me on?”

“Family Game Night” (Continued)

You laughed softly. “Drag is a bit dramatic, Leon. You enjoy them, admit it.”

Leon smirked, turning to your family with mock seriousness. “You should see her out there—leading the way, setting the pace. I’m just trying to keep up most of the time. She’s relentless.”

Your father raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Leon said with a nod. “And don’t get me started on her camping skills. If we were stranded anywhere, I’d bet my life on Y/N getting us out of it.” He looked at you, pride clear in his eyes. “She’s the most resourceful person I know.”

Your mother, clearly struggling with the attention being shifted toward you, let out a dismissive chuckle. “Y/N’s always been more of the… carefree type. Not quite as focused as Melissa.”

Leon tilted his head, his smile easy but his words sharp. “Carefree? I’d call it well-rounded. She balances work and life better than anyone. Honestly, I admire how much she cares about the people in her life and the things she loves. Not everyone can say that.”

Melissa tried once more, brushing her hand through her hair with a flirtatious smile. “It’s nice to hear someone defend Y/N so much. You really don’t need to humor her, though. It’s just a game.”

Leon’s blue eyes locked onto her, his expression unreadable but firm. “I’m not humoring her. I mean it.” He looked around the table, his voice calm but carrying weight. “You all seem to underestimate her, but I don’t. Y/N is one of the most capable, intelligent, and caring people I know. I’ve seen her pull off things that most people couldn’t dream of.”

The room fell silent as Leon glanced back at you, his lips curling into a soft, genuine smile. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. And I’ll say it as many times as it takes.”

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through you as you looked at him. You’d never seen anyone so effortlessly shut down the constant dismissiveness your family threw your way—and do it with such love and admiration.

Your mother cleared her throat, awkwardly trying to redirect. “Well, I suppose Y/N does try her best. Anyway—”

Leon interrupted smoothly, his voice still polite but resolute. “She doesn’t try—she succeeds. You should give her credit for that.”

Your father grumbled something under his breath and flipped the next trivia card, clearly wanting to move on, but Leon leaned toward you, dropping his voice just for you to hear. “You’re winning this game, by the way. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

You couldn’t help but grin, feeling the weight on your shoulders lift. “You’re on, Kennedy.”

As the game continued, you felt a newfound confidence. With Leon’s encouragement—and the way he seamlessly lifted you up—you started answering questions faster, sharper, even getting a few playful compliments from your brother.

By the end of the night, when the final scores were tallied, you’d won.

Leon clapped loudly, grinning as he pointed at you. “The champ, ladies and gentlemen! Didn’t I tell you?”

Your parents and Melissa exchanged quiet glances, unable to deny the outcome. Even your mother managed a begrudging, “Well done, Y/N.”

When the game wrapped up and your family began gathering their things, Melissa stopped near Leon, her smile still sweet but a bit more forced. “It’s impressive, really, how you stick up for her.”

Leon glanced at you as you stood beside him, his arm naturally slipping around your waist. “It’s not hard to stick up for someone as incredible as Y/N. She doesn’t need me to say it—but I will, every time.”

Melissa’s smile faltered completely, and she turned away without another word.

When the door finally closed behind your family, you let out a long breath, collapsing onto the couch. Leon followed, dropping down beside you with an exaggerated groan.

“Remind me to never play trivia with them again,” he said jokingly. “I thought I was going to get disqualified for defending the reigning champ.”

You laughed softly, turning to face him. “You didn’t have to do all of that, you know. They’re… just like that.”

Leon’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “No one gets to talk about you like that—not even your family. I know how amazing you are, Y/N, and I’ll remind you as often as you need to hear it.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the love and support in his words. “You’re really something, Leon Kennedy.”

He grinned, pulling you into his arms as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “And you’re everything, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

In that moment, wrapped up in his warmth and love, you knew that no matter what your family said, you had someone who saw your worth—and that made all the difference.

[anekename19]

The First Time Tetchou placed Jouno above Justice:

The Airport Scene TM is so significant for SGK cuz it marks the first major instance of Tetchou placing something above justice (Jouno). And while it is a 🤌 of a scene, I actually think this was the SECOND time Tetchou prioritized Jouno instead of justice.

When was the first time? It was during the first couple years after Jouno joined.

As much I absolutely LOVE current Tetchou’s unyielding devotion to Jouno, I honestly don’t think that’s how he’s always felt. In fact, I think that he originally hated him and that these two were actually enemies to lovers. This gradual shift marked the first time Tetchou placed Jouno above justice. Lemme explain.

Jouno was literally everything Tetchou stood against when he first joined. An unfeeling, murderous criminal who was allowed to basically get away with it all scot free. Not even JUST getting away with it, no, this filthy criminal actually got REWARDED with actual Hunting Dog status. In other words Jouno literally escaped justice. Ofc, Tetchou was gonna absolutely hate his guts. He swore he would never see this murderer as a Hunting Dog. In his mind, the only way this injustice would be righted is when Jouno finally paid for his crimes and faced capital punishment.

But then something insane happens; the ex-mafioso actually changes. Tetchou starts to see him casually risking his own life to save innocent civilians. He starts to notice the very faint, slightly flustered (and cute) smile on Jouno’s face whenever said civilians would thank him for rescuing them. In just a year, Jouno’s dedication to the HD manages to rival even that of his own. And that’s when Tetchou realizes he was wrong about Jouno and that somehow, this man has actually started to grow on him. (Don’t get me wrong; Jouno does still have his sadistic side that occasionally riles up Tetchou, but it’s rly more of a minor annoyance rather than anything serious anymore.)

But that’s when reality hits him. Jouno’s recent change in behaviour still does not erase his crimes. At the end of the day, he should still be on death row. Nothing about this situation has changed; in the eyes of justice, Jouno is still a criminal. Tetchou should still hate him. It shouldn’t matter that Jouno feels just so fun to be around despite because of his cattiness or that he has an utterly adorable smile, or that he never hesitates to protect the weak, or that he’s just become so stupidly endearing to Tetchou that it’s honestly overwhelming at times.

And yet… it DOES matter. Somehow the thought of Jouno dying has gone from something jubilating to utterly terrifying for Tetchou. Try as he might, he just can’t see Jouno as a criminal anymore; all he sees is a Hunting Dog; a hero. But again, he knows he can’t like Jouno and still claim to be a follower of justice.

And so, Tetchou decides to make an exception to his justice philosophy. Realizing that he just can’t hate Jouno anymore (and rly, doesn’t ever want to) Tetchou Suehiro, CHOOSES to place his love for his beloved partner above his love for justice, for the first (but definitely not last) time.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A good start!

February 6, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

Feb 06, 2025

The resistance to Trump's slow-rolling coup is achieving lift-off. On Wednesday, protestors gathered at state capitols across the nation and in D.C. to raise their voices against the illegal, unconstitutional actions by Trump, Musk, and their techno-vandals.

The protests reached the critical mass necessary for the NYTimes to write an “above the fold” story on the growing resistance to the coup. See NYTimes, Thousands Protest Trump Policies Across the U.S. (Accessible to all.)

Per the Times,

Thousands of people on Wednesday turned out across the U.S. to protest President Trump’s flurry of early actions, denouncing his plans for mass deportations, his attacks on diversity initiatives and his efforts to restrict transgender rights. The demonstrations, which popped up in major cities and state capitals in more than a dozen states, appear to have been spurred online, with word spreading via hashtags such as “#BuildtheResistance.” They were loosely organized under an unofficial tagline — 50501, to represent a goal of 50 protests in 50 states on one day, according to various websites and social media accounts. [¶¶] “This was organized by people, for people, for the protection of all people,” [Mich. State Rep.] Rheingans said. “There will be more actions. There will be more organizing. There will be more things for regular everyday Americans to plug into. This is just the beginning.”

Dozens of readers of this newsletter attended rallies and sent “reports from the field” with photos and videos. Here is a sampling of their comments:

The march in Sacramento was freaking awesome. Happy to be part of it. Thanks!

Robert, the march in Raleigh, NC, was totally legit. Probably 1500 people of all ages walked peacefully around our Capitol and around our legislative building today for hours! I was so proud of so many patriots who came out to protest what Trump and Musk are doing to our country . . . The MAGA Congress is missing in action. They should not be paid during this time. That will save Musk some money!!!!

I do want to report that I attended one today at the state capitol in Hartford, CT. It was so energizing, powerful, inspiring and I was so grateful to be there, with a large crowd of people of all ages, with creative and impassioned signs. What I came to understand and appreciate is the spontaneity of the organizing and turnout for this event. There wasn’t one particular organization that issued a call.

In one state, the effort to organize the rally was hijacked by trolls (I won’t provide details to avoid giving the idea to others), so the participants changed plans and headed to the local offices of their US Senators to register their outrage. They received a cool reception from their GOP Senator’s staff but a warmer reception from their independent Senator’s staff.

See the photos submitted from readers, below.

Denver, Colorado

Providence, Rhode Island

Readers showed up at the events despite the lack of organization and clear leadership. Or, perhaps readers showed up because of the spontaneity and free-form protests.

The energy and “self-help” attitude are similar to that of early 2017 when organizations were creating themselves out of whole cloth on a few days’ notice. Many of those groups are now powerhouse national grassroots organizations that are leading the fight in 2025. Those national grassroots organizations know how to organize effective protests. Follow them, join them, and stand with them!

Many readers of this newsletter are involved in the pro-democracy grassroots groups below. If I failed to include your group, no offense intended! Please feel free to include others in the Comment section (or email me: rbhubbell@gmail.com):

Indivisible

SwingLeft

Markers for Democracy

Field Team Six

Sister District

Third Act

Red Wine and Blue

BigTent USA

Women’s March

And, of course, I urge everyone to subscribe to the essential resource Chop Wood Carry Water by Jessica Craven on Substack. If you want to take action but are constrained by employment, childcare, health concerns, or geography, Jessica provides daily actionable items that will make a difference.

It was a good start that lifted the spirits of the readers who attended the protests. Stay tuned for more!

Lawsuits

Legal advocacy groups made additional progress on Wednesday in challenging Trump's illegal and unconstitutional moves. I urge all readers interested in tracking legal developments to subscribe to Democracy Docket’s newsletter. It is the definitive source for pro-democracy litigation.

DOJ agrees to temporary restriction on Treasury Department payments data

In a significant development, the DOJ has agreed to a protective order that limits the access of DOGE to information in the Treasury payment system. See DOJ agrees to proposed order to limit DOGE's access to Treasury data - ABC News. Per the ABC report,

In a filing late Wednesday evening, lawyers with the Justice Department agreed to a proposed order that would largely prohibit the Treasury Department from sharing sensitive financial data with Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency.

The agreement allows two individuals associated with Musk but employed by the Treasury Department – called special government employees – to have “read only” access to the sensitive data. Once approved by U.S. District Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly, who is overseeing the case, the agreement will stay in place until Feb. 24 when both sides return to court to argue about a long-term preliminary injunction.

The DOJ agreed to the temporary protective order because it could articulate no legal basis to oppose the plaintiff’s request for a temporary restraining order.

This is a significant development that suggests that the Trump administration will go through the motions of complying with court orders. But whether the administration will actually comply is a different question. Whistleblowers, former federal employees, and interested citizens should be alert to indications that Musk and DOGE are violating the protective order.

Second judge blocks Trump's birthright citizenship executive order

A second federal judge has issued a preliminary injunction against Trump's unconstitutional order denying birthright citizenship to children born in America. See ABC, Judge issues nationwide injunction blocking Trump's bid to end birthright citizenship.

Per ABC, U.S. District Judge Deborah Boardman wrote

The denial of the precious right to citizenship will cause irreparable harm. It has been said the right to U.S. citizenship is a right no less precious than life or liberty. If the court does not enjoin enforcement of the executive order, children subject to the order will be denied the rights and benefits of U.S. citizenship and their parents will face instability.

The U.S. Supreme court has resoundingly rejected the president's interpretation of the citizenship clause. In fact, no court has endorsed the president's interpretation, and this court will not be the first.

The ongoing coup attempt

Attorney General Pam Bondi weaponizes the DOJ in her first hours on the job

During her confirmation hearings, Pam Bondi solemnly swore that she would pursue justice in an evenhanded manner and that there would be no “enemies list” during her tenure as Attorney General. She said, “There will never be an enemy's list within the Department of Justice.”

But during her first hours as Attorney General, Bondi convened a “weaponization working group” that took direct aim at Trump's political enemies: special counsel Jack Smith, Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg, and NY Attorney General Letitia James. See Bondi, as new AG, launches 'Weaponization Working Group' to review officials who investigated Trump - ABC News.

Musk’s DOGE techno-vandals now have access to your Social Security

Even as the DOJ is conceding that Musk’s access to the Treasury payment information system is unlawful, Musk’s DOGE gang is assaulting the agency that houses Medicare and Medicaid. See The Hill, DOGE officials hone in on Medicare, Medicaid offices.

Representatives of billionaire Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) have turned their focus to the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS), the agency confirmed Wednesday. The Wall Street Journal reported earlier Wednesday that DOGE aides had been granted access to key payment and contract systems.

Musk’s DOGE techno-vandals now have access to national weather data

The DOGE swat team of schoolyard bullies/engineers have stormed into the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and taken over access to NOAA’s IT systems. See DOGE now has access to NOAA's IT systems; reviewing DEI program, sources say - ABC News.

And according to Wired Magazine, DOGE has ordered NOAA staffers to cease communications with “foreign nationals” because, you know, in Trump’s bizarre universe, weather that affects the US doesn’t begin in Africa and Asia so there is no need to coordinate with weather scientists in those regions of the world.

Trump signs executive order banning transgender athletes from women's sports

Trump continues to discriminate against transgender people at every opportunity. If you know a transgender person or someone with a transgender person in their family, now would be a good time to reach out to check on their state of mind. It must be incredibily difficult to be a transgender person when the government has made discrimination and harassment of transgender people official government policy. See The New York Times, Trump Signs Executive Order Barring Transgender Athletes From Women’s Sports.

Trump tries to walk back comments on Gaza; Arab American group try to walk back support for Trump

Nearly everyone in the world condemned Trump's comments about depopulating Gaza so that developers could turn it into the “Riviera of the Middle East.” Even Trump's own advisors distanced themselves from Trump's comments. The only people who expressed lukewarm support were the jellyfish masquerading as GOP members of Congress.

Trump's comments were so crazed that the group formerly known as “Arab Americans for Trump” has changed its name to drop the reference to Trump. See Pro-Trump Arab American group changes its name after the president's Gaza 'Riviera' comments | AP News

Concluding Thoughts

Two closing comments.

First, Professor Timothy Snyder has penned the clearest articulation of why the events of the last two weeks constitute a “coup.” See Timothy Snyder on Substack, Of course it’s a coup.

Professor Snyder writes:

The ongoing actions by Musk and his followers are a coup because the individuals seizing power have no right to it. Elon Musk was elected to no office and there is no office that would give him the authority to do what he is doing. It is all illegal. It is also a coup in its intended effects: to undo democratic practice and violate human rights. [¶¶]

That coup is, in fact, happening. And if we do not recognize it for what it is, it could succeed.

Good point from a distinguished professor of history who has studied tyrants and coups throughout his career.

Second, as I was searching through my archives for a reference for tonight’s newsletter, I came across an article I had pinned as “important” the day after November 5. Rebecca Solnit wrote the definitive statement about resistance during the second Trump administration that is worth printing and posting near your computer. See Daily Kos (11/06/24), Rebecca Solnit on Persevering Resistance

They want you to feel powerless and to surrender and to let them trample everything and you are not going to let them. You are not giving up, and neither am I. The fact that we cannot save everything does not mean we cannot save anything and everything we can save is worth saving.

Rebecca Solnit’s words were prophetic: “The fact that we can’t save everything doesn’t mean we can’t save anything” and “Everything we can save is worth saving.” Beautifully said and the perfect antidote to Trump's “flood the zone” strategy while Democrats are locked out of power in Washington.

We can’t fix everything immediately. But that does not mean we should do nothing. The opposite is true: Let’s save what we can. A good start in “saving what we can” is letting our politicians and fellow citizens know that we care about democracy, the rule of law, and a just society. We must demonstrate that we care enough to stand in the bitter cold in early February to exercise a right granted by the First Amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting . . . the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Let’s raise our voices in unison as we exercise the fundamental right to petition the government for redress of grievances.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[sixtynineinchnails]

I've been wanting to make this post for months and in light of the recent ex-presidential ear piercing now seems as good a time as any.

As a non-usamerican, as someone who is pro Palestine, as an anarchist: I am begging you with every fibre of my being to go to the fucking polls this fall and

VOTE.

Disclaimer: I don't live in the united states and I never have and I probably never will. I can never truly understand what it's like to be a usamerican and I'm not going to pretend like i could. I fully expect to get called a fascist or some shit for saying your should exercise your right to vote but at this point I don't care. I'm scared, we're all scared, and news like we've just gotten tonight is only going to compound the fear and chaos and conspiracy thought and fearmongering and hopelesspilled doomerism we’re all dealing with rn. I don’t want to make anyone’s day worse. I'm not looking to debate you. I just want to say some things that i’ve been thinking about for a long time now while a couple people might actually stop to listen.

The united states of america is the most powerful country in the world.

What happens in the united states government this fall will affect every single person on the planet, in some way, for better or worse.

You aren't just voting blue to avoid trump turning the united states into an alt-right theocratic dictatorship (which on its own is bad enough). You're also voting to avoid the right from gaining power (where they haven't already) in of other powerful democratic countries. You're voting to stop Palestine (and let’s be real, probably a handful of other places) from being wiped off the face of the planet with nuclear bombs. You're potentially voting to avoid a third world war. I'm not saying this to spread fear of these things happening. I'm saying this because if you're not already aware of how huge the scope is here: you're not voting to save your country, you're very likely voting to save the entire world.

I can't speak to how people feel everywhere (if you’re also a non-usamerican please feel free to share how this is/has/will affect your country in the notes) but I want to speak to my own for a bit. I can confidently say that what happens in america heavily affects the political and social situation here in canada. We would not have had a convoy of thousands of people drive across the country (which takes days to do) to occupy our capital city for a month and halt almost $4 billion in trade to protest, i kid you not, wearing a mask during covid, if trump supporters hadn't paved the way (and directly influenced canadians to follow in their footsteps). We wouldn't have had "concerned parents" protesting against sex-ed and LGBTQ+ inclusivity in schools (protests full of armed+mounted police which they brought their young children to during school hours) if trump supporters hadn't paved the way. There are people waving flags and signs around on street corners along major roads every single week everywhere from the largest city in our country to small towns of under 5000 people. I’ve heard of people who’ve spiraled into such severe conspiracy rabbitholes that their entire lives and personalities have changed in just a few years. Despite being canadian nationalists, these people and their patterns of behaviour are all a direct result of donald j trump and his followers. And no matter your political leaning, pretty much everyone hates our current prime minister, our economy is bad, even people with decent incomes can’t afford to eat, and everyone is frothing at the mouth for something to happen. If america votes trump this fall, I see very little hope that our country won't vote conservative (our main right-wing party). They will backpedal decades of LGBTQ+ rights and Indigenous peoples' rights and climate action funding and children's education and a whole pile of other important stuff. They have made it very clear that they will follow the exact same path as right wing america and there are a scary amount of people here who want that. And even if canada remains centre/left while sharing the largest land border in the world with a trump dictatorship....well I for one can’t see that going over very well either.

And that's just my country. I know a lot of other countries have been battling a similar spike in alt-right groups and conservative ideologies following the last trump presidency. I don't think any of us are truly prepared for what will happen in the event of another one.

Look. I hate biden too. In general I disagree with the very concept of colonial government and money and the division of countries/states/etc and the legal/carceral system and a whole whack of other shit that we have to live with right now. Someone’s said this before but if any of us thought that telling you guys to blow up a walmart would save your country from a fascist dictatorship I for one would encourage it. But none of us are actually going to blow up a walmart, and it wouldn’t solve anything at this point anyways. We all have to take action in whatever ways we actually can and will. Voting is one of many small, simple steps you can take, should take, fucking better be taking. It’s easy, it’s legal, if you mail in you don’t even have to go to the polling station, and if you really can’t vote for whatever reason, encourage everyone you know who can to do so. Hell, if I could vote on november 5th I would crawl my ass over the border on my hands and knees to do it. I'm sorry that the two options are a fascist police state and an even worse fascist police state run by a man who thinks he's a god, but not voting won't fix that problem. You're not going to establish a revolution by purposefully not taking part in social change, and encouraging others not to either. Not voting against trump = voting for trump. If you don't vote and that orange nukefucker takes over your country it is your fault. And we’re all going to pay for your inaction, especially the people in places like Palestine who will be in significantly more danger than they already are if trump gets his fake tanned hands on the situation.

Anyways. Keep fighting. Stay safe. Do what you can. Don't give up. There is always hope for a better future. And for fucks sake go vote.

Oh and if we do end up in the worst timeline this november and I see you anti-voting fuckers making "lmao time to move to canada" jokes...count your fucking days.

-

TLDR: usamerica is not the only place in the world affected by the actions of usamerica. If you’re still railing against voting at this point you’re pro-trump lmao.

[marvelmusing]

Game of Survival

Pairing: Darklina x Star Summoner!Reader

Inspired by the Hunger Games

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“You know who we are?”

Despite the swaying of the carriage as it speeds down the Vy, you manage to remain seated as you look at the two people in front of you. Staring at the man who had spoken, you nod.

“Aleksander Morozova and Alina Starkov. The first, and only, joint victors of the Grisha Games.”

Each year, a region of Ravka is selected and its people are tested for Grisha power. A member of each of the seven Grisha orders are brought to the capital of Os Alta where they will be trained by a victor Grisha of the same order, before they are entered into the Grisha Games for the entertainment of the nation and beyond.

The Games are incredibly popular amongst the otkazat’sya, with the governments of Fjerda and Shu Han offering their own Grisha as tributes.  

As Ravka’s only shadow summoner, Aleksander had won his first Games at thirteen, the first year that had eight tributes competing instead of the traditional seven. His victory has allowed him to live in the capital as a mentor ever since, though no other shadow summoners have been discovered yet.

Considered far too young to watch the Games by your mother, you hadn’t seen Aleksander’s power on display as he emerged victorious after a vicious fight to the death with a tidemaker the same age as him.

But the year Alina had been discovered as the sun summoner, you were old enough to watch as she wielded her light ferociously against her opponents. As another unique summoner, Aleksander had been assigned as her mentor.

The year Alina had entered was an event for the history books. In a dramatic twist, the Gamemaster sent Aleksander into the arena and the audience had watched with morbid delight as he had slayed countless tributes to find a wounded Alina.

It was all the people could talk about, whether he would be able to find her in time.

When it came down to them as the final two in the arena, an announcement was made, and they became the first ever dual winners of the Grisha Games. People had been elated, celebrating in the streets, and the parties had lasted all night long.  

Some people still believe they should have fought to the death. There can only be one victor of the Games. But looking at the two of them now, their hands clasped together as they sit with their shoulders touching, you cannot imagine either one of them killing the other.    

“How long have you known that you’re Grisha?” Alina asks you.

“Since I was ten. My mother always knew I was different, so she made sure I was never tested. I don’t think she ever knew exactly how different I was.”

“You can summon at will?” Aleksander asks.

Briefly, you glance down at the silver cuffs that encircle each of your wrists, you’re allowed normal movement wearing them but they prevent you from using your power. Then you look back at Aleksander and nod.

He studies your expression for a moment, before he nods slowly in acknowledgement.

“Keep that to yourself for the moment. We’ll use it to our advantage.”

The months before Alina had entered the arena, support for her had been mixed. Some people thought her unique power of sunlight was a blessing that would carry her to instantaneous victory.

However, the footage from training sessions and interviews with her had many people convinced that she was a naive young woman with a limited grasp of her abilities.

Now, you wonder how much of that had been a manipulation technique crafted by the man in front of you, who had been subjected to the cruelty of the Games at a young age and has been dealing with the whims of the nobility ever since.

“You’ll be living with us for the next six months,” Alina informs you, though you already knew that.

“Next week, you’re to meet the King,” Aleksander adds.

Nerves bloom in your stomach at the thought of displaying your power to the Court and Aleksander seems to notice your apprehension as he settles his free hand over yours.

“We shall be right by your side.”

“Until it’s time for me to fight to the death against seven other people.”

“Until then,” he agrees. “We will do all we can to ensure that you are prepared for the Games.”

The sound of people gathered on the streets, clamouring for a look at the couple’s first ever tribute, reaches your ears and you’re tempted to cower away from the windows even though the decorative layer of lace acts as a curtain to shield you from their view.

“What do you want me to be?” you ask quietly.

They both stare questioningly at you.

In response, you nod in the direction of Aleksander and begin to explain.

“Before your Games you were small and unassuming, an intentional underdog. Afterwards you’re mysterious and aloof.”

Glancing at Alina, you observe the curious tilt of her head and the intrigued spark in her eyes.

“Before, everyone thought you were innocent and helpless, then strong and brave during the Games, and now you’re Os Alta’s darling.”

Nervously, you look down at your tattered clothing that had been torn during the struggle after your power had been revealed - when you had tried to escape.

Aleksander leans closer, hooking a finger beneath your chin so that you meet his dark eyes. His gaze flickers over your features as if he is attempting to memorise every inch.

“You are going to be undeniable in your power. You will show them that you are bright and beautiful and something remarkable.”

Alina brushes a few strands of hair from your face, smoothing it gently back into place as Aleksander traces a delicate line along your jaw to keep your eyes on the two of them as he continues to speak.

“They will all want you by their side, and not a single one of them will be deserving as your equal.”

His words have you spellbound by his casual confidence, as if he is speaking this all into existence.

“You are going to be our little star,” Alina says softly with a smile that has warmth blooming in your chest. “You’ll never have to hide yourself, ever again.”

Then the carriage jerks to a stop at the gates of the Morozova estate. A crowd has formed by the entrance, otkazat’sya commoners all eager to catch a glimpse of you.

Aleksander steps out of the carriage first, smoothing down the front of his black kefta as his dark eyes skim over the crowd.

He then extends his hand for Alina and the sound of the crowd intensifies at the sight of the sun summoner glistening in her black and gold kefta.

Inhaling shakily, you close your eyes and attempt to draw some strength from Aleksander’s words. You are going to be undeniable.

Head held high, you take Aleksander and Alina’s waiting hands as you step down onto the cobbled path. Some people in the crowd openly weep, whilst others make the symbol of the saints with their hand.

The reverent whispers of your name send a shiver down your spine and as you step through the gates Aleksander ducks his head down to murmur against your ear,

“We are going to change the world, little star.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @veescorneroftheworld

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

So I replayed Mother 3 very recently. Had a good time with it. Beyond everything else, I think that Mother 3 is actually a pretty good game, and one of Nintendo's better games in its line-up. Despite a lot of what I am going to say about it down below, coming from a perspective that has learned a lot since I originally played the game, this remains a very distinctive title for Nintendo. It is both intensely political and has some of the most prominent queer characters in their library, and in many ways, it is the type of game I want Nintendo to be making. It is a game that is actually saying something.

But, I think that I've found myself more critical of what exactly it's saying now than I have in the past.

The Politics of Mother 3

This is an interesting point to start off with, because Mother 3 is pretty transparently a very anti-capitalist work. It directly associates the introduction of money and capitalism to Tazmily Village by Porky and the Pigmask Army with the illness in society that takes root afterwards. This does immediately though beg the question of what exactly is the solution to the issue? If not a capitalist society, what is the best way for society to be ordered?

In strict accordance with its canon, the answer is an unknown. The climax of the game involves pulling the seventh and final needle, and causing the rebirth of the world. However, we the player are not given any indication as to what this rebirth of the world actually entails, merely being told during the fake-out end screen that everything is going to be okay. Lucas, the boy with the good and pure heart, pulled the final needle, so everything is going to be okay. Of course, we are only told this. Lucas, as a silent protagonist, is given no real motivations of his own, merely acting as a vessel for the other characters with moral statements: Alec, Wess, Kumatora, and the Ma[*******]. Lucas can really be argued to not be much different than Claus is. Lucas is given no real motivation to pull out the needles, and as a result, the end result of the world is similarly empty. You, the Player, Lucas's Porky Minch, are asked to imagine what a world that might look like.

Except. That's not really the whole story, is it?

After you beat the game, you get the title you see at the beginning of the post, replacing this one in the end card. On some level, this is obviously intended to be a callback to the titles of both Mother 1 and Mother 2, in particular with the image of the Earth acting as the O. But one must contrast it with the original title and there's an obvious message. By the end of the game, your rebirth has healed the world, removing its metallic pieces and allowing the natural world to flourish again.

Mother 3 is anti-capitalist, but it is also pastoralist, and I would even argue flirts with primitivism quite often. The replacement of the metal in the logo with wood here is not accidental, and it resonates with the themes and ideas that the game has been telling you for quite some time. While the fate of the world is ambiguous in the narrative, thematically speaking, Mother 3 has an idea of what the world should look like.

Life in Tazmily Village is quite simply by the time that Fassad and the Pigmask Army show up. There's very little in the ways of modern technology, and there's also no sense of money or a market. The items that you find in Thomas's Bazaar are all free of charge, and can be taken freely. This is deliberate, as is revealed very late into the story, as the village is full of survivors of an apocalyptic scenario and blamed their current lifestyles for causing it. They choose then to take on the role of a small, quiet village, the kind of lives they all wanted. While it is not clear whether that society was capitalist to the same extent as what would come afterwards, the message is pretty clear. The pastoral lifestyle that Tazmily exists in is considered the ideal, it is what several characters, including Lucas, fight for.

This, by itself, puts a bit of a conservative spin on the work as a whole. Mother 3 is not anti-capitalist in the same way that a communist or a socialist would be. It is not concerned with the plight of the workers, or even generally for society's well-being. You perform no meaningful anti-capitalist action in the entire game. You cannot improve the lives of the elderly that were placed in Old Man's Paradise, a decrepit and falling down nursing home. You cannot stand up for the exploitation of the workers of Tazmily Village. You engage with the capitalist system of shops and labor with no real alarm.

But where this gets really interesting is in the social messaging. A conversation that initially struck me as quite odd replaying this game was the conversation in Chapter 4 involving Mike in the nursing home.

Mike: I can't keep burdening Lisa forever, but I do have a Happy Box and nice-bodied girls like Nan and Linda here to keep me company, so I'm pretty happy in my own way. Linda: I'm sorry, Mike, but that's called sexual harassment these days. Mike: This is a hard world we live in now. How disappointing.

This scene is obviously meant as a joke at Mike's expense here. You're not really supposed to take his side here, but let's break this down a bit more here given the context of the entire game.

Mother 3 gives literally nothing to the Pigmask Army what so ever. The game never, ever, tries to play anything they do as a positive. The encroaching of capitalism and suburbanization is not presented as a net zero, it is presented as entirely negative. Nothing good came out of it, the world is worse off for it. Wildlife is mutilated for sport, people become engrossed in their pursuit of happiness (another point we'll get into shortly), and the people of Tazmily drift away from each other, becoming more rude and more curt to each other, especially towards those deemed "undesirable".

But the scene reads strangely in this context. The constant here is Mike's inappropriate comments about women's bodies, not their nonacceptance. It is explicitly marked as a change to the world that the concept of sexual harassment even exists, and there's no other source for it than the Pigmasks. The Pigmasks introduced feminism to Tazmily, and in the overarching narrative of the story, that's a bad thing. The game makes no concessions towards any good result happening, so every impact must be bad. While in a vacuum, the butt of the joke is Mike, the narrative actually vindicates him.

To give another example of the game's conservative bent, let's look at family structures that are present in the game. One might expect that family structures would be much more loose in the pastoral Tazmily Village than in the suburbanized Tazmily Village. After all, the nuclear family as it exists today is entirely an invention of capitalism, and specifically, came about because of cultural shifts after WWII in response to the growing Cold War.

But if you paid attention, the family dynamics don't actually shift at all. Families in Tazmily remain nuclear the entire time. This makes sense given the canonical explanation, that Tazmily was a rush job and these people were probably coming from a culture that had nuclear family dynamics, but it grates roughly with the idea that Tazmily Village is an ideal. What goes unstated is that the nuclear family is inherently a part of that. Sure, the gender roles become more clear past Chapter 4, where men go off to work and the women stay home, but in truth, it really wasn't that much different in the past.

Then there is the Happy Boxes. In the narrative of the story, the Happy Boxes are dubiously brainwashing devices. They emit odd lights and noises, and at least a couple of characters are enraptured with them to the exclusion of all else. They are the devices planted in Tazmily to begin its metamorphosis into a suburban town. But, there is actual brainwashing later on in the game, so I'm hesitant to merely take them at that. Rather, what do the Happy Boxes represent thematically? I believe the answer to that is propaganda.

Visually, the Happy Boxes resemble CRT screens, either TVs or computer monitors, and this is pretty consistent with their placement in homes as well, often being central to living areas. The introduction of television revolutionized the ability to disseminate propaganda to people, as now the same message could be sent to millions of people worldwide with basically no downside. in addition, there's no direct changes as a result of the Happy Boxes existing. People are more rude, more dismissive, and a bit meaner than they were previously, but they maintain their dominant personalities. Some people, such as Abbot and Abbey, are remarkably similar. The message in the Happy Boxes is a more subtextual one. The Happy Boxes are supposed to bring happiness to you, so the act of getting one is the desire for happiness.

This, to Mother 3, is a key poison. It is Fassad who sells the Happy Boxes to the people of Tazmily on the idea that we want to be happy, and there's nothing wrong with wanting happiness. This of course being Fassad, we are inclined to as the viewers see their words as deceptive in nature. Since the core part of Mother 3's politics is pastoralism and anti-capitalism, it makes pursuing happiness a moral ill. This is probably why there's no real sympathy given to any of the workers in the story. They were the ones who chose to pursue happiness, chose to get a Happy Box, and chose to listen to Fassad's words. They should have remained resolute in not getting a Happy Box. Working in the system is being part of it. It's being complicit.

(In a way that is, of course, separate from the ways in which the main party are also working in and complicit in the system.)

This isn't to say to end this that Mother 3's politics are wholly bad. It provides, for example, the important connotation that suburbanization comes at a cost. The happy, suburban lifestyle comes at the mistreatment of the elderly, the outsiders, and of queer people.

Oh yeah we haven't talked about that hu-

QUEERNESS AND MOTHER 3

So we're going to have to talk about the Magypsies. For the remainder of this post I am not going to call them that, because their name just straight out includes a slur used against the Roma, and given that they play into the mysticism tropes of them in media. This post isn't about that, but it is worth bringing up here and it's why I censored their name earlier.

(As an aside, there's an entire post to be made talking about specifically Fassad, and the ways in which he is coded quite bizarrely as Islamic, from Fassad's dress and name, to his focus on bananas, and his proper introductory chapter taking place in a desert and being in charge of a pair of monkeys. In addition, the fact that Fassad is associated with the introduction of money and being a propaganda mouthpiece is...concerning. This isn't strictly the point of this section but it would feel remiss to not include this in some place, and this felt like the best.)

What specifically the Ma[*******] are in the narrative is never defined. They are left somewhat gender ambiguous, although undeniably queer.

This, to me however, is limiting to an understanding of them, and honestly I think we should just say it here.

They're meant to be a facsimile of trans women.

Now, whether or not specifically they are trans women or are meant to merely be in drag is up in the air, and I don't think either option is actually good. Any claims of gender ambiguity go out the window given that they are all effeminate looking men, refer to each other as women, and face either general ambivalence or outright derision by other characters in the story. "Is it a he or a she?" is not really meant kindly. They are also in a whirlpool of homoerotic innuendo, and when discussing them being facsimiles, whether or not they are actually trans women or men in drag is pointless. Those are the same things when presented this way.

Mother 3 also doesn't really know what to do with them or how it even really feels about them. They are both intended to be comedic and also magical protectors of the land. They are part of the protagonist faction but are entirely passive, figures that merely guide and help awaken powers in the actual protagonists before being pre-determinately fridged as the story progresses. There is one exception.

Locria, or really, Fassad, the con-artist formerly known as Locria. The game reveals very, very late into the story through a floor in the Porky Tower and in Miracle Fassad's use of PK Starstorm that Fassad is very likely Locria, a traitor to her other friends and assistant of the Porky Empire. At no point ever is Fassad's gender or sex ever in question. He is referred to entirely with male pronouns, is discussed as a guy, and even once his identity is revealed as Locria, the mouse that he lived with still refers to him with male pronouns. This to me is kind of critical to my distinction of them as facsimiles of trans women, because there would be no reason to make Fassad explicitly always male. Fassad betrayed the others, and assimilated into what the capitalist army needed of him.

Or, well, that's a nice way of thinking about it. The Ma[*******] existed on the Nowhere Islands for much longer than the people of Tazmily Village. In Mother 3, there is basically no other meaningful signifier of queerness to be seen in the entire game. There are no gay men, there are no gay women, and there is no other gender ambiguity. Even Kumatora, who was raised by Ionia, is basically a tomboy in her appearance.

The people of Tazmily Village are seemingly completely unaware of their presence until later in the game, as it seems to be that they are completely unaware of queerness. The message the game tells here is that queerness essentially exists outside both the pastoral idealism and the capitalist dystopia that exist as the two main points of reference. They willingly self-sacrifice to see the world change, but while they are invested in the world not being destroyed, the time will come no matter what. They aren't shown to be reborn in the new world either, as none of the textboxes can be attributed to them.

Is it positive? Is it negative!? Who knows! I don't think I have come to particularly like their depiction in this game as a trans woman, they aren't really uniquely hated or loved by the game's narrative. If anything, the game just seems to regard them as existing, and pretty okay people, if not very weird in their queerness.

Conclusions I guess, I don't know, I wasn't intended for this post to essentially become an ess-

While I have a lot to say about how Mother 3 gives its messaging and what messaging that is, it is still a good game from the fundamentals. The characters are well written, the game has a good sense of tension and delivery, etc. I think the game makes missteps, and I do want to be clear here, I think this is a game with good intentions but limited by writers who are probably somewhat conservative and couldn't imagine what a better world would be. But it still takes a pretty massive risk by talking about what it does. In a gaming climate where Nintendo games often try to talk about as little as possible, in order to be consumable vessels for entertainment, I think Mother 3 stands out in a good way. This post isn't even going into the ideas of grief, loss, and motherhood that are central to the story as well. I just wanted to talk politics lmao.