#he's learning to read under duress

[fooltofancy]

-rm 2, plot 16, 6th ward, lavender beds-

[fan-of-chaos]

So one thing i noticed is that we only see Alastor fold his ears when he is under really extreme duress, literally scared and distressed to such degree that he physically cannot control it anymore.

He probably learned how to suppresses the natural movement of his ears. Most likely because how easy it would make to read his emotions (in the same principle of always smiling to hide his real emotions) and how much of a weakness he sees that as.

Lets look at all the times we was Alastar's ears fold:

The time when he messed with MUCH MORE powerful than him King of Hell and Lucifer shrunk him (I guess???), making him very powerless and vulnerable for that time.

And after Adam defeats him:

And of course during his breakdown:

And there is only ONE SINGLE time we see him fold his ears when he isn't under extreme stress or fear.

Its when he is with Rosie in cannibal town. He is only mildly annoyed there and his ears still fold down. The only reasonable conclusion is that he feels safe enough with Rosie to relax his grip over his own body language.

HE FEELS SAFE ENOUGH WITH HER TO LET HIMSELF SHOW A POTENTIAL WEAKNESS!!!

[dreadsuitsamus]

Unite | Ichigo Kurosaki x Reader |

author's note: this is a follow up to the ichigo x reader blurb i wrote, which you can read here. i decided i couldn't leave it on that angsty note!

pairing: ichigo kurosaki x fem!reader

warnings: reconciliation, light jealousy

Your captain unceremoniously lays a cloak before you, and you hear the sounds of his sister and lieutenant arguing a short distance away. Frowning and gazing up at the man, you take the beige cloak in hand. "Captain?"

"The sands of Hueco Mundo are harsh." He murmurs, turning away to leave as quickly as he came.

The gears in your head turn, and faster than your mind can process things, your body is moving and snatching your zanpakutō up. Ichigo, that idiot... He's traveling to save Orihime in a land he doesn't know, and likely alone! What a stupid man... He just can't sit still for a single moment.

But hell, you're just as much of an idiot for running after him, aren't you?

Rukia and Renji pause their squabble as you meet them outside, each of them draped in similar cloaks to the one Byakuya left you. Surely your captain knew what they would do, but why would he include you in such a heist?

"He says he was only ordered to bring us back to Soul Society." Rukia murmurs, her eyes gazing at you with an expression you can't quite read.

Renji's face, however, is much less made for gambling. He's your lieutenant, after all, and you have the utmost respect for him, but he's just about as dumb as that man that you love. A stupid smirk is spread on his lips and he wiggles those oddly-styled brows of his. "Time to go make up with-"

"Renji!" Rukia barks, delivering a solid strike of her elbow into the taller man's side.

"I'll help save the girl." You murmur to yourself, looking away from the two people your captain trusts the most. "And that's all."

Rukia's eyes are soft, her lips pulled in a soft little pout. It hasn't been too long since you returned home, without Ichigo, and it was actually Renji that was able to get the details of what happened before her older brother finally retrieved you. "Tensions have been high, and things said and done under duress aren't always indicative of one's heart."

"We should hurry before he can get too far ahead." Voice flat, it gives away little of what's on your mind. "Lest his rescue mission become one for himself."

But Renji knows you, the third seat of the Sixth Division, very well. He nudges Rukia when she opens her mouth to speak, shaking his head minutely. You'll work through your emotions and tension with Ichigo later— Orihime's the priority now, for everyone.

"Let's go." The words have hardly left Renji's mouth before you're racing for the gates out of Soul Society, your mastery of Shunpo perhaps better than your very own captain's. And though Renji feels sluggish in comparison even with his more than adequate skill in the flash step, the soft raise of his smirking lips gives way to his pride in you. Certainly, he can trust you with his life.

The thump of an anxious heart simmers below your chest, the speed of the hammering increasing as you get closer to journeying into Hueco Mundo. You've never been there yourself, and it's no doubt crawling with Hollows and things even worse than them. Aizen is there, the traitor, and he's got Ichigo's friend.

Shame floods your cheeks with warmth. What the hell were you thinking, giving Ichigo an ultimatum like that? That was a terrible way to act, a horrid display of your jealousy and anger at a woman that would have Ichigo if he wanted her. He chose you once already, and it just wasn't enough for you in that moment. Why wasn't it enough?

Urahara hums when you arrive, almost as if he'd been expecting you all. And with his easy sense of what's coming and how to prepare for it, he's probably been left wondering what took so long.

"So…" The shop-owner flashes a smile full of teeth. "Do you need something?"

Your captain was right to give you this cloak, you learn quickly. Hueco Mundo is worse than any desert terrain you've ventured into, which in itself is on the limited side of things. The entire valley feels like a void, a nightmare dimension that's ready to kill you at any moment.

"Scared?" Renji teases with an elbow to your side, receiving a harsh glare in return. This may not be an official mission or anything, but he is still your lieutenant.

He's skating on thin ice, however.

"This is a suicide mission." You mutter bitterly, gazing at the empty void surrounding you. The journey here was already freaky, but actually being in here is something else entirely. "We should've come up with a plan."

"This is the plan!" Renji argues, hand on his hip while his other firmly grasps the hilt of his zanpakutō.

"No, this is not a plan!" You reel on him harshly, anger fueling your body all over again.

This will get you all killed, including the girl you all came to save! Surely with just a little bit more time and effort, a plan within Soul Society could have been formulated and you could've come as a unit. What good is this idea of a mission if you're all dead??

You shudder to think what you'd have done had Ichigo come here and died while you remained safe at home.

He better shudder to think what you'll do to him when you finally get your hands on him for this next level of foolish bravery.

"We should've waited, or worked faster, or something other than this! Do any of us have any idea what the hell we're doing?!"

Renji steels himself, face stern as he allows you to unleash your frustration. "When have you ever known us to make a plan? When, in our line of duty, have we stopped and thought about it clearly? When, and I ask this genuinely, have we ever had the time to do anything but rush in and make it up as we go?"

Rukia steps forward, her hand out to be the more gentle side of your lieutenant's scolding. "If we remain strong together, this will all work out in the end. We don't have much time right now; the more we linger, the further Ichigo gets."

You huff and gaze into the endless void of white sand. "My head feels like it's swimming in here."

"It's definitely unnerving." Rukia murmurs, taking in the sights.

A particular strike slashes your heart, anxiety and fear crawling out slowly as you sense a harsh rise in Reiatsu. Renji and Rukia feel it too, and off you all go towards Ichigo's presence in Hueco Mundo. It's him, it's always him with that sloppy spiritual pressure of his. Rukia's the first to attack, her beautiful zanpakutō easily demolishing the sandy Hollow.

The course of the fight is honestly second in importance to you as your eyes zero in on him. It's in his eyes, the warm amber hue so beautiful in this horrible place. He's surprised, made so obvious by the dumb look on his face, and your breast is giddy and full as the gap is closed and you're in his arms again.

Tears flood his chest as you hide your face against him. "Ichigo, I'm—"

"Shh…" Ichigo's hands hold you so gently as his lips find your cheek for a gentle, quick kiss before he murmurs directly to you in a way the others can't hear, though to their credit they've turned their backs on your private moment. "It's okay. I'm not mad. It's okay."

Turning your head to gaze at him, you find the courage to smile softly as you brush a new tear away, Ichigo's lips and eyes offering all the warmth and love in his heart to you, just as always. Hugging you tightly again, Ichigo closes his eyes. "I knew you'd come. If nobody else would, you would."

"You trusted that even after…?"

Ichigo holds your face carefully, like the finest china that will break at just the slightest mistouch. "It'll take more than that to make me lose faith in you. A lot more."

Ichigo dips down for an all-too-brief kiss, one that only promises more to come at a better time. He's certainly missed you as much as you missed him, and your sweet love has always been sure to get his fill of you when he can.

"Alright, lovebirds!" Renji calls over his shoulder, but the little smirk on his face betrays any sense of irritation he tries to force out. "We've got a job to do, y’know!”

“And you're waiting for someone else to lead the way?” Ichigo fires back, and even as they squabble during the journey through these unforgiving sands, Ichigo's large hand holding yours is all it takes for peace to settle within you again.

United, you'll stand.

[desecrated-guacamole]

I know I’m *checks watch* twelve years late coming to this realization, and two years late to talking about it when it would’ve been at all relevant, but godDAMN

Young Justice wastes NO time being good after season 1. The producers really just said “hey, y’know all the characters and relationships you’ve loved seeing develop for the past 26 episodes? Well actually, fuck that, fuck them, and fuck you! Everything’s different now, everyone’s developed in new ways that you won’t get to see, but not even in a way that makes sense for a FIVE YEAR TIME-JUMP!”

Take Robin for example; in the five years that take place offscreen, Dick becomes Nightwing, Batman recruits Jason Todd as the new Robin, Jason Todd gets killed, and Batman recruits Tim Drake as the new-new Robin (oh and also Barbara Gordon becomes Batgirl). I love the Batfamily, but I can barely call it the Batfamily when we don’t ever actually see them becoming a fucking family! We don’t get to see Dick struggle with his mentor’s legacy, we don’t see Jason struggle to live up to the Robin that came before, or Barbara picking up crime fighting despite what Bruce tells her to do because fuck that guy. We don’t get to see any of them grieve Jason, we don’t get to see Bruce go off the deep-end, only to be brought back by a young Tim Drake, who shows him what makes Batman, well, Batman; helping those in need, saving people.

INSTEAD, we’re introduced to two characters we knew that are now wildly different with ZERO explanation as to why, and one that we’ve never seen before and is (so far in my watch) severely underwritten, but because they’re the characters we love from the comics we’re supposed to love them here. It’s using the iconography of the characters to get us invested without putting in any of the actual work DEVELOPING them as people. It’d be one thing if this was the first time we met any of them, but we’ve already been introduced to Barbara, and we’ve spent an entire season with Dick, but now both of them have undergone massive development we aren’t made privy to.

I read an interview with Greg Weisman talking about the time jump, and he says this;

“We wanted a big time jump between the first two seasons to truly illustrate what our series was about, i.e. GROWING UP. After that, honestly, it’s more about what feels right. There are always things we want to skip, so that they become reveals.”

Man, I wonder if maybe allowing the audience to actually watch the characters grow and change might illustrate that growing up thing better than just skipping ahead so you can make it a reveal??? Imagine a show where we get to see these characters grow up together, maybe even grow apart, some leave, some stay, some are replaced, some come back. Like, imagine getting to see Dick reckon with the fact that Batman REPLACED HIM, only to watch that replacement die! Imagine getting to see Tim Drake come to Dick for advice, instead of just skipping ahead to the point that they’re already an established team. Imagine getting to see M’gann help Gar learn to use his powers for the first time. Imagine the team throwing a goodbye party for Wally and Artemis! Imagine seeing Wally and Artemis continue to develop their relationship instead of just jumping to them being fully moved in and together! WE WERE ROBBED!!

Like I’m still gonna watch it (not in the least because my roommate’s already seen it) but I need everyone to know I’m doing it under duress. I love these characters, and they did not deserve this lazy bullshit. I do not understand how Greg Weisman made Spectacular Spider-Man because HOLY SHIT the writing decisions made on this show are pissing me off, and don’t even get me STARTED ON CONNOR AND M’GANN BECAUSE WHAT THE FU

[vivalas-vega]

Can I request a fic with Jake? I was thinking about something where he stands up for the reader when they come over to a family dinner or something like that and her relatives all just keep criticizing her and being mean and she is used to it but Jake won't stand for it and defends her?

Thank you so much either way, I love your fanfics!!!

hi nonnie!!! thank you so much for your sweet words - I hope you like it! and thank you so much to @natrace for beta reading this for me!!

You smoothed your dress over for the dozenth time since parking the car as you waited for the exact right moment to enter the restaurant, swaying uncomfortably from side to side at the way the fabric clung to your calves. “If I smoke really quickly do you think they’ll smell it on me?” you asked Jake who was standing next to you and looking like you’d grown an extra head with how neurotic you’d been acting all day.

“You smoke?” he asked incredulously, and you smiled sheepishly.

“Sometimes, under duress,” you replied, fishing in your purse. 

“You are not under duress, it’s just your family,” he said, grabbing your hands.

“Uranium mission was less stressful than this,” you muttered and he just laughed, tugging you along to walk inside. You were led back to a semi-private area where your mother and father sat who greeted the two of you with tight smiles and one-shouldered hugs.

“It’s nice to see you,” you said, smiling at Jake who pulled your seat out for you. 

“Lieutenants,” your father said, taking a sip of his scotch. “Lucky we were able to catch you while we’re in town.”

“Yes sir, very lucky,” you agreed, reaching for the glass of water on the table. 

“I hear you’ve been doing good out there at Top Gun,” he said to Jake, “how’s Maverick been treating you?”

“Maverick has been great, sir, it’s been an honor teaching alongside him.” he answered and you took a deep breath, dreading the moment he turned his attention to you. 

“It’s nice you’re also back at Top Gun, I was surprised they’d recalled you for that mission at all,” he said and you bit your lip. “Do you feel like you’re learning anything new?”

“Well, there’s always something new to learn, dad, but I am an instructor as well,” you pointed out and he just nodded halfheartedly. 

“That’s a lovely dress, dear,” your mom interjected, trying to grab your attention.

“Oh uh, thank you… I think you got it for me a few years ago, haven’t really had time to do any shopping recently,” you said and she nodded.

“I can pick up a few more things for you when we arrive home and ship them out if you’d like,” she offered and you smiled.

“That’s okay, mom, you don’t have to do that,” really you hoped she wouldn’t.

“It’s no trouble,” she said and you gave a bright smile to the waitress who came to take your drink orders and you watched as your mom was pleased with you not ordering a cocktail and instead ordering a sparkling water. 

“I’ll be right back, need to powder my nose,” you said, not entirely sure what you even meant by that but you hurried down the hallway and flagged down your waitress. “Can I ask you to do me the biggest favor?” you asked and she smiled knowingly.

“Vodka or tequila?” she said and you flushed, “not the first tense family dinner I’ve served.”

“Tequila, you are an angel… thank you so much, you can just slip me a separate tab for the drinks,” you said before heading back to the table where your father was continuing to fawn over Jake. You didn’t mind, not at all… Jake was a great pilot and though his ego rarely ever fit through the door, he did deserve to be told how great he was but you did hope that every once in a while he would acknowledge you as well, but tonight did not seem to be that night.

“You should be spending more time in the air with Jake, you’re lucky to have him on your squad, there’s a lot he can teach you,” he said and you bit your lip as you looked at Jake.

“Well, sir, I actually feel like I learn more from her than she ever could from me,” he said and you smiled softly but you knew your dad wouldn’t accept it.

“She’s unfocused, you being here tonight proves just that… Top Gun isn’t a matchmaking academy but she turned it into one nonetheless.” 

“Well, either way it’s lovely you two found each other,” your mother said, “honey, have you given any more thought to taking a more permanent teaching position?”

“I wasn’t aware that was something I was thinking about,” you replied.

“Oh, I just assumed with the two of you getting together you were finally starting to think about settling down and starting a family,” she shrugged, as if that was the most nonchalant thing ever and Jake reassuringly rubbed your knee under the table.

“That’s not really our priority right now,” you said. 

“Maybe it should be,” your father said gruffly, “being a pilot doesn’t seem to be your strong suit.” Jake went to respond but you just knocked your knee against his and softly shook your head. 

“Besides… I’m sure it’s crossed Jake’s mind once or twice, are you sure you’d be able to withstand the demands of being a wife and mother while being in the Navy?” your mom added and you choked on your drink.

“Excuse me?” you asked, looking at her wide eyed.

“Mind your manners,” she whispered, “I just mean that you’re not getting any younger, dear, and Jake is a good man with a very promising Navy career ahead of him… you’d be smart to start thinking about this now before you lose him,” she finished.

“I haven’t actually,” Jake interjected and you all turned to look at him, “thought about starting a family. We’re not quite there yet, but the two of us will talk about it when the time comes,” he said. “I’m not interested in making her a wife until she’s ready.” 

“You should do it soon, promotions are going to start coming your way Lieutenant, wait too long and you won’t have the time.” your dad said and you suddenly felt like cattle being sold for auction. “And while she has the opportunity to leave the Navy gracefully.” 

“I’d be willing to wager she gets promoted before I do, sir,” Jake said and your dad just shook his head.

“It’s a good thing you’re a better pilot than you are a betting man, son.” 

“If you take a step back from active duty it will give you more time to plan the wedding too, dear… we could have it back home at the country club,” your mom said and you scoffed.

“Are you two even listening to us?” 

“Watch your tone,” your father said and you shook your head in disbelief. “You’re lucky this is all this conversation is with how you’ve tarnished our family name.” 

“Okay, that is enough,” Jake said suddenly, losing his grip on his patience. “You should know that your daughter is better than anyone in our squad and we all know it, we’re all competing for second best because none of us have a shot in hell at taking first with her around.”

“You might want to watch yourself, son,” your father warned.

“I’m not your son. And when your daughter feels ready for me to propose you can bet your ass I’ll do so at the first chance I get, but not a moment sooner because she is not just a potential wife or potential mother to my children for me… she is my partner and should we make any decisions about our future we will be sure to let you know… otherwise, sweetheart, I actually think we double booked ourselves.” he said, standing up and tugging you with him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” your mom asked, looking up at you in shock.

“Right now? Oh, right now I’m going to go get drunk with my friends, thank you for a lovely evening,” you said, tossing your napkin onto the table and walking out of the restaurant with Jake. “Hard Deck is only a five minute walk from here?” you suggested and he nodded, laughing as you took your heels off and let them dangle from your fingers. “Thank you for doing that, standing up to them was incredibly hot of you,” you said.

“Wasn’t going to let them talk about you like that, your dad is insane for not being proud of you… I know I am,” he said, looping his arm around your waist as you walked along the beach towards the bar. 

“I love you, you know that?” you asked and he just nodded, leading you through the front door of the Hard Deck and flipping off your friends as they whistled at your appearances. “Hey Pen, I’m going to need a lot of tequila,” you said, graciously accepting the two shot glasses she set before you. 

“To us and our country club wedding and lots and lots of babies,” he joked, clinking your glasses together as you laughed and downed the shot.

“Wait, what? What babies?” Rooster asked as he approached and you just shook your head as you ordered another round. 

“Come on, I wanna kick your ass at pool,” you said, dragging Jake behind you and giggling as he spun you around and enveloped you in a kiss. 

“I really am so proud of you, you know…” he said and you nodded, leaning up to kiss him again. 

“I know, and I love you so much.”

“I love you too…”

[mothiir]

eyes full of stars

the reader is a diplomat working with roboute guilliman to try and broker peace with the local craftworld, and she has a somewhat strange moment with one of her aeldari counterparts.

cw: finger sucking and lewd thoughts.

—

“Hush,” Taleath says, fingertips coming up to rest on your mouth, and you lapse into silence at once, completely thrown by the unexpected contact. “The actions of Cato Sicarius have no bearing on your life, nor on mine. His tumultuous emotions are his own storm to bear, and their rain will only chill you if you get too close — which, as you are uncommonly intelligent for your kind, you will not.”

He keeps his gauntleted fingers resting on your lips, the metal chilly against your skin, smoother than silk. You are very rarely lost for words — it is, after all, an integral part of your job as diplomat — but the physical contact has shaken you. Aeldari do not touch humans, unless at war, or under considerable duress; Taleath’s actions, to another Aeldari, would be obscene as a human bearing his genitalia at a conference table.

The corners of his smile curl up into a smile, and your cheeks burn: in your confusion, you momentarily forgot that your companion can read minds. And then, you recall that Aeldari are at great pains to state how they must shield themselves from the ‘brutish, ugly, loud wailing animal thoughts’ that humans emit almost constantly. And then you realise that if he read your thoughts, it was because he did so deliberately, and —

“It is far more complicated than that,” Taleath says mildly. “A mind is not a book to be opened at leisure and perused. And yet I understand your meaning — you cannot help the limitations of your language, after all.”

You are in one of the many libraries aboard the Macragge’s Honour: this is one of the smaller ones, designed to house books on cartography that are more works of art than useful tomes. It is rarely visited, because despite Roboute Guilliman’s best efforts to encourage a variety of interests in his sons, most Astartes prefer to study strategy or to read great historical epics, rather than study stylised images of long-vanished constellations. You, however, adore it here. It is a circular room, the shelves coveringthe walls, the ceiling painted deep rich navy blue, with stars picked out in shining gold. There is one window, circular and high, that shows the endless void of space beyond. It feels like a fairytale room, something plucked fresh from a different, gentler time, when space was full of promise, and the shadows held nothing more sinister than cobwebs.

“I appreciate that my language is limited to your ears but —“ You are normally very good at countering Taleath’s arrogant asides with a witty riposte. Sometimes, you wonder if he riles you up intentionally, simply because it amuses him to see you frustrated — certainly his teasing has led to some serious issues of your own, long nights practicing hiding your thoughts, wondering if that would even work. Your a celebrated diplomat, pride of the Ultramarines, reporting to the Primarch himself — and yet a pointy-faced smirking knife-ear has you thinking things. Heretical, shameful things.

Taleath lifts the gauntlet to his own face, and — tentatively, delicately, like a cat trying a new food it is unsure of — runs the tip of his tongue along the tips of his fingers.

He makes a strange, bird like chirrup. You’ve studied Aeldari vocalisations, but in that moment everything you have ever learned about them seems to have exited your head via your ears. With the same effortless, leisurely grace that he does everything, Taleath shucks his gauntlets off, setting them down on the desk beside him. Then, with a tremendous amount of care, he removes the silk gloves beneath, revealing a pair of pale, spidery hands.

Imperial propaganda describes all Aeldari as scrawny anaemic mutants, with limbs stretched to ridiculous disproportionate lengths. The decidedly heretical texts you studied as part of your diplomatic education waxed lyrical about their ethereal inhuman beauty and grace. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Some bits of Taleath are disconcerting to say the least: he moves too swiftly for your eyes to track, giving him the uncanny appearance of a glitching cartoon come to life. His expressions are almost-human-but-not-quite; something about his smile seems to suggest that he knows exactly when the world will end. His hands remind you of knives. And yet there is an uncanny beauty to him, like a glacier viewed under moonlight, or a distant star burning in the black flank of night.

“Come here please,” he says, and you — knowing better, knowing so much better — obey. It has been months of negotiation with Iyanden, in which you have built up a civil relationship with Taleath (not friendship; you have to remember that; it is what your training drilled into you. Aeldari are not to be trusted; they play games with human lives, and even the kindest knife-ear will gut you like a fish if it is to their advantage).

You are allies only because of the mutual peril you face, from a galaxy that would see you burn, from factions who care little for the petty squabbles of xenos and human — what is the point of humanity’s supremacy, or Aeldari arrogance, if Chaos eats you all?

And yet. And yet. You stop one pace from Taleath, heart thrumming like the wings of a held bird, and the Aeldari reaches for you. His palm presses against the small of your back, urging you forwards that last little bit, so his robes brush against your bare arms. He’s so much taller than you; you have to crane your neck to look him in the face, even as he bends over.

His thumb runs across your lower lip. You always thought Aeldari would be colder than humans, their skin as chilly and perfect as ceramic, but his flesh is fever-hot. He rubs the digit back and forth until you open your mouth, your eyes fixed on him the whole time. His breathing is still slow and calm, and part of you resents him for that — so you rebel in what small way you can. You part your lips, but you don’t chase after his thumb with your tongue like a dog begging for a treat. Instead, you wait — wait so long that it starts to feel vaguely ridiculous, that you are just starting there open-mouthed and panting — and then — oh —

He slips two fingers into your mouth, sliding them first along the blunt edges of your teeth, then onto your tongue. He’s curious, explorative, stroking over the slick muscle, before prodding delicately at the roof of your mouth, where textured skin gives way to your soft palette. You try very hard not to gag as he pushes deeper, rubbing at the velvety insides of your cheeks, bulging them outwards. He utters that bird like chirrup again, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. He looks utterly transfixed on you.

It’s just a trick, you tell yourself, it’s what they do, it’s what they do —

“Do not insult me,” he says, his voice lower. Rougher. “I would not need to resort to such — such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to, if —“

You hollow your cheeks and suck, drool starting to gather at the corner of your mouth. Taleath’s breath catches, and you feel an absurd swell of power.

“Don’t read my mind,” you say, the words coming out in a slurry of sound and drool around his fingers. “Jush — keep doing this —“

You start to move your head, keeping your hands loose at your sides despite the overwhelming desire to grab his wrist, to encourage him to keep going, to fuck your throat with his fingers, to prepare you to take —

Taleath chirrups again; this time the sound fades into a constant burbling coo. He pulls you closer, hand splayed on the small of your back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth — and this time you do chase after them, saliva strung between his fingers and your lips.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, half to himself, the words blurred and distorted by the constant vibrato coo. You lick at his knuckles, dopey with passion. All that time fighting down your absurd schoolgirl crush — all that time wasted. “You are human,” he continues, his voice strained. You kiss his palm.

“Yes. And you want me,” you sing-song — only for the world to blur as Taleath moves with a warrior’s swiftness, his hand sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the wall. Bookshelves dig into your spine as he wrenches your head to the side, your hair pulled taut, your scalp singing pain. His teeth graze your jugular, his body presses between your eagerly spreading thighs and —

Then he’s gone. You collapse to the ground in a heap, panting for breath, reeling. Taleath stands on the other side of the library, clinging to his gauntlets like a safety blanket as he stares at you with open, flagrant hunger. Prey-animal fear sparks up your spine, even as your cunt slicks with arousal.

“Taleath —“

“No. Stay there.”

His mouth is red. Why is his mouth red? You suddenly become aware of an ache in your neck, of warmth on your collarbone. You reach up, and your fingers brush a deep bite mark. Taleath licks his lips clean as you probe the damage carefully.

“I — I hope this is not a diplomatic incident,” you say, attempting levity, and he offers you a thin smile. It sits oddly on his face; at odds with the ravenous look in his dark eyes.

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh,” you say, wondering if this is when Taleath will treat you to yet another lecture on the shortcomings of your species.

“Not often. Not usually. I do not want you to be hurt,” he says.

“I’m fine. It barely stings — it will heal up soon enough,” you say, holding up your bloodied fingers. Taleath licks his lips.

“You do not understand. I do not want you to be hurt by anyone who is not me.”

You know you should retreat; every instinct screams at you too. But even if Taleath was not standing in the only exit, you wouldn’t attempt to flee.

”You…you want to hurt me?”

“Typical human — reducing complex feelings to such banal sentiments,” he says, like you weren’t just parroting his own words back. “I want to consume you. I want to own you. I want every cell in your body to remember my name.”

You — you should not find this attractive. You really should not. And yet all your life you have been told that you serve a greater purpose; that your duty is to others. You have never had anyone look at you with such naked desire and tell you that it is you they want — you alone.

Aeldari lie, you tell yourself. Aeldari lie.

“I would not lie to you, you stupid little prey-thing,” he snaps, and this time it isn’t just his voice; his accent changes, sliding from the polished vowels of an Aeldari into something more jagged, something that you don’t recognise. He visibly gathers himself, and when he speaks again it’s with the voice you are used to: “I mean — human. Girl-child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are more than five hundred years my junior — hush. I — I need to go. And meditate. And — and think on things. And meditate. And you need to go and stop bleeding before I do something that we both regret.”

With that, he vanishes, leaving nothing but the throb of arousal between your thighs, and his teeth marks carved into your throat.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 32 (A Handsome Detective Investigates the Hack)

Detective Conrad Gordon stood in Heather's front yard with his canine partner, Bernese mountain dog Gord.

She'd never seen him before, but Heather knew why he was here. She raced to put her son in his crib and get dressed.

Holding out his badge, he offered a respectful nod and a charming smile that made her nervous. "Detective Conrad Gordon, ma'am. Are you Heather Nesbitt?" She nodded, holding her breath. Just her luck; the hottest man she'd ever seen had come to arrest her. "I'm here to look into a recent hack of Landgraab Systems. Did you know anything about that?"

"I mean, I read about it in the news like everybody else," she said. Her voice wavered. She was a very bad liar.

He clipped his badge back to his belt. "Do you mind if I take a look around your computer? A tip to San Myshuno PD said you might know something more."

"That's silly."

She laughed with an anxious breath, letting him in to search her PC. She hoped she’d covered her tracks, but the detective had been a geek since he learned how to type. Just like Heather.

He knew where to look and exactly what he was looking for. She could tell, and she tried to look busy. Flustered, she put a pot of soup on the grill in the backyard (why Heather why?!), but this was exactly the sort of strange behaviour that made a guilty person look it.

He joined her outside with a sympathetic frown. "You're really savvy with computers," he observed. "A vet who's also an app developer who got her start as the best online Incredible Sports player the game's ever seen."

She blushed. "You know about that?"

"I did a bit of research before the drive out here, but I didn't need to be reminded of all the times ButtercupNesbeets and your Henford Hens All-Stars kicked my butt online in high school."

"You played?"

"Not as well as you. But why the jump from gaming to hacking?"

The truth flooded out of her. "Malcolm Landgraab stole my app code, but I use those royalties to raise our son. And if Landgraab Corp's nothing but shady deals and bad business, I'm worried for my clinic. Besides, the news report said it barely cost the Landgraabs a thing!"

"It's still illegal, Miss Nesbitt."

"Mama mama!" Ash called for her from beyond the patio door, interrupting her rambling explanation. She pulled the pot of soup from the stove and shut off the grill, heading inside to lift her son from his crib.

"Cute kid," said the detective. Ash wriggled from his mother's anxious grasp and Conrad reached out to steady him. "Is the second one Malcolm Landgraab's, too?"

"No, thank the Watcher. I'm a surrogate for my best friends, and I guess I've been a bit hormonal. I was frustrated, but I didn't do it to steal a bunch of data and I don't plan to do it again. I just wanted to get back at my ex. It was stupid."

Heavily pregnant with a child for friends who couldn’t expand their family without her help, Conrad could sympathize with Heather's motives. Everyone in Simlandia knew the Landgraabs only cared about enriching themselves, but Heather was a single mom who saved the lives of helpless animals.

His dog took a liking to her instantly. Gord always knew a bad egg when he saw one, and Conrad could usually trust his canine's instincts better than his own.

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to get arrested? Should I call my parents to come get my son?"

The handsome young detective didn’t have the heart to bring her in. "I didn't record your confession because you said you've felt emotional lately. I don't like to take a confession under duress, so I guess the investigation has to continue. If the Landgraabs insist on pressing charges, you'll probably hear from me again. For now, I should head back, file a report, and let you get back to your son."

He didn't have a plan, but rather than stop by the station when he returned to the city, Conrad turned onto the overpass over the bridge and parked his cruiser Uptown... ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

WCIF Conrad Gordon? I used this sim by lemariiia from the Sims 4 Gallery, and changed his hair and beard to be a little less old fashioned. I changed his last name because I felt like it (it was Sampson IIRC), but otherwise everything else is the same. The dog I gave him myself because I love this breed.

Also we totally don't have to play coy and act like that's not the sim in my userpic! 😂 After I called time on the Everett/Heather flirtation because I fell too hard for Spencer and didn't want to do that to her anymore, I needed to pivot because there's still no gen 3 heir! I also need to make Heather do programming things to keep the Techie lifestyle (even though she decided years ago she doesn't even like the skill), so I planned the hack and the investigation, searched the gallery for five 'detective' sims, and then my friend Kenzie picked Conrad based on looks and traits.

Spoiler alert but I hope you guys love him because Kenzie picked so well!

[baenakinskywalker]

am i bad, or mad, or wise?

When her eyes finally flutter open, it’s the sitting room ceiling she finds. Instead of her bed, she’s on the sofa, buried amongst the deep velvet throw pillows. Soft morning light streams through the linen curtains, and Feyre watches dust float in the air like glittering stars. She sits up, stretches her arms above her head, and frowns. Do I sleepwalk? And that’s when she casts her gaze toward the hallway and sees him. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court…painting? He’s sitting on a stool before a great easel, blocking out shapes on a towering canvas. As she stirs, he turns — a lazy grin pinned across his devastatingly handsome face. “Hello, Feyre darling. Awake so soon?” or what happens if Feyre doesn't dream about the Attor after exchanging magical flirty notes with a certain High Lord during ACOMAF. written for @officialfeysandweek!

rating: m

words: 2,966

a/n: this is inspired by guilty as sin? by our lord and savior taylor alison swift, because of course it is. quoted text at the beginning belongs to sjm herself. all mistakes are my own :) enjoy!

read on ao3 or under the cut:

I was under duress, his next note read. If you want, I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong. I’ve been told I’m very, very good at licking.  I clenched my knees together and wrote back, Good night. A heartbeat later, his note said, Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me. I need my beauty rest.

- A Court of Mist and Fury, chapter 29

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Sometime between getting the last note from Rhysand and readying herself for bed, shame starts to bubble in Feyre’s stomach. It creeps up slowly, steadily replacing the joy from earlier and making her doubt every decision made on that magical paper. By the time she slides into bed, there’s no trace of happiness left in her mind. Just three words, repeated ad nauseam. 

Killer. 

Traitor. 

Whore. 

What if she’s all three? What if everyone in Prythian thinks the same, or even worse? What if her traitorous human heart costs them all this war?

As sleep barrels toward her, Feyre braces for a night of turmoil. Of nausea forcing her to the toilet in the early hours of the morning. Please, she begs someone. Anyone. 

Her eyes finally close, and she sees violet before complete darkness.

---------------------------------------------------------

When her eyes finally flutter open, it’s the sitting room ceiling she finds. Instead of her bed, she’s on the sofa, buried amongst the deep velvet throw pillows. Soft morning light streams through the linen curtains, and Feyre watches dust float in the air like glittering stars. She sits up, stretches her arms above her head, and frowns. Do I sleepwalk now? 

And that’s when she casts her gaze toward the hallway and sees him. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court…painting? 

He’s sitting on a stool before a great easel, blocking out shapes on a towering canvas. As she stirs, he turns — a lazy grin pinned across his devastatingly handsome face. “Hello, Feyre darling. Awake so soon?” 

There’s paint on his hands, curling up his arms and stopping just short of where the sleeves of his crisp, black shirt are rolled up. When did Rhys learn to paint? Feyre thinks dimly, trying to recount any mention of him favoring the arts. But then he’s crossing the room, and before she can ask out loud, he’s leaning down and —

Rhys is kissing her. Actually kissing her. His lips find hers easily, like he’s done this a million times before. Like he could do it blind. And it’s not the fiery, all-consuming kiss she sometimes imagines in the dead of night, either. His mouth is feather-soft against hers, moving slowly and sweetly in a good-morning greeting.

It feels like they’ve done this before. 

It feels good.

“Sweet dreams?” Rhys asks when he pulls away. “Must have been. I think I even heard some snoring from the general direction of the couch.” He presses another quick kiss to her mouth, then the tip of her nose. 

“I do not snore,” Feyre huffs. Her head spins. 

Rhys laughs, and her heart clenches. Has she heard him laugh like that before, so completely unbidden? “I think I would know,” he says. “After all, one of us” — he shoots her a mock glare — “falls asleep like that these days.” He snaps his fingers and nods, still smiling. “I hear plenty of cute snoring from your side of the bed, darling.”

Her side of the bed? Snoring? 

“It’s a good thing you’re finally up,” Rhys continues. “I need your help with this painting.”

She cocks her head to the side. “What on earth are you painting?”

“Only my favorite subject.” A wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Yourself?” Feyre asks, one foot back into familiar territory. The banter between them makes sense even if other details don’t. 

He laughs again. “My lady wounds me,” he says, voice gliding like the nighttime breeze through the mock-hurt on his face. He gestures at the canvas, where there are a few rudimentary shapes certainly meant to become a portrait. 

Feyre squints at the soft oval meant to be the face. The curve of two human ears. Already, a sweeping of freckles where the cheekbones will be, as if the painter got ahead of himself. She tilts her head and steps back, eyes going wide when she realizes that the canvas is no more than a mirror. Rhysand is painting her.

She raises her brows. “Me?”

“Is there anyone else?” Rhys asks, suddenly earnest. Something shines in his violet eyes, something other than star-flecked night. Something warm and healing and —

In a flash, it’s gone, replaced by that all-too-familiar smirk and mischief she’s come to know since living in the Night Court. “I thought it a fitting anniversary gift for my favorite artist.”

“Our anniversary?” Feyre breathes. The kiss. The ease of conversation, how Rhys has heard her snore. What sort of wicked dream is this? It must be a dream. She looks down at her left hand and spies the ring retreated from the weaver’s cottage. 

Cauldron boil her. 

“Did my sweet wife forget?” Rhys muses, yet another smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “How should I punish her?” 

His smile turns wicked. The glint of his canines sends a spark down Feyre’s spine that she’s seldom felt before. Not with Tamlin, as much as she’s tried to convince herself otherwise. And certainly not with Isaac. From the roots of her hair down to her toes, she feels a flush that’s no doubt painted her beet red. 

“Oh, Feyre darling,” Rhys croons, paintbrush appearing in his hand out of thin air. “Then I suppose we should make this portrait a nude.” He dusts the brush down the bridge of her nose, traces the edge of her mouth. Her lips part, and Rhys finds her tongue with the soft bristles. A question. A challenge. 

Though he’s her husband in this topsy-turvy world, though they must have gone to bed together before, Rhys makes no move that she doesn’t want. It stumps her. What on earth is this fantasy she’s living in?

It’s not like Feyre hasn’t thought about it. Thought about Rhys like this. On Calanmai, even though it felt traitorous to think, he was easily the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. And back in Spring after Amarantha and everything they’d all been through, sometimes violet eyes were what she saw in Tamlin’s bed. 

Since living here in Velaris with Rhys, getting to know his family — well, those eyes have made more appearances in her daydreams. And in her fantasies. So maybe this is the culmination of all of that. Of the flirting, the dancing around each other like something inevitable is just beyond the horizon. 

Is that so bad? 

Is she so bad for wanting Rhysand?

He’s still before her, waiting to see what she decides.

Without another though, Feyre closes her mouth around the paintbrush and hollows her cheeks. Her eyes stay on Rhys, and she watches how his eyes darken, how all the air in his lungs disappears. She hears his groan, and then the paintbrush is gone, his hands are on her, and his mouth — 

Mother above.

Gone is the sweet greeting kiss from earlier. This one is a roaring fire they’ve just thrown a log on. Smoke and embers and sparks everywhere Rhys’ mouth presses, everywhere his tongue sweeps. Feyre’s knees go weak as he parts her lips with that cunning, devilish tongue, meeting hers with a curl that has her seeing stars. 

It’s so much better than she could have imagined.

Rhys pulls away, breathing heavily and smiling. She wants to commit that perfect smile to memory, wants to paint it a thousand times until it covers the walls of the townhouse — maybe even plaster it on every street in Velaris. Everyone should be so lucky to see this smile. “Wicked, beautiful thing,” he croons, gaze dropping to her swollen lips. “You’ll remember I asked for your help, Feyre.”

“That you did.” A challenge for him.

He flicks his wrist, and her nightgown is gone. 

All of her clothes are gone.

Somehow, standing stark naked in front of the High Lord of the Night Court doesn’t scare her. Doesn’t embarrass her. Feyre feels strangely powerful as Rhys takes in every inch of her body. So powerful that she cocks her head and asks, “What did you need from me again?”

He smirks. “There are a lot of things I need from you, darling. You can start by sitting down, so I can get a better look at that face.” 

Feyre sits on the stool just in front of the canvas, covering her bare breasts with her hands. “Since you’re only interested in my face,” she says. “There’s no need for these” – she squeezes, delighting in how Rhys’ eyes go wide – “to be on display.”

That rips a growl from his throat. “We’ll see,” is all Rhys says as he walks to the other side of the room. “To make sure the composition looks right,” he adds.

On the stool, Feyre wrinkles her nose. Then sticks her tongue out. She crosses her eyes, bares her teeth, and then scrunches her whole face, eyes squeezing shut. Trying out poses like a good model. “Any of those work for you?” she asks. 

“I see something that works quite nicely,” he says, drawing near her again. When he’s barely an arm away, he gives the command. “Lean back, Feyre.”

Against the canvas. The freshly painted, wet canvas. “But your hard work will be ruined,” the artist in her says. She’ll surely smear the paint, making the few shapes behind her completely unrecognizable. 

“My hard work has barely begun,” he answers, looking down at her hungrily. “Now lean back.” So she does. With a sharp inhale when her bare back touches the cold, wet paint behind her. Rhys’ paintbrush is back in one hand, and he has a palette with fresh paint in the other. He dips the brush in a dark, inky indigo, and starts painting her. Wherever the his lips land, the brush follows, from her forehead to the tip of her nose, finally reaching her hands — still covering her breasts. 

Kneeling before her, Rhys plucks her left hand from her chest and presses kisses to the whorls of magic ink signifying their bargain. He kisses each finger, then draws her thumb into his mouth and sucks, which has her moaning softly. He nips at her skin, and then moves to the right arm, where her hand is completely bare. Not for long, Feyre realizes, as Rhys drags his brush along her skin, painting a mirror of the marks on the left. Each touch is light as a feather, and Feyre squirms as he adds more detail, pressing his hot mouth against any areas without paint. 

Only when he’s finished with her arm, when it matches her bargain tattoo in a way that makes her heart clench, does he look at her breasts, now heaving and heavy with want. 

“These,” Rhys murmurs, taking both in his hands — so large, so warm — and rubbing his thumbs across her nipples, “are simply exquisite.” He pinches one, keeps rolling his thumb across the other, and Feyre can’t breathe. Her body is wound so tight, and he’s hardly even touched her yet. If he uses his mouth, she’ll shatter fast. 

And there’s the mind reading, finally. I’ll just have to take my time, won’t I, darling?

Slowly, so slowly that Feyre could scream, he lowers his mouth to her left breast, pausing before he gets to where she wants him. Needs him, more like. He simply exhales, sending cool air across her skin and making her nipples pinch. “You bastard. Why won’t you just —”

He takes her breast into his mouth and sucks, teeth scraping and lips soothing, and it’s too much and not enough, and her hands fist into inky black hair and tug almost without Feyre meaning to. And suddenly his fingers are coated in paint, and he’s swirling more dark shapes across the rest of her chest, pinching and kneading along the way. 

And just when he’s going to make her come apart — just from this! — Rhys pulls away, eyes heavy and dark, feline smile across his face. “You were saying?”

Before she can pull his hair or pinch him or do anything, he’s nudging her knees apart and giving her a look that says she’s his personal feast. 

But he takes his time here too. Uses that painted hand to roam up and down her thighs, even writing the word mine just below the crease of her right hip. “Territorial?” Feyre asks, voice wobbling from the feeling building in her stomach. 

“I want all of Prythian to know that you’re my” — he pauses, pressing his lips together — “wife.”

If she’s letting herself have this fantasy, why not really enjoy it? “Then why don’t you take what’s yours?”

Rhys needs no other instruction. In an instant, his hands are clean of paint, and he’s got both of her legs hitched over his powerful shoulders. Wouldn’t it be nice to see his wings, she thinks distantly as his hot mouth descends on the apex of her thighs.

The mind reading again as his wings appear dark and imposing and incredibly wide. Does the wingspan match the —

“Oh, you’ll see,” Rhys answers before the first press of his tongue against her clit turns her mind to utter mush. He licks broad strokes across her center that have her legs shaking, then wraps his lips around her and sucks. One hand snakes up to pinch at her nipple, and it’s so much better than she ever imagined. 

So much better than it’s ever been. 

Her thighs are trembling when Rhys slides one finger inside her and curls, hitting that spot that only she’s been able to find before. It wrings moans from her lips that turn into shouts as he adds another finger, working her slowly but surely toward the edge of something. Is she saying his name? Is she praising the Mother? It’s impossible to tell when she feels this full, when she can hear how slick Rhys’ mouth is with her arousal. 

Rhys looks up at her from under his lashes, and there’s a glint in those starry eyes that has her practically begging for more. It’s possible she does beg, but there’s no way for Feyre to tell when she’s on the precipice like this. 

Tell me if you want me to stop, Rhys says through the bond. So convenient that they can communicate while his mouth is occupied. The fingers curling inside her rotate, still filling her so perfectly, and then —

He gathers some of her slick onto his thumb and presses gently at the pucker below her center. 

Don’t you dare stop, Feyre says down the bond. 

Rhys doesn’t stop, just presses deeper, sucks harder, thrusts his fingers further. 

By the cauldron. Never, it’s never felt like this; she’s tense, like a bow about to loose an arrow through the snowy wood. She’s so close, so dangerously close to something entirely new. To being remade. To understanding, to peace, to —

With a gentle scrape of his teeth against her clit, Feyre comes undone. She shatters. Melts. Is everywhere and nowhere at once, anchored to the world by the golden light from her bargain. Rhys licks her through the aftershocks, then draws back slightly and nips at her thigh. Kisses his way up her leg, past the paint claiming her, all the way to her heart. He presses a soft kiss where her pulse thunders beneath her skin and rises. 

In the back of her mind, Feyre swears she can hear his knees creak as he stands. Something to tease him about later, when she can form sentences again 

“Enjoy yourself?” Rhys asks, scooping her into his arms. All the paint has been magically cleaned away, save the mine on her thigh. She’ll tease him about that, too, surely. 

“I think you know the answer to that,” Feyre says, voice husky from screaming her pleasure. She buries her face in the spot between Rhy’s shoulder and neck and breathes. Would it be so bad for this to be her life? To love the man cradling her like something precious after pushing her hard enough to break? He knows she won’t. Rhysand believes in her. She feels it deep in the pit of her soul, whether that soul is black or not. 

He sees her. 

All of her. 

Suddenly, her eyes are heavy. “Let’s get you back to bed,” Rhys whispers. He lays her back in the mountain of pillows she awoke from earlier and brushes her hair from her face. “I love you. My wife. My ma—”

His voice is far off, and she can’t make out the last word. “My ma—”

Or is it, “Fa—?”

“Fa—?”

“Feyre?”

---------------------------------------------------------

Her eyes flutter open. “Feyre? Are you alright?”

She’s not downstairs anymore. Instead of the couch, Feyre is back in her bed, clothes on, not a scrap of paint to be found. “Feyre, are you okay? I heard a commotion,” Rhysand says, sitting beside her on the bed. His hair is mussed, likely from a fitful night’s sleep. “I heard you scream.”

Feyre sits up, her thighs sore and slick from her orgasm. “I’m okay,” she says softly. Her voice is still hoarse. 

“Nightmare?” Rhys asks. He looks her over for any signs of hurt. This male who had joked so brazenly about needing his beauty sleep came to check on her in the middle of the night without a second thought. Dropped all pretenses tomake sure she was okay.

Feyre shakes her head. “A good dream, actually.”

His eyes narrow. And then zero in on where her nightgown has ridden up and exposed her legs. 

And the word mine in dark paint.

[mynamesaplant]

Calm Before the Storm

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Summary: The night before her final trial against a berserk Lord Avalugg, Dawn is spending her time with Ingo, and requires a little bit of a distraction.

Content Warning: Drowning

Notes: Don't want to read it on Tumblr? Read it on AO3! I've been feeling creatively stifled lately, so if it feels like two fics smashed together... I plead the fifth. Thanks to monsoon-of-art for beta reading and all their inspiration for PLA and their Mer AU. Please enjoy!

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“You are never going to build up your muscles by hitching a ride on my cab.”

Ingo tried to point out, cutting through the glassy surface of the water and feeling the tip of Dawn’s tail brush against his left ear. Even without seeing her, he sensed that it was a happy sort of tail flap, each movement rhythmic and languid. She was at ease.

“But this is so much easier,” Dawn chirped, watching the sea bird serenely glide overhead.

She was trying to name them in her head, trying to, in some way, make a learning experience out of this strange situation. She recognized the luminescent orange bill and thin, forked tail of a tern. A few gulls, too high up to be clearly identified, were coasting on air currents, the distinctive W-shape to their wings offering a picturesque feel to the azure horizon. 

Ingo sank a little lower into the water, his eyes almost parallel with the water, a quiet threat to his passenger to vacate. She was a little too distracted with her observations to notice her ride was slowly vanishing into the sea. Dawn tumbled into the water with an objectionable squawk when the chilly water hit her back and, when she surfaced, her pin straight hair clinging to her face. A few meters away, she saw Ingo’s shadow beneath the ripples, and Dawn sighed; she closed her eyes, straightened her back like Palina had suggested, and felt her lungs expand to their fullest before following after the warden.

Beside her, Ingo was chuckling, slowing his movement to a light flick of his tail so she didn’t strain herself.

“Proper maintenance includes running the engines to check for faults.”

“Ugh,” his young companion huffed, and this just earned her a heartier laugh.

Ingo pointed to the ice floes jutting into the water like so many stalactites, indicating to Dawn that if she could swim that far without his assistance then he would permit her to catch a ride.

“You have to admit, I’ve gotten a lot better since I first started out.”

“Yes, that is true.” Ingo hummed, leveling out her back with his hand as it began to bow. “Keep your back straight. No scrunching. It only leads to sinking.”

She straightened, still astounded by just how powerful her tail was as it propelled her forward. Truth be told, she could be very good at swimming, but it was usually under extreme duress – like when Gaeric somehow ended up chasing her. It had taken a lot of practice to get there, with many covert lessons in shallow waters which Dawn knew hadn’t been the most comfortable for Ingo.

All of her swimming experience could be chalked up to Ingo’s interventions and/or patience. 

Dawn’s first trip into the water, the completely accidental tumble that introduced her to Ingo, even if she hadn’t known it at the time, had been nearly fatal. Neither of them liked to think about it. Ingo quite nearly let her drown, frozen with indecision, and petrified of such a small creature when it burst into an abrupt and violent coughing fit on the rocks below him. He used his large body to shield her from the rain pelting down, its whole frame shaking violently and as pale as glacier ice. The air smelt like petrichor and iron, it stung Ingo’s nose with its unpleasant mix, and he grimaced as the human fell unconscious again.

Ingo could still feel shame of the white-hot fear that had filled him when he abandoned Dawn there.

How could he anticipate that a few short weeks later that he would see that human again, but she looked remarkably less human than before. Ingo had stuck closer to the shore – he wanted to tell himself that he was doing it in the name of his warden’s duties, but in truth, he was anxious to see that human that spent so much of its time down in the tidal pools. After a week of absence, Ingo was starting to lose hope that the young human had survived, despite his efforts to save her.

He remembered the day everything changed.

-----

Ingo remembered just how heavy his heart felt as he prepared to leave and resume his duties. That’s when he heard music above him. The eerie resonance of a flute seemed to strike something deep within his bones, even if he couldn’t quite put a finger on what. A splash. A small and all too familiar form was in the water before him, about as graceful as all the previous times he had seen it in the surf.

“Whoa!” Dawn floundered in the water, her clothes weighing down her torso as the fabric took on water. She was too busy trying to get her bearings to notice the massive mer only a few meters from her. “Okay. So, if I…?”

Ingo watched, utterly dumbstruck as this… this was a human, wasn’t it? He could not believe his eyes. Turning and twisting like an orbiting planet, the human was able to right itself… with the pearly white tail of a harp seal pup.

-----

“HA! Now you have to carry me!”

The warden returned to the present, finding his young friend excitedly spinning around in front of him.

“A deal’s a deal.” Ingo agreed, gingerly scooping her up and holding Dawn against his chest. “I was just reminiscing about when our tracks first intersected. You’ve made a vast improvement since then.”

“Thanks! All the lessons helped.”

Dawn agreed, her own thoughts straying to the warden’s initial shock after her transformation. Admittedly, Dawn had been shocked too. When she first played the flute in her quarters, the sensation had been… odd, the surveyor would even argue that it was painful if it hadn’t happened in the space of a heartbeat.

Her whole body had broken out into a cold sweat, but Dawn was anything but cold. She felt like she was on fire. Bones snapping and re-fusing. Flesh tearing and smoothing over. The milliseconds of pain had been enough to force her into unconsciousness, but the absence of her legs almost sent her right back into the dark. Dawn had swallowed and focused on the tail sprouting from her torso, trying to admire it rather than being frightened.

Those first couple of days had been… stressful would have been an understatement. Ingo, who Dawn found to be pretty lax in most scenarios, became increasingly anxious about her and her complete inability to swim. Especially when the clans become involved.

“Please, use the handrail.” Ingo had groaned, scooping her up from the tidal pool when she lost her grip on the edge, and setting her down on the rocks, watching her cough and gasp. Were pups always this delicate and awkward? Dawn was just so small and her muscles so weak, her lack of confidence was making the process of learning to swim all the more difficult. “You must get used to the motions.”

He was trying with all his might to be a good, patient teacher, but that, coupled with his anxieties about her true nature, all but solidified Ingo’s reluctance to take Dawn any further than the shore. Which made the day that Mai stumbled upon her all the more panic-inducing as Ingo quickly had to claim her and keep her as enshrouded in mystery as possible. All his cohorts were extremely curious and protective – both instincts brought about in the vicinity to pups.

Sure, they all had questions and concerns and misgivings, but Ingo had proved himself worthy enough to watch over “his” pup. Irida did not assert her dominance and override Ingo’s and Dawn’s wish to remain coupled, for which both were eternally grateful. The warden was also under the impression that his clan mates thought that caring for a pup was doing wonders for his mental health - and it was - but it was also exhausting and nerve-wracking work.

She was one of the best things that had happened to him in his time with Pearl Clan.

“Uh, Ingo?” Dawn murmured, fiddling with the hem of her tunic. A lump in her throat was preventing her from saying the words that were coming from the heart. Something she had been meaning to say for a while now. Ingo hummed his acknowledgement. “Th-… Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

The warden physically had to prevent his grip from getting too tight as he was stung with an unidentifiable emotion that just made him want to hold the surveyor even closer to him. He had not realized until that moment just how much he cherished his time with her.

“Of course, Dawn.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The settlement was relatively quiet due to the lateness of the hour. Dawn had already informed her superiors that she would be out in the field for a few days, so no one on land would grow anxious with her absence. Tomorrow Dawn would face off against Lord Avalugg and Ingo knew she was looking for any distractions so she wouldn’t back out. Not that the other nobles were easy, but Lord Avalugg’s sheer size was the most daunting thing about the trial.

A good meal and a good night of sleep would be better than attempting to coordinate and strategize with the frantic teen. So, Ingo did not even attempt. His sole task was to keep her mind preoccupied and to tucker her out so she could fall asleep, and he took that job very seriously.

A pool leads straight to his chambers from the surrounding water – the clan had taken the time to specifically carve it out for him since the tunnels through most of the settlement were not large enough for him. Ingo boosted Dawn up and told her to clear the way so he could haul himself out, hoisting himself from the chilly sea. A fire on the opposite side of the chamber was toasty against their backs, both mers shaking themselves out to shed any excess water, with Dawn quick to swath herself into a bear fur located next to said fire.

With her help, the fish that Ingo had specifically caught for the two of them to enjoy was roasting over the flame, filling the space with a heavenly aroma.

“I brought you a little something.”

Dawn admitted, revealing the fruit that she had snuck along with her. Ingo had thought her bag had been oddly lumpy, but he had assumed that it had been filled with supplies to craft balms.

“You should not take from your team’s stock.”

Although he was attempting to adopt a chiding tone, Ingo felt a swell of warmth radiating through his chest. Fruits and vegetables were such a rare treat for him; Dawn had remembered that.

“They’ll never notice.”

Dawn said airily, motioning for Ingo to give her his hand and he received a few apples, the fruits feeling cool and refreshing against his palm when they had been submerged for their journey. She leaned against his flank, her presence and touch welcomed more than Ingo would have anticipated as he worked with the fish over the open flame.

The goal was to keep her mind occupied, which meant that he needed to get Dawn to talk - which was a relatively easy task when he was able to target a source of interest. Tonight, he was settling on her most recent, and favorite, topic of research: penguins.

Dawn was currently studying the Emperor penguin when she wasn’t saving the world from its inevitable destruction. Her dedication to her work took her to the coldest parts of the region, sitting for hours in temperatures averaging in the teens with a windchill that made those same conditions dip into negative integers. She would do this for days on end, taking down detailed notes about penguin behaviors and drawing the most exquisite illustrations in her little waterproof field book, which she presented to Ingo now with a glimmer of pride in her eyes as he congratulated her for meticulousness.

She was content to talk all about her studies, about her chats with the man called Laventon about their diet and habits, she told Ingo about the fluffy gray chicks that made her swoon and coo as they tottered around.

“I chucked rocks at the petrels… Even though I’m not supposed to interfere with the colony. Captain Cyllene tells me that I do that because I have a soft heart, but Professor Laventon told me to interpret that as the Captain saying I care a lot about my work.”

“I would have to agree with this professor of yours.”

Ingo replied, balancing Dawn on his tail and, with the control and precision that would demand for such a maneuver, launched her into the air before outstretching his hands to catch her. This game always left her giggling and euphoric, grinning broadly which never failed to make him return her smile with one of his own. This was usually something they did over the water – just in case Ingo missed – but he needed to offer some distractions… and wanted to see that brilliant smile on her face if only for a moment.

This escalated to play fighting something that was less usual for Dawn, but very usual for other pups; Dawn was repeatedly offering him chirps and growls, flashing her small teeth in threat displays that would have frightened a sardine, but not Ingo.

“So scary,” Ingo chortled, allowing for his hand to get pinned which made Dawn erupt into triumphant cheers. He was quick to flip his hand and pin her back, which made the surveyor snarl. “You must be faster than that, Dawn.”

Unbeknownst to either Ingo or Dawn, a pair of eyes was watching from the mouth of the cavern, crinkling fondly while watching the two playfight. Palina’s beatific smile was almost instantly wiped from her face when she heard Gaeric hollering her name down the corridor, she must have been gone longer than she thought.

“Shhh!”

She hissed at his approach, smacking his arm when he failed to conceal an eye roll. He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but she shushed him again. Gaeric frowned, mouth twitching in frustration at the command, and he was about to ignore her when she hissed at him to shut up.

“I will not – where’s Ingo?”

“They’re playing!”

“Who’s playing?”

Palina’s excitement was practically radiating off her in waves, infectious to the point of Gaeric’s brow softened from its agitated slant over his eyes.

“Ingo! With Dawn!”

No way.

He cautiously peered around the corner to the duo obliviously initiating a playfight that Ingo could win in a heartbeat, but that wasn’t the point of a playfight between adults and pups. Ingo didn’t usually play with pups, he had nervously confided in Gaeric that he was afraid of squashing them – which made sense, orca mer pups were probably much bigger than many of the pups of Pearl Clan. However, Ingo seemed perfectly capable of playfighting (Gaeric couldn’t even being to imagine just how much restraint Ingo was exhibiting to make sure there were zero injuries).

“Huh...” That was the only sound that came out of his mouth. He was only struck dumb for a moment, “Hey, wait a minute. She’ll play with Ingo, but not with me?”

It was Palina’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Get over yourself.”

She could feel Gaeric pressed against her back, could practically hear him grinding his teeth in envy with each passing second. She shrugged him off, trying to focus on the nice moment that Ingo and Dawn were sharing… Palina was almost able to forget about Gaeric breathing down her next, almost able to ignore his indignant grumbles about being great at playing.

“Lian loves it when we playfight.”

“Sinnoh above, Gaeric. If you can’t be happy for them, then get out of here.”

That got him to shut up with a grunt, turning to head back to the feast hall to leave Palina to watch the scene in silence.

Yank.

“Let’s go, Lina. Don’t want Ingo to think we're voyeurs.

That was a fair point, but Gaeric didn’t have to drag her by the tail! She stifled her yelp and whisper-yelled at him down the length of the corridor.

In the chamber, Dawn’s face was red with the laughter she was trying to hold in. Ingo was suppressing his own smile, his embarrassment overriding amusement for the time being.

“I can’t believe they didn’t think we could hear them!”

Ingo could only shake his head in disbelief.

With only that minor disturbance, they managed to get to sleep with the embers of the fire providing the only ambient light. Warm and comfortable, Dawn did not worry for the rest of the evening about the looming trial ahead of her.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Birds and The Bees

A.N. I don't usually do many author's notes in Tumblr, but never, never, not once, has a fic ever been so requested, by so many different people, that I feel like I have to.

@i-love-mommy-wanda "Being that she stayed in a room most of her life- just hear me out- a oneshot - of Sam giving her the" TALK!" like birds and bees and where baby's come from I think that would be funny" @/thequeeranarchist "I don't know if you take requests, but I thought about if someone had to explain the birds and the bees to sunshine considering she probably never had been told about it. Idk, I thought about sunshine and Bucky's first time together too, but I don't know your comfortability with what you write and what you don't. And grumpy x sunshine is officially my favourite trope now bc of this series."

I don't even - I just don't even know what to say. (Please note, that as I write this, I'm quite literally giggling to myself and have quite literally reverted to my awkward 16 year old self) I get requests somewhat regularly, but this, this is the most requested topic. You guys just really wanted to know about this.

Listen, here's the thing, reading second hand embarrassment is one thing. WRITING IT? I was in physical pain, but the scene wasn't going to write itself. I tried, it really didn't write itself.

But I did it. Because I love you guys. And now, it'll be another 5 to 7 business days before I can log back on.

P.S. I know there's other people who requested it too, but I can't find the requests, but please know I didn't forget about you!

Anon's 1K Celebration

Pairing: Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Summary: Falling in love is easy, as natural as breathing, so why is talking about it so embarrassing?

"Sam," you frantically call from the doorway, clutching your racing heart, "I think I'm dying."

"What? Why? What happened?" Sam rushes out, frantically searching you for signs of duress.

You double over, hands clutching your sides, "Well, I'm not sure, but I did Google it and I think I'm having a heart attack."

Sam takes a long sigh, resting his hands on his hips in mild exasperation. At least he knew you weren't actually dying. "And why do you think you're having a heart attack?"

"I just," you dramatically clutch your chest, finally standing upright, "My heart feels like it's in my stomach, and- and I'm all sweaty, and fluttery. And I want to curl up into a little ball and die, but maybe also listen to every Taylor Swift song ever written."

"Well, that was," Sam clears his throat, "That was very descriptive."

You flop down on your couch and groan into one of the cushions, "Just leave me here to die."

"You're not dying."

You lift your head to glare at him, "You don't know."

"I do know," Sam insists. "You're a healthy, 25 year old woman, the chances of you having a heart attack are almost zero."

"But not zero," you point out.

Sam sighs, grabbing your hand and pulling you up off the couch, "You're not dying, and you're not having a heart attack."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"If you're wrong, I'll haunt you."

"I'll take my chances," Sam playfully rolls his eyes, "So what were you doing right before you thought you were having a heart attack?"

"I-" you clear your throat, a furious blush warming your entire face, "I don't want to tell you."

He should've known something was wrong right from the get go. You were always so open, so honest about everything. You weren't raised under the same social contract, or any social contract, and you were still learning basic social norms and customs. For better or worse, you were the most honest and open person Sam had ever known.

So for you to be this flustered, this shy and jittery, it had to be something pretty important.

He should've left it at that. He really should've left it at that. But no, like the concerned friend he was, he pressed the topic even more.

He gently nudges your shoulder, taking a seat beside you, "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

You abruptly stand up, awkwardly chuckling. You inch away from him, jutting your thumb back to your room, "You know, now that I think about it, I'm all better, heart attack healed. Good talk, thanks, Sam."

"Come on, just tell me," Sam cajoles, patting the seat beside him. "We tell each other everything."

"I was on the phone."

"Okay..." Sam could count on one hand the number of people that had any means to communicate with you. Hell, he could count exactly how many people had knowledge of your existence with both hands.

It takes Sam a second to realize that he's too lost in his worry to actually hear what you're telling him, "... so Bucky told me we could practice-"

He already doesn't like where this is going. "Practice what?"

"Texting, Sam." You quirk an eyebrow at him, "Are you even listening to me?"

Sam suspiciously nods, settling back into the couch, "Right."

"And we've sort of been texting each other."

"Uh-huh," Sam nods along, though he gets the distinct feeling that he won't like where this is going. Not in the slightest. He physically braces himself as he asks his next question, "So, um, what were you guys talking about?"

You timidly shrug, twisting and untwisting your fingers, "Just stuff."

"Stuff?" Sam dubiously repeats. "Talking about stuff made you think you were having a heart attack?"

"Yes..." It's clear to him that you're lying through your teeth. It's clear that this is as weird for him as it is for you. You clap your hands down on your lap, abruptly standing with up a fierce blush painting your face, "You know what? I completely forgot I have to water my plants!"

"I know you're lying!" Sam calls after you as you scramble away.

"No, I'm not!" you shout over your shoulder. "I'll be back! Maybe! Probably! Definitely at some point!"

This wasn't the first time something like this happened, a strange, slightly uncomfortable situation happening.

This whole living arrangement with you and Sam would probably be called a strange, slightly uncomfortable situation by most people. Most of the time, Sam was able to handle these things on his own.

Having grown up with a younger sister, Sam was fairly comfortable talking about and dealing with certain things. That did not mean he was even remotely prepared or even qualified to explain those things to you.

The first time it happened was about a month into living with each other.

It was just cramps. Until it wasn't.

He phoned it in to Maria Hill.

Crisis averted. Mostly.

Because a couple of months later, another of those awkward situations arose.

The second time was an awkward encounter with a barista at your local cafe.

Apparently, getting breakfast and coffee with a person of the opposite sex first thing in the morning day in and out meant that people could just assume the nature of your relationship. And it wouldn’t have been the most ridiculous assumption if it weren’t for the fact that it absolutely was the most ridiculous assumption.

Sam was just thankful that he was as certain of your feelings as he was of his own.

He'd handled that situation fairly well on his own, even if it did take several days for you two to be within five feet of each other.

And now here he was again. Sitting all alone in your living room, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with this. And that's when he sees it. The scene of the crime sat right before him, right on the coffee table. Your phone. 

"You forgot your-" He stops himself from finishing that sentence. Because this wasn't your run of the mill awkward situation, no, this was worse. A lot worse than some nosey barista. So much worse that he thinks about doing something stupid. An overprotective, older brother sort of stupid. He tries to rationalize it, after all, you’d left the phone right there. Right there. Right in front of him. Within his reach. What kind of handler would he even be if he wasn’t keeping a close eye on you?

“No.” Sam suddenly changes his mind, softly muttering to himself, “That is an invasion of privacy. What kind of friend-“

And before he even knows it, your phone is in his hand. And he’s clicking on your messages.

And he’s reading your texts to Bucky.

JBB: What does 'lol' mean? You: It's either lots of love or laugh out loud. Idk. JBB: What does that mean? The idk? You: I don't know. JBB: I'll ask. You: No, it means I don't know. JBB: Oh. JBB: I know you can't see me, but I'm frowning right now. You: You make me laugh. JBB: I like making you laugh. JBB: But if you tell anyone that, I'll deny it. You: lol JBB: Which version of lol was that? Lots of love or laughing out loud? You: That’s for me to know. JBB: And for me to find out? You: lol

"That was smooth as hell," Sam mutters to himself. Sam has to stop at that point. He can’t read any more. He scoffs to himself, “She’s been out a year and flirts better than I do.”

There’s a part of him that’s a little mad. Mostly about your shockingly incredible ability to flirt.

But it also grates on that older brother nerve. The same one Sarah used to love to poke and prod at when they were younger.

He's still sort of in his right mind. At least enough to know that he's out of his element with this one. There’s no way that he can approach you about this. Especially not after reading through your messages.

What even was this? Was it just harmless flirting? Was it you just trying to get out there and socialize with the few people you were allowed contact with?

Or were there feelings there? And, if there were feeling, what kind of feelings?

He rapidly shakes his head trying to rid himself of the idea. That was not an image he needed in his head.

Sam decides in that very moment, this is too far out of his league. He can't handle this. An while might not be able to handle this, he knew someone who could, someone much more qualified than he was. He dials her number right away. She answers on the third ring. 

"I need your help," Sam sharply whispers into his phone.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"There is flirting happening over here!"

Maria sighs in relief, "Oh, good, I thought there was a real problem happening."

"Did you not hear me? Flirting, Maria! Flirting!"

"So?"

"Do you know what flirting leads to?" Sam wildly questions. 

"No?"

"It leads to... other things - I don't know! And that's why I need your help! I can't deal with this!"

"You can't call me over for things like this."

"I thought you said you were happy to help!"

"I was! I am, but you're supposed to be keeping a low profile. Having me walk in and out of your front door in broad daylight is not low profile."

"So then come in through the backdoor!" Sam pleads. 

"Sam," Maria deadpans.

"I know, I know, you're right."

"I know it's a little... uncomfortable, but you just have to deal. Nick wouldn't have picked you if he thought even for a second that you couldn't handle this. It might be a little weird at first, but you've got this."

And he used to be sure that he could.

He used to be great at this job. Catching you up on pop culture? No one better than Sam. Healthy dialogue? Second nature to Sam. Ability to keep you safe? He was doing a damned good job at it if he could say so himself.

Then came the Bucky of it all.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Sam had half a mind to kick Bucky's ass for making you feel... whatever you were feeling.

Sam's only saving grace was that you'd pretty much become self sufficient in most areas of your life when Bucky came into the picture a few months ago. Since then, things were different. You were different. At first, Sam was sure it was just the excitement and thrill of having a new friend.

He could kill Bucky for making your life more complicated. For making his life more complicated.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

He's so lost in his plot to murder Bucky Barnes that he almost doesn't realize it when you shuffle back into the living room. "Sam?"

Sam's head snaps up, "Huh?"

"I said what are you doing?"

"Um... Just thinking."

"About?"

"What's going on with you and Bucky?" Sam abrasively blurts out. 

Your eyes blow wide. "What?"

"Sorry, what I meant to say was - what's going on with you and Bucky?" Sam demands with equal fervor. 

"Nothing!" you exclaim. 

"Well, I know you're lying!"

"I'm not lying!" you insist.

"I saw you two flirting over text!"

"You read our texts?" Your eyes snap over to the coffee table where you left your phone. Sure enough, it's upright and in a completely different spot. "Are you crazy?"

"No, no, I am not crazy because you two are over there flirting and- and- and flirting and I'm not ready to be an uncle again!"

Both your hands cover your flaming face as you turn to leave the room again, "Oh my God!"

Sam reaches out, grabbing your arm to guide you back to the conversation that he knew deep down just had to happen, "No, no, we are going to sit and we are going to talk about this."

"About what?!" you shriek. 

"About this! You know this. The flirting. Dating. Other things. You know what so please don't make me say it," Sam pleads with you, looking every bit as awkward as you feel. 

"No, I don't, so no, we're not!"

"You not knowing is the literal reason we have to talk about this!" Sam rants. 

You turn to try to leave again, "I'm leaving."

Sam wedges himself in the doorway, physically blocking you from leaving, "Oh, no, you're not."

You try to squeeze past him, "Oh, yes, I am."

"No, you're not!"

"Why not?"

"Because we have to talk about this."

"Why?" you exclaim with a particularly shrill tone.

"I don't know!" Sam throws his hands up. "But we are. And we are going to hate every single second of it. And then we never have to talk about it ever again."

"You swear?"

"I swear," Sam promises, raising his right hand. He gestures to the couch, "If you sit and we have the talk, we will never speak of it again."

"Fine," you grumble under your breath, huffing as you slump onto to the couch. 

"Great..."

So you sat.

And you listened.

And you did your best not to cringe at what Sam was telling you. And then it was over. The silence palpable. Your face burning with embarrassment. Sam's face burning with embarrassment. But it was over. It was all said and done. 

You both sit on the couch with your hands in your lap, several feet away from each other, not even looking at each other but staring at the turned off television before you. After many, many long minutes of sitting in awkward silence, you turn to Sam with a questioning look, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we know too much about each other?"

"Definitely starting to."

"Glad we're on the same page."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series Anon's 1K Celebration

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[punderdome]

The Fine Print: Chapter 10

Summary: Tav tests an Archduke to find a nullification clause for her contract. Raphael begins his assault on Avernus.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+

Chapter 10: The Nullification Clause

With the Regalia of Karsus completed, Raphael had started his assault on Avernus in earnest.  In the evenings, he would regale her of the successes of his armies and the territory that he conquered, telling glamorous tales of how soon in the future he would take his armies to descend upon Zariel’s basalt citadel.

Tav listened aptly to Raphael describing the clashes of his army against Zariel’s amongst the background of the lingering Blood War.  Her husband was proud, having utilized the Regalia’s power to his advantage many times.  He took to wearing the Crown of Karsus significantly more often in the House of Hope in blatant displays of his power.

Tav was left safely at home to learn and study.  She found a comfortable rhythm between studying in the archive, bathing in the Boudoir, and sharing her husband’s bed whenever he sought relief from his work, which was most evenings when he was home.  Raphael had started missing dinner more often but took heartedly to Lanceboard matches and reading together.  He would hum affectionately as Tav studied her extra readings while curled up on his chest in his bed, correcting her language as needed.  His corrective comments were became rarer and rarer as they read together, before the Archdevil of Avernus would decide reading time was over and expect pleasure from his wife.

Atmos had rapidly become Tav’s favorite teacher.  For the past ten tendays, he had been instructing her on Infernal law and legal writing.  Her Devilish and Ancient Infernal were rapidly improving, enough so that Atmos had allowed her to write, though she was still limited to documenting vocabulary to study and not allowed full sentences yet, though Tav was confident she would be able to link words into phrases within a tenday.

Atmos had spent the morning on long, detailed discussions on how to determine whether an Infernal contract was valid.  Tav had been reading on precedents that were so sloppily written and nebulous to have been investigated by an Infernal court.

“What are the requirements for the dissolution of an existing contract?” Atmos challenged her.

“The existence of a superseding agreement or ineligibility of the contract due to default or the contract being taken under duress or coercion,” Tav answered easily, not needing to seek the reference text.

“And what of a Warlock pact?  What would make that ineligible?” Atmos sat back in his chair across from her.  He gently pushed his spectacles up his nose.

“A celestial agreement or divine clerical pact makes a mortal ineligible for an Infernal Warlock pact unless the mortal has been substantially corrupted in soul on at least three occasions each more than one day apart by duration defined by time on Prime Material,” Tav started, knowing she was missing a specific subset of Warlock ineligibilities and trying to remember what the last one was.

“And?” Atmos started again.

“And an existing agreement of any contractual type with any other agent of the Hells from Imps to Archdevils,” Tav finished quickly.

Atmos grinned.  “You have been spending quite a bit of time studying and ruminating on contractual invalidity,” the Infernal tutor mused.

“Since we had been studying contractual validity, it made sense to have been studying invalidity,” Tav insisted.  Atmos grinned at her.  “One cannot understand invalidity or validity without understanding the other - otherwise, it is like expecting Shar to exist without Selune.”  A devilish eyebrow was cocked at her analogy.

Tav quickly realized her celestial reference but figured it would be more embarrassing to bring it up any further.  The Infernal master chuckled.  “I can only expect that eventually you’ll be using more Hellish analogies instead of those commonly used by mortals.”

“I can be well read on any plane, Master Malrai.”  Tav had learned the appropriate level of levity to use with her tutor.

“Indeed you can, Lady Tavara.”

***

Raphael was not at dinner that evening after she finished her lessons.  Tav summoned the valet.

“Is Master Raphael in the House this evening?” she asked quickly.

“Not to my knowledge, my Lady,” the servant answered quickly.  Tav quickly finished her dinner before returning to her room.  She had stashed a stack of parchment with preliminary notes, and took them with her tucked under her arm as she hurried down the hall, not wanting to be seen.

Under her arm she carried a dangerous set of notes with some hypotheses to help end her marriage contract.  If she searched thoroughly enough, she was confident she could find a way to nullify their contract.

Tav entered Raphael’s study to search through his extensive law library.  He was absent, likely out on Prime Material conducting business or managing the assault on Avernus.  Tav went to the bookshelves containing large tomes of Faerunian law.  Most of the old tomes were in Common tongue, but a few had translations into Infernal.  The collection of Faerunian law was not nearly as extensive as Raphael’s collection of the Laws of the Hells.

A contract may be wholly or partly invalid if there is a binding agreement superseding relevant contractual clauses.

She removed the index tome and sat at Raphael’s desk to figure out which of the works would hold the information she was looking for.

Marriage Agreements.  Book XII.

Tav replaced the index and pulled out the volume that referenced Faerunian marriage laws.

There were sections upon sections noting the validity and binding of various races and regions with separate sections for the gods of the Faerunian pantheon with additional information posed for the Fae, dead gods, and other supernatural forces that weren’t previously described.  Where did Infernal assholes fall?

Tav searched for the section on the Sword Coast and what constituted a binding marriage agreement for each of the various gods.

There were sections depicting valid marriage ceremonies, usually involving a binding promise, temple, and cleric.  Druids had other options to make binding ties under Silvanus.  The Drow had non-marriage binding options for subservient Drow males under the matriarchy.  Each god had their own set of minor differences in the components required to make a marriage binding.  Page after page dictated various ceremonies and contract types.

When Astarion was a magistrate, did he really memorize all of these law tomes?

Tav found the section she was looking for, assuming that at the time, Gale would still fall under Mystra’s domain.  “A betrothal is considered a fully valid marriage for Mystra’s followers before a ceremony is held, provided the betrothal is consummated,” Tav read aloud.

This could be the way out.  Raphael couldn’t marry her if she was still married to another.

Gale had proposed marriage, and she had accepted.  They made love again that night as newly betrothed.  Bound in promise.  Consummated.

Tav searched through the laws for Mystra’s followers to find the laws and regulations concerning divorce or dissolution of a consummated betrothal.  Pre-ceremony, betrothals can be dissolved without additional requirements provided one of the parties wishes to end the agreement.  So, she wasn’t still married to Gale, but she was considered to be married to him in Faerun when she met Raphael in the Devil’s Den to sign the contract.

She absolutely could not ask for Atmos’s opinion on her argument.  He would definitely tell Raphael.   It was a solid start for her to draft an Infernal legal argument that nullified that part of their contract.

What exactly did Raphael know?   He clearly knew of the proposal, and that it was consummated, if not that night then every night until they had broken up their relationship.  

Tav ran her hands over her cheeks, thinking back to when she signed the contract.  She was, by Faerunian law, married to Gale at the time.  She was infected by a Mindflayer tadpole.  She was fighting an Elderbrain.  

Duress.  A contract could not be made under duress.   Would being infected with a mind flayer tadpole while being spied on constantly by a mind flayer count?  Would signing the contract under the watchful eye of an extremely impatient Githyanki matter?

Tav took detailed notes on nullification of marriage contracts due to intoxication or coercion.  If the coercion nullification also existed in Infernal law, she may be able to make a reasonable argument.  The days before she signed the contract, Lae’zel had been insistent she go to the Devil’s Den to sign.  Her Githyanki friend had asked or pleaded almost constantly that they go to sign, despite how many times Gale had spat at her to stop asking.

What was Raphael thinking about when he drafted her contract?

Tav knew that if she wanted the basis for a good counter argument, she would need to ask him herself.

***

Raphael returned the following evening, joining her for dinner after her lessons had completed.  Tav smiled at him, seeing him seated in the dining hall waiting for her.

“You’ve returned, husband,” she said with a smile.  She kissed him gently, and he grinned.

“So you’ve been waiting for me?”  Raphael purred.

“I wasn’t sure you would be home tonight.”  She took her place at Raphael’s side as they dined together.

“Were you managing the conquest of Avernus or on Prime Material?” Tav probed, trying to assess exactly what mood he was in.

“I was conducting additional deals in Faerun.  I have quite a valuable haul of souls soon to be delivered.  I made a deal with a prominent warlord to gift him a sword of great power.”  Raphael’s smile was smug as he refilled their wine glasses.

“Wouldn’t that only provide you one soul to be delivered after his lifespan is spent?” Tav inquired, slowly sipping from her goblet.

Raphael chuckled at her.  “Definitely not, my dearest, I take great care in my contracts in considering the entire context of the situation.  When I make a deal with a mortal, I pay close attention.  As they say, the devil is in the details.”   He leaned back in his chair and puffed out his chest with knowing pride.  “See, the blade I provided will automatically apply a soul brand that grants their soul to me upon death.  Every being he cuts down enriches me further.”

“And what if your warlord is slain?” Tav asked, waiting to hear the rest of the story.

“The sword retains its power after his death and he is returned to me.  Such a valuable and powerful sword will definitely be used again to slay more unsuspecting mortals.”  Raphael grinned.  “From your time as an adventurer, I’m sure you have used items taken from your slain foes.  A quarterstaff taken from the former Archmage of Ramazith’s tower, perhaps?”

Tav sighed and nodded in understanding.  “I did like that staff and my old robes,” she mused.

Raphael gave a hearty laugh before running the back of his hand over her cheek.  “Do not fear, my dearest, they are safely within one of my vaults.  I collected them for you when I picked you up on our wedding night.”

Tav smiled at the oddly kind gesture.  “Thank you.”  She leaned briefly into Raphael’s touch.  “Now, that can’t be the ending of the story with the warlord.”

“Correct you are, my dear.  See, the warlord is also being hunted by an expensive group of mercenaries that I, too, equipped with enchanted swords that apply soul brands.  Now, the dead from both sides will be delivered to me, and all I need to do is observe the bloodbath.”  

Tav smirked.  “Those must be expensive, so I’m sure you’re anticipating a large return, or I can imagine every devil would use them.”

“Not every devil has the Regalia of Karsus.  I can create such enchantments as I please.”

Tav could darkly imagine entire Infernal forges dedicated to weapons that would soul brand slain foes.  Entire armies cutting each other down only for all of them to be doomed to eternity in Raphael’s clutches.  His confidence in gaining power was beginning to crystallize for her.

Raphael invited her back to his bedchamber for the evening.  At his bedroom door, Tav excused herself quietly.

“Let me change into my nightclothes,” she protested falsely, waiting for Raphael to produce a counterargument.

“They are unnecessary,” Raphael argued back with a smirk, his hand reached up to grasp her chin.

Tav backed away from him with a greedy smile.  “Oh dear, husband, but they are.”  Raphael growled in response.

Tav returned to her room and quickly changed into a silk nightdress.  She laid down on her bed and started to stroke her clit until she could feel the heat and pooling wetness.  She grabbed one of her law tomes from the table at the window.  She clutched it tightly to her before returning to Raphael’s chambers.  He was waiting for her on the settee, dressed down into his silk robe and lounging pants.  He eyed the tome in her grasp in confusion.

“What are you up to, my dearest?” he asked quickly.

“I’m a very naughty student, dear husband.  I must finish my reading before I upset my tutor,” she answered in a voice that she tried to steep in bashfulness with just a hint of flirtation.  Raphael raised an eyebrow and grinned, taking the bait.

He motioned to his lap, and Tav sat down, curling herself around him.  She opened the tome to the section on contract validity, reading silently to herself as Raphael placed a hand around her waist.

“Malrai had told me you were in the midst of studying contract law validity.  I am glad you are such an eager student,” he chuckled to himself, his baritone laugh exuding pride.

Tav booped him playfully on the nose and responded with mock exasperation.  “I am very fortunate to be in the presence of such talented Infernal contract writers such as Master Malrai and yourself, but I do not wish to disappoint my tutor or my husband.”  Tav could feel the egotistical hitch in Raphael’s breath at her flattery.

She silently and patiently continued to read.  Raphael would break soon, and then it was time.

Raphael was a patient devil, but he had his limits in the bedroom.  He quickly started to kiss down the back of her neck and fondled her breasts through her nightdress.  Tav gently removed his hand and went back to the page.  She had already completed this reading and knew it by heart, but Raphael didn’t need to know that.

Raphael growled deeply, but Tav continued to read.  He resumed his assault of kisses on her neck before lapsing into gently sucking and biting.  Tav turned gently booped his nose a second time.  His eyes narrowed, but he paused.

Tav turned the page.  Raphael’s fingers were impatiently tapping on her waist.  She could feel his breath on her ear.

Without another word, Raphael slammed the book shut and snapped it away to her room.  “I think that’s enough for tonight.”  His hands immediately went to the laces on her nightdress, pulling the straps down over her shoulders to free her breasts.

“Raphael, I have more work to complete.”

“No, my dearest, you’re done for the night,” he whispered into her ear as he stroked each of her nipples, excited by the way they hardened instantly under his touch.  He kissed and gently bit at her neck as he fondled her.  One of his hands traced up between her thighs.

“You have been a naughty, naughty Little Mouse,” Raphael groaned, already breathless as he stroked the wetness.  He pressed a finger deep into her and relished in the gasp that followed.  As he moved his fingers in and out of her, Tav couldn’t stifle the moans that fell from her lips.  She wanted to writhe into his hands.  She had to maintain control.

Tav removed his fingers with a slight whine and climbed out of his lap.  Raphael was already hard.  Tav walked over to the bed, and Raphael wasted no time in following her.  She removed his robe and his lounging pants, leaving him bare in front of her.  She stroked his wings as he let the last of her nightdress fall to the floor.  His hands went to scoop her up to place her on the bed, but Tav stopped him.

“Lay down,” she whispered in his ear, and every part of him, including his cock, seemed to stiffen.  Raphael preferred to be on top or fucking into her from behind.  He never let her ride him.

“Mouse-” Raphael started to protest.

“I’m a naughty, naughty Little Mouse,” Tav reminded him.  Raphael’s jaw tensed.  “I didn’t even finish the reading my tutor gave me.”  Raphael’s eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be irritated or incredibly turned on.  “Perhaps I’ll just keep breaking rules and need to be punished later.”

Her devilish husband reluctantly laid down on the bed, waiting to see what was about to unfold before making some sort of Infernal judgment.  Tav immediately straddled him and stroked her clit with the head of his cock.

“Maybe you can help me with my lessons, husband,” Tav suggested, breathing into Raphael’s ear as she leaned over him.  He groaned deeply as she used him to stroke herself.  His hands were gripping tightly at her hips and resisting pulling her down onto him at great effort.  She could feel each claw pressing into her skin.

“Contracts can’t be signed while under coercion,” Tav continued.  “Could you sign a contract for me, my dear?”

“Mouse-” Raphael started and groaned again.  His eyes were alight with lust.  Tav waited for him to answer, still stroking herself and spreading her wetness everywhere down his shaft as she tormented him.  “Yes-” he grunted below her.  “Coercion for Infernal contracts-” he moaned deeply.  “-requires imminent threats of danger.”

Coercion definitely wasn’t going to work as a way out of her contract, but Tav had already suspected that it was a long shot.

Tav needed as much information as she could.  This was by far some of the longest foreplay the two of them had had, and if she didn’t get Raphael any real satisfaction soon, he was unlikely to relinquish control to her again.

Tav sank down onto him, and Raphael let out a deep, heady groan.  His hands urged her to start thrusting, and his hips tried to buck into her.  Tav kissed him deeply and started to ride him.  Raphael’s eyes rolled in the back of his head and his tail wrapped around her thigh.  He felt good inside her, but tonight was not about her pleasure, she needed to pleasure information out of Raphael.  She watched his body language and listened closely to the sounds he was making.  He needed to last for her to get the information she was seeking.

Tav abruptly stopped thrusting but kept him deeply within her.  Raphael’s hands tried to force her hips to keep thrusting, but Tav locked her ankles under his legs.  His tail was pulsing.  “Contracts can’t be made under duress,” she whispered lustily in his ear.  “Could you sign a contract for me?”

Raphael was squirming underneath her, every body part desperate for her to continue.  He grunted, “Yes, duress is limited to curses-” he moaned as she indulged him in a single thrust.  “-or violence.”  She gave him another single thrust.  “My dearest, I am starting to think you are a curse.”

Duress as an argument wouldn’t work either.  The technical marriage to Gale may be her best shot.

Tav started to ride Raphael in earnest, finally letting her devilish husband chase his pleasure.  She listened closely to his breathing and could tell he was approaching orgasm.

“Raphael, are sections of a contract always nullified if you have a superseding agreement?” Tav questioned.

For once in his existence, Raphael appeared as if there was nothing going on in his head except for the pleasure of being thoroughly fucked by his wife.  He gave deep, ragged gasps and pawed roughly at her.

“Contracts-” he moaned.  “In Infernal-” another moan,  “operate under a hierarchy.”   Raphael was twitching beneath her and she could feel his cock pulsing inside her.  He was about to come.  “The highest ranked… Infernal… contracts… take… priority.”  Tav clenched around him, and Raphael gave a deep, unmistakable groan of pleasure as he came deep within her.  Tav dutifully rode out his orgasm.

Infernal seed was dripping down her thighs and Infernal law was dancing through her head.

Tav needed to determine whether her contact with Gale outranked her contract with Raphael.

[nausikaaa]

Six Sentence Sunday

thanks for tagging me @run-for-chamo-miles @that-disabled-princess and @orange-peony!

classicstober 2024's prompts have been announced and i'm super excited because it's historical figures! my obsession with Roman non-fiction and biographies has finally paid off!

i thought it would be a good opportunity to jumpstart my writing brain by writing lots of short and snappy things. and so today, i've written 1000 or so words for Regina of South Shields, who i've had the pleasure of visiting!

i'm about to ramble, so i'm putting it under a cut. also warning, i've included photos of a tombstone and a human skeleton. if you just want to read the six sentences and not see them, scroll fast right to the bottom.

so, this is Regina. or rather, her tombstone, discovered by builders in 1878, and a reconstruction of how it might have looked when it was erected. if you haven't heard of her, which is understandable, she was a British woman from modern day St Albans (near London) during the Roman occupation of Britain. she was sold as a slave (did her family need money? was she born a slave? we don't know) and bought by a man named Barates, from Palmyra, a city in modern day Syria, who was either a soldier or at least travelling with the Roman army. they moved to a garrison close to Hadrian's Wall in what is now South Shields in the north east, and Barates fell in love with Regina. he freed her and they got married.

her tombstone is mostly important because it tells us that a Syrian man was in Britain during this time, and since her tombstone has Palmyrene script on it, and the chances he engraved his own wife's tombstone are slim, there was likely at least one other Syrian person who could engrave headstones around. which suggests that there was a whole group! the name of the Roman fort in South Shields was Arbeia, which could even mean "the place of the arabs."

it's estimated that a third of people in Britain during the Roman occupation were long distance migrants, and most were not slaves, as is often assumed. Ivory Bangle Lady, who I have also visited in York Museum and who lived around the same time, is believed to have come from Africa. and she was a wealthy free woman!

but what about Regina? well, we know she was from the Catuvellauni tribe, and that she died aged 30. we can assume she spun wool as she's depicted doing so on the tombstone, which was a respectable pastime for Roman women, and she's shown wearing lots of jewellery, so she probably led a comfortable life.

but we don't know how she felt about her marriage, as her tombstone is in Barates' words. did she love him back, or was she under duress to marry him to improve her own prospects? did they have children? did she have friends in Arbeia? did she have to learn Aramaic or Latin to communicate with Barates, or did he know Celtic? we simply don't know. so much of her personality has been lost to time.

so my challenge was to write something that pieces together various possibilities to create what could be an approximation of who Regina was. to give her some life, a voice, and at least a bit of agency.

okay. enough preamble. here's six lines:

I had grown and reached my twentieth year, and as the dark circles beneath my eyes disappeared and the warmer months led me to abandon my woollen cloak, I noticed men's behaviour towards me change. I am not the type to play at being coy- I knew they found me attractive. With my white skin, red hair, and pale blue eyes, I was exotic to them. I stood out.

I noticed Barates' behaviour change too. I realised I had a choice to make.

if you want to know more about Regina, my main source is this podcast by Mary Beard, but i also took inspiration from the book Roman Woman by Lindsay Allason-Jones.

tags: @forabeatofadrum @j-nipper-95 @artsyunderstudy @prettygoododds @confused-bi-queer @imagineacoolusername @ic3-que3n @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @shemakesmeforget @fatalfangirl @ebbpettier @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @cutestkilla @youarenevertooold @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs @shutup-andletme-go @theearlgreymage @ileadacharmedlife @alleycat0306 @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @comesitintheclover @noblecorgi @roomwithanopenfire and @blackberrysummerblog

[poorlittleyaoyao]

is jgy different in the books than in the untamed? sorry if u haven’t read them im kind of just assuming u have even tho i haven’t lol but i was wondering if his characterization has any major differences like how wwx in novel vs untamed they sort of sanitize him and take away any culpability and honestly some of his edge. just curious if there’s any major differences in his characterization between the two

I'm not the best person to answer because I've only read the first two volumes of MDZS. Short answer: Yes, he is different, and in fact gets the reverse of WWX's treatment: Drama JGY is more overtly villainous than Novel JGY. However, IMO it's a little more complicated than that!

(Novel enjoyers, please chime in if I'm forgetting or misrepresenting anything.)

A lot of JGY fans greatly prefer the novel and feel that The Untamed did him dirty, because a lot of the show's plot changes that make WWX look better make JGY look worse. Jin Zixuan's death is the most glaring one: in the novel, WWX really does lose control of WN because he overestimates his abilities, and it's a tragic accident. JGY and SMS's implied involvement in the Massacre at Nightless City also doesn't happen in the novel; that, too, was a devastated WWX wreaking havoc and/or losing control. The novel also establishes that JGY is subject to abuse within Jinlintai, so there's an element of duress that one can read into his actions under JGS. Novel NMJ behaves more aggressively towards JGY than he does in the show, so his murder doesn't have the same tinge of malice. (The novel timeline also has JGY and LXC meeting before JGY and NMJ, all during Sunshot, so there's that.) Additionally, the novel tells us that JGY is genuinely a very good leader once he's Chief Cultivator and has implemented policies that have improved the lives of regular people and contributed to political stability. We're also told more about his childhood and his love for his mother, and we learn that his relationship with QS is a tragic love story (he doesn't know they're related until after she's pregnant) rather than something he went through with anyway. So in the novel, he's got a lot of positive things going for him that censorship didn't allow to carry over into the show for fear of having too much moral ambiguity.

HOWEVER!!!

The thing about the novel (and why I don't vibe with it as much) is that it's very much WWX's story, whereas The Untamed spends wayyyyy more time with its supporting cast. You might've noticed that I said the word "told" a lot in the above paragraph, because... well, that's what happens. We're told things about JGY, but we don't see him as much, especially since the novel is focused on the post-timeskip era with the stuff in the past coming through non-linear flashbacks. You don't get to see Meng Yao being Just A Little Guy very much before he becomes the Kitten Thinks About Nothing But Murder All Day meme. Now, you also don't hear dramatic music telegraphing HEY!!! HEY!! VILLAINY IS AFOOT!! HEY!!! every time JGY does literally anything, but you do have everything filtered through WWX's unreliable narrator monologue, and he is out there saying some truly wild shit. (You also get less Xiyao. Like, it's there if you want it to be, but The Untamed really went all-in on that.)

For me, the show works better, because I am a sucker for corruption arcs where you see glimpses of the character before they start the atrocities. Seeing him be Just A Little Guy making the saddest meow meow faces when people were mean to him kept me from totally losing sympathy for/interest in him once things start getting squicky, because I had evidence that he wasn't always like that. Meanwhile, JGY's first big scene in the novel is the confrontation with QS (which already makes my skin crawl and is somehow WORSE in novel form), and I was just like "wow, this guy sucks" even though I knew the story and all the extenuating circumstances already. For others, the novel works better, because "first impressions and society's opinion are unreliable" is a major theme, so the reverse reveal combined with the fact that he demonstrably tries to improve people's lives as a leader is less expected and more satisfying.

So yeah! JGY is different, but the ways in which he is different are due to storytelling methods as well as to plot changes!

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.14

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - The Trial begins with the Blackwood account.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.5k

Shanda was up long before the sun rose. She’d hardly slept a wink. Her thoughts were racing too fast to allow her heart to ever settle into an even pace. Instead she had done what she did best as of late, pacing. Dinner was a tense awkward affair for everyone involved. Except maybe Elmo Tully who had a good laugh the entire time.

“He’s a sane one for sure.” Alysanne had said after the latest cackle sounded down the hall.

“The riverlands are cursed.” Shanda had replied. “Neither the old gods or the new hear our pleas.”

How much blood had they split in the face of this feud? Maybe the gods were right to turn away from them.

“It’s not as bad as all that.” She snorted. “Tis not a grievous sin to kiss a man.”

Shanda looked at her with a bored expression. The Blackwoods didn’t hold anything sacred that was clear enough. So Shanda understood the lady could not understand the duress she was under. The weight of her crimes against her house were suffocating her. What had she managed to do for her house since getting caught? Nothing besides turning them against her. She hadn’t even gained any useful information about the enemy. So her mind had spiraled all night punishing her before the shame of the trial could try to do the same.

Now she paced in front of her window waiting for dawn to break. Life was cruel but never crueler than for a young woman. Shanda was smart and capable but the shadow of children she’d never met were the face of her past, present and future. She lived in the prison of small minds. She might’ve been a great bowman or a decent swordsman if she hadn’t had to learn under the pressure of secrecy. She put her hands on the window, feeling the cold glass as she looked out. She remembered what it felt like to roam the borderlands alone before dawn, the smell of river water and Meadowsweet in the air.

A knock sounds and draws her attention towards the door. Sighing, she moved to open it.

“Wanna grab some air?” Alysanne smiled at her and Shanda was relieved to hear her.

“You read my mind.”

The both of them slip down the deserted halls, noting the odd stationed guard here and there. Alysanne walked with confidence as if she’d made this trek often, weaving them down halls and up stairs. Until at last they stepped outside, standing on top of a tower. The sun was just beginning to rise. There was a slight chill in the air and it wasn’t raining for once.

“How are you holding up?” Alysanne asked her after a while.

Shanda shrugged. How could she put all of her worries into one emotion? “As well as can be expected.”

She didn’t want to see Benjicot. If he had set fire to Stone Hedge, she couldn’t stand to look at him. Worse though was that she didn’t want to see him because she felt so betrayed. How could she explain to Martyn that the enemy setting fire to their home was making her heart hurt? Royce would never understand and her father might die on the spot.

“I really tried,” Alysanne sighed. “to get you out of this but Benji does everything big.” She shook her head, face pinched.

Shanda couldn’t help but to laugh at her grim expression despite her own fears. “Well, I made the mess, and it’s time for me to clean it up.”

***

Shanda made the executive decision not to attend breakfast. She parted from Alysanne and asked one of the guards to escort her when it was time for the trial. Then she waited. Her anxiety was raging out of control and it didn’t take long before she was pacing again. This time no knock sounded when her door opened.

“Why are you in here?”

“This is my room.” She turned to face the heir, arms crossed.

“You shouldn’t skip meals.” His voice was disapproving.

“Ugh! Who cares!” She exclaimed, putting her hands on her head.

He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He was looking at her curiously as he crossed the room.

“What did you and your brother talk about?” He stopped inches from her, forcing her to look up to him.

Her eyes darted away from his. “None of your business but if you’re desperate to know, worry not. You’ll hear soon enough I’m sure.” She took a step back, needing more space. Of course he would come and find her. She should’ve seen that coming.

He held his arm out. “Come on. I’m sure Lord Tully will not forgive us if we’re late.”

She looked at him for a long moment, memorizing his face before she took his arm. The walk to the great hall was a blur to her. Her hands were sweating and she was taking slow measured breaths, trying to keep her heart rate down. When the guards opened the doors, it occurred to her that Benjicot had managed to worm his way into being her escort into the court. Hundreds of eyes shifted towards them as they entered and she set her jaw. Why hadn’t that useless guard told her people were filing in? Did anyone in the riverlands possess an actually useful guard? They crossed the room together to take their spot with the other Blackwoods. Shanda only made eye contact with Martyn, who looked twice as stressed as she felt.

When they came to sit, she hissed at him “You knew we were late.”

“No idea what you mean, my lady.”

Elmo called them to attention before she could reply. She glared at Benjicot who was pointedly not looking at her.

“I’m sure you’re all ready to get on with this, I know I am. We’re all tired of the constant fighting and squabbling you two get into. What’s more, I am tired of the both of you dragging your fellow rivermen into the fight. I’ve had to mediate four conflicts in little more than a moons turn.”

Shanda was picking the skin on her fingers as he talked. She hadn’t had anything to do with those earlier conflicts but she would suffer for them anyway. They were all suffering for generations of fighting.

“We’ll start with the Blackwood complaint.”

Shanda exhaled at that, a bit relieved. If they went first, she had a chance to build her defense. Lord Samwell stood first and her heart dropped at that. Having the current lord of Raventree condemn her in front of the entire riverlands was not a good look. She wished suddenly she had tried at all to learn what Benjicot’s plan was.

“For weeks we’d had someone sneaking into our side of the borderlands.”

Shanda frowned as he began to speak. That was technically true, she supposed. Her trips had been spread out a bit, sparse as they were. It made her sound worse than she was though.

“Our guards were restless, they couldn’t find any proof of the interloper. Some of the started to spread ghost stories, of a menace haunting the RedFork.”

Now she did roll her eyes. That was just an outright lie, she’d made that name up to intimidate the heir. She had no doubt the guards were stupid enough to believe she was a ghost though.

“Then the so-called ghost tried to kill my heir.”

Mutters rang out in the hall, causing Elmo to call them back into order. Shanda would’ve begun to throttle Benjicot if it wouldn’t have proved their case true. Her hands were balled into fists and she gritted her teeth. She knew it was going to be difficult and slanderous but it was just laughable. She’d never gotten remotely close to threatening Benjicot’s life.

Samwell left the floor open for Benjicot. It took a great deal of effort for her to keep her face neutral as he approached the center of the room.

“I figured it was just some petty criminal at first. We’d been having so many skirmishes around that area, it wasn’t uncommon to have some peasant try and sneak past us. But over time I noticed the culprit never tried to pass the boundary beyond the river, they would just watch. When I figured out it was a spy, I set a trap.”

Shanda sat in shock listening to him. He’d known she was there the entire time. That’s how he was able to ambush her that night he almost caught her.

“Imagine my surprise when I figured out the spy haunting us was Amos Bracken's youngest daughter.”

More muttering went through the room but no one seemed too shocked at the news. They were always fighting so what made this any different?

“Listening to guard gossip and trying to take me out wasn’t enough for her in the end. Not long after that we found her deep in Blackwood territory trying to sneak into Raventree. A group of guards and I found her. Then we later found her brothers attempting to do the same. We’ve done no damage to the Brackens before or after the latest edict. We apprehended a criminal terrorizing our lands and kept the Brackens from committing slaughter over it.”

Shanda just stared at him, seeing a stranger. She’d never met this man standing before her.

“I’ve had to neglect my own duties to keep her from escaping, as nightly she would try her luck against sneaking around my guard.”

If he neglected his duties it was to drive her insane not to keep her from escaping! She hadn’t even really given it a good attempt beyond the night she saw Royce. And he had endorsed that attempt.

“She made it nearly out one night but I was on guard duty and caught her before she could cross the river.”

Lies just kept spewing from his mouth. He’d twisted every moment they’d spent together to make her look bad.

“Lucky I was too. As I caught her brother trying to sneak across to help her.”

Shanda tried to meet Royce’s eyes but he wouldn’t look at her. When Benjicot left the floor and Alysanne stood to take her place, she looked away from the floor. It was going to be a very long day for her.

***

By the time lunch rolled around, half of house Blackwood had testified against her. She’d tuned out after Alysanne. Half of the people she had never set eyes on in the time she spent at Raventree but it didn’t matter. It would be her word against tens and tens of people. When they called for lunch, Shanda had made a beeline towards Martyn. She hadn’t bothered to say anything, just grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out into the hall. Then she searched for the first empty room she could find, pulling them inside.

Shanda’s breathing was too fast and she countered it by taking big gasps of air and slowly exhaling before she began to speak to her brother in short bursts.

“They are smearing my name.” She ran her hands through her hair, trying not to freak out.

“What am I going to do Martyn? I haven’t met half of those people and I’m not the mastermind they’re making me out to be.”

She fanned her face, willing herself not to start crying. She couldn’t walk back in with a splotchy red face.

“I’m going to make my own petition.” He said confidently, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not going to let anyone lie on your name without at least trying to tell the truth. When I do, I’ll call you up. We can tell them together exactly how it happened. I know you’re worried but Lord Tully said he would hear it all. That includes us.”

As comforted by Martyns words as she was, it didn’t touch how afraid of that she was. If they were to truly hear it all, Alysanne told of their misconduct, it would be over for her. They wouldn’t listen to her account under the best conditions. But that wasn’t what she said to her brother.

“You’re a good person Martyn.”

“Come on. Let’s head back before someone starts looking for us.”

Together they walked back into the great hall where lunch was in full swing.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” Martyn mumbled before going to the Bracken side.

Shanda stood there contemplating leaving before she took a seat next to some unknown Blackwood. She wasn’t hungry even now and only picked at the food on her plate. She was mostly infuriated, sitting there seething while she watched Benjicot laugh with the men he was sitting with. She stood abruptly and walked over to him.

“Care for a word?” She elbowed him from behind.

He smiled at her, radiating confidence. “Of course, my lady.”

Shanda crossed the room to the hallway a second time but she did not pull the Blackwood away from the hall and into a room. She did, however, push him as hard as she could the moment the doors closed behind them.

“You’re a gods damned liar, Blackwood. How will you live with yourself lying in front of the entire riverlands and the gods?”

Benjicot grabbed her hands when she tried to push him again and glancing around he pulled her off to the side, out of sight of the guards. She pulled against his hands but helplessly followed him as he dragged her along. When they came to a stop he allowed her to rip her hands free. He stood too close to her for her liking.

“You did all of those things.” He stared down at her sincerely.

“Your life was never in danger for a second and we both know it.” The venom in her voice was scathing.

Smirking, he stepped closer to her. “Aw you poor baby. Finally figuring it out are you?” Her back hit the stone wall behind her when he took another step towards her. He placed both hands on either side of her against the wall. “It doesn’t matter what you did.” His breath was hot against her neck. “It matters what I say you did.”

She didn’t breathe. She was so tense, so angry.

“You’re a sad excuse of a man.” She bit back.

“And I’m going to be your sad excuse of a husband.” He laughed.

Shanda stood there chest heaving, utterly confused.

He judged the look on her face, hand coming up to graze her cheek. “Did you really think I was going to let my father cut your pretty head off? When I enjoy your sweet neck so much?” His tone was cooing and too sweet.

Shanda was completely disoriented by his words and continued closeness. “We are sworn enemies.” She said, swallowing thickly. It was a sad last ditch effort to push him away, to deny the situation in which she’d found herself.

Cradling her against the wall he replied, “Not anymore.”

[dailyanarchistposts]

How can I be an effective leader (in a non-hierarchical, anti-authoritarian sense)?

As an additional question, does anybody know whether there’s been any writing done on the subject? If so, links? Obviously, we as anarchists oppose leadership in the form of authority and hierarchies. However, I’ve read some things remarking on the organic emergence of “leaders” in anarchist groups, in the form of people who are the most experienced, the most confident, and/or the most capable of taking action. I’ve also seen proposed something akin to “if you must take the role of a leader, do so only for as long as it takes to share your knowledge and experience with those around you”. A leader who encourages others to knock her off her pedestal, so to speak. Basically, what I’ve run into is that a large portion of my friends are either into anarchism or consider themselves anarchists (after being exposed to it, through hanging around me), but don’t have the knowledge/experience/initiative to be confident in working on projects. I really want to share what I’ve got, but honestly I don’t have a lot of experience with “leadership” and instilling confidence and inspiring action. Maybe this is something totally out of my hands and it’s just a matter of waiting for them to find their own initiative and desire to act, but I really feel like what I’ve done thus far is equivalent to saying, “Here’s what anarchism is—if you agree with it, cool. We should do something about it.” And that doesn’t seem like enough.

alc

Time for an epic response; thanks for giving me an incentive to write it out.

Concepts:

A. Guide: a leader who persuades by example and suggestion, based on experience or informed speculation (expressed as such). Practices voluntary relationships. Legitimate.

B. Master: a leader who manipulates through duress or deceit, based on experience or misinformed speculation (often concealed). Practices coercive relationships. Illegitimate.

In my opinion, legitimate leadership requires at least 13 conditions:

Active Choice followers actively and voluntarily decide their roles with informed consent, constantly re-evaluate

Anarchistic Skepticism the burden of justification rests on guides rather than followers

Contextual Merit guides proficient in a specific context

Egalitarian Integrity absence of force and fraud in interactions

Egalitarian Purpose no compensation requested beyond effort ex-pended or direct need; guides and followers live in the same material conditions

Empowering Trajectory concrete processes for empowering followers, sharing information or materials, rotating roles, decentralizing agency, and rendering further guidance unnecessary

Finite Duration guidance duration directly linked to mutually-agreed upon goal(s)

Immediate Recall the followers’ ability to immediately revoke status of guide(s)

Radical Accountability guides redress force, fraud, failure

Radical Transparency honest and empowering explanations of guides’ logic and aims

Responsible Teaching guides want responsibility to followers rather than power over them

Social Leveling the followers thwart guides’ senses of entitlement, arrogance, & contempt

Stakeholder Accessibility the inclusion of all parties deserving agency, based on expressed or implied need

Gently, she grasps her tender lover’s unpracticed cheek.

They brush faces, touch lips. She guides with her affection, encouraging learning in the most compassionate of ways. As their intimacy grows, they reach a balance together, her inexperienced partner becomes a competent lover. And even with all of her practice, she could not help but have her own learning stimulated. Now they walk their path hand-in-hand; neither guides, neither follows.

He remembers his early youth, when his elders taught him to walk in the forest and gather his nourishment. He remembers their confidence, his apprehension, as he first stepped into the bush, nervous, with them. But now he often walks under the pale light of the moon, fetching the acorns, with only his memories keeping him company.

Soon he will teach his little ones to become sons of the leadership oaks, the cycle starting afresh.

Leadership would emerge naturally among the members of a society, very much as it does among children, and confine itself to taking initiatives only when individual ones are impractical. The followers should be the ones to decide whom they will follow and should be free to change leaders as suits their convenience. In a continuum culture like that of the Yequana, the functioning of leaders is minimal and it is possible for any individual to decide not to act on the leader’s decision if he prefers...

Immunization to Authoritarianism

If we want to live without rulers, we need empowerment to immunize us from the threat of authoritarian relationships and defeat the potential pitfalls of leadership.. In order for that to happen, we need to understand the psychology of perception and prejudice, creativity, intelligence, learning, logic and fallacies, intuition, critical thinking, argumentation, problem-solving, planning, systems analysis, and risk management. Those of us who know these things (such as myself) would do well to act as guides and share our knowledge. So here goes:

psychology (self-actualization processes; cognitive biases; psychological heuristics)

prejudice (cognitive, affective, and behavioral prejudices)

creativity (imagination; inspiration; intuition)

increasing intelligence (“seek novelty; challenge yourself; think creatively; do things the hard way; network”)

increasing learning (working memory; attention)

logic (formal vs informal; inductive vs deductive)

reason (logic) vs intuition (instincts, associations)

logical fallacies (search: “Critical Thinking as an Anarchist Weapon”)

awareness of disinformation techniques

critical thinking as “the process of purposeful, self-regulatory judg-ment, which uses reasoned consideration to evidence, context, conceptualizations, methods, and criteria.”

critical thinking components (skepticism; logic; clarity; credibility; accuracy; precision; relevance; depth; breadth; significance; fair-ness)

critical thinking requirements “falsifiability, logic, comprehensiveness, honesty, replicability, sufficiency” “humility, integrity, courage, autonomy” “follow through, open-mindedness, foresight, attention, inquisitiveness, thoroughness, fair-mindedness”

willingness to criticize oneself “Critical thinking clarifies goals, examines assumptions, discerns hidden values, evaluates evidence, accomplishes actions, and assesses conclusions.”

argument mapping (contentions, premises, co-premises, objections, rebuttals, lemmas)

problem-solving (techniques & methodologies; brainstorming; collaboration; networking)

lateral thinking (idea-generating tools; altering focus; selection; application)

planning principles (PsyBlog goal hacks: stop fantasizing; start committing; start starting; visualize process not outcome; avoid the what-the-hell-effect; sidestep procrastination; shifting task-or-goal focus; reject robotic behavior; focus on the aim not the goal; know when to stop; if-then plans; verbal-ization & visualization of processes; contrast positive fantasy/indulging with negative reality/dwelling)

planning methodologies (STOP, OODA loops; SWOT analysis; PDCA cycles; flow charts)

working backwards (goal; strategy; tactics; time-frames; deadlines; review)

systems analysis (complexity; emergence; fragil-ity/resilience; systempunkts; schwerpunkts)

risk management (risks; threats; vulnerability; mitigation)

TL;DR–Skeptical of Guides, Hostile to Masters, Deliberate as Fuck, Destroy Power Through Collective Self-Empowerment, Tell Everyone.

dot

Two more things...

One text that was interesting to me (despite her reputation) was Starhawk’s book on group dynamics and structure (Truth or Dare). It encouraged me to think about the different roles that people play, how they can be played well, and how many (all?) of them have a place in a happy group.

Which leads to the point that being a leader (good or bad) requires participation from the group. To some extent we all are at the mercy of our friends and context (ie part of the problem with how we view leaders is the idea that “a good leader can overcome things on their own”). I have been in many a group that defused a power play, made a comment into a joke (or refused a joke and made it into a comment), etc without even noticing what was happening. When the topic of leaders arises, the context that the individual operates within is not given enough credit for leadership what happens.

The example given by the question seems to be one of commitment, that people are afraid or unwilling to act (which can be for a number of different reasons), and I think that sometimes leaders are merely the people who are willing to do something even if it means they might be wrong (or be seen as wrong).

[saltygilmores]

DANCE MARATHON EPISODE-PART 3

So I had seen this Charity Dance Marathon gimmick on an episode of the Golden Girls (an episode which aired in 1987) and I feel as if I’ve seen it on other shows as well. (fun fact I just learned this week: Gilmore Girls and Golden Girls both shared at least one writer). Were these ever real things or is this just a gimmick made up for sitcoms? Are there real people out there shaking their moneymakers til they drop? Who can actually dance for 24 hours with only minimal breaks? It seems incredibly uncomfortable. See also: Charity bachelor auctions (Seen this gimmick on The Golden Girls again, and The Simpsons). Stars Hollow could never auction off a date with a hunky bachelor because Miss Patty keeps all the eligible single men and teenage boys chained up in her basement. I may have to do some research on these phenomenons.

I already can't stop saying Shug and Shuggy and Shugar at random intervals after seeing Land of Bad yesterday, and Babette is not helping, lol. Maybe on a different timeline, she was Shug's Momma (actually...maybe I shouldn't wish that for dear Babette).

I just want to point out the sign in the background reading: "All students riding a school bus home after school must wait in the gym." Who is so far away they're taking a bus to school in Stars Hollow? Stars Hollow is like four feet long. Maybe there are so few teenagers in The Hollow they have to consolidate with other districts and bus in students from other towns, like seat fillers. Those poor kids, deprived of an education like that.

Everything reminds me of Captain John "Sugar/Shug" Sweet. Sookie informs Lorelai that under duress, she reluctantly agreed to her husband's "four in four" plan (four kids in four years, what is she, a dog?) and now she can't back out or have a conversation with him about it so she has no choice but to lay down and accept his sperm, lest she cause any conflict in their newlywed marriage where things are still bright and shiny and they enjoy sniffing each other in the morning, or something like that.

Tell that to Liz Danes.

That's rich and creamy coming from Ms. "I Almost Married Max Medina Without Discussing Where We Were Going to Live".

This is a janky medical operation we've got going on here. Medical examinations being performed next to open containers of food, no gloves being worn by medical personel or kitchen staff, and massage therapists walking around wearing tshirts saying "Masseuse" on them, because it's important to establish who you're getting massaged by. If it doesn't say Masseuse on the shirt, you might end up getting a rubdown from an unsanctioned random weirdo.

Alexis's is sneering like, "I'm here working 14 hours day in the Los Angeles heat in a heavy coat with a bunch of DORKS when I could be home boinking MY NEW BOYFRIEND MILIO VENTIMIGLIA and touching his BIG WANG! But maybe we can sneak in a quickie behind craft services later"

Mrs Kim is the real star of this episode.

Oh hey Mrs. Stanley Appleman.

Kinky.

If you keep drinking all that coffee, you're going to turn into a Coffee. Or probably have back to back heart attacks.

The clock is ticking to Shane's imminent demise. Hopefully her collapse from excessive blood loss won't get in the way of the other dancers, because Jess is going to butcher her behind the school without any witnesses. He is home sharpening his axe. #MurderOnTheDanceFloor #BetterNotKillTheGroove How the hell did they rustle up 156 couples/ 312 people for this thang anyway?

I love Luke in this episode :)

Pretty rich and creamy coming from you, Miss No Car, No Job, No Pet, One Friend, Butthead Boyfriend, Goes Home From College Every Weekend to Visit Mommy. Kirk has a thousand careers, he will eventually have a pet and a girlfriend, and what reason would you need a car in The Hollow? Except to escape it. Kirk easily has the most interesting life in The Hollow, save for Miss Patty, maybe (who has the most interesting past). He seems pretty content with his life. I love that there's a "security" guard back there. I guess he was sleeping on the job when Shane's cries of agony rang out into the cold Connecticut sky.

Says Miss Lonely Pathetic Existence Also Attending The Same Marathon With Lonely Pathetic Mother And Every Other Lonely Pathetic citizen of the entire town.

YAYYYYY.

If Lane doesn't stop causing so much friction in Hep Alien, she might be replaced with this guy. I'm sure he will get paid equally as much drumming for a group of teenagers as he's currently getting paid to drum for a small town twerk-till-you-drop charity event.

Remember when swing music had a brief resurgence in the late 90s? Those were the days, oh some days they were. But since time stands still in The Hollow, they're actually still on the 1930's wave. This is too much fun and so cute and whimsical and joyous and what a wonderful episode it is. Can't even snark too hard about the dancing. Lowering snark cannons.

They're going to go home and have unbelievable amounts of sex.

You know who else is going to go home after the DM and have an unbelievable amount of sex? I'm sorry. You came to The Thing, Dean! You did the bare minimum! You paid your girlfriend and her mother an uninspired compliment! For that Lorelai will stare at you like a hungry dog salivating over the last scrap of meat on a bone.