#i love seeing at the point where i gave up on being coherent w capitalization like. no one is going to read thru this but consider i need

[volfoss]

hi sorry im like. so so mad about media so im putting this silly rant abt the witcher under the cut <3 spoilers for ummm the books or smth but i dont think my mutuals are into this so 👍

So i just hit Blood of Elves (the 3rd book) and met Triss. so not only did she literally SA/take advantage of geralt (as is the fucking pattern in these books w women towards him and the author and the plot treating any time geralt gets in this position as haha funny so many hot women want him :/) but she is um. absolutely fucking horrible. it is so confusing to me how so many fans love her (because even if you've only played the 3rd game, she LITERALLY point blank jokes with him about how people will no longer take advantage of him since he no longer has memory issues, and when he asks who was taking advantage of him, she was just like me :3. like its never elaborated on its just a fucking joke because we <3 feminism in this series!!) but if you've read the books it just becomes more clear how shes treating him. its a really disgusting pattern of behavior where most of his lovers either treat him like a freak and a mutant (which is sure soooo funny when hes treated like that by normal citizens) or just like a sexual object for them to use, with no regards to his consent. and by god triss has embodied both of those so so badly, where shes just nonstop either lusting after him (when he shows literally NO interest in her at this point lmao) or just treating him like shit. shes constantly guilt tripping him about ciri which is so fucking frustrating bc all the stuff shes bringing up under the guise of haha epic feminism moment is handled SO badly. she basically forces femininity on ciri who is like. barely 12 or 13 by this point (if my math is right) and who literally asks if triss will turn her into a boy and who is more than happy with dressing in male clothes. but triss finds this an absolute travesty that ciri literally has a diy haircut (or one of the men did it for her bc its mega crooked) and takes it into her own hands to turn her into a super pretty polished girl like. adjacent to beauty pageants but fantasy medieval. it is um. incredibly frustrating to see all of this and how triss consistently tells geralt his parenting sucks and that ciri shouldnt be with him (despite the fact ciri only feels safe around him and he does a rly good job parenting in his own way. like its not traditional bc he IS a cringefail adoptive single dad but its also like it doesnt need to be and he cares about her safety so much but wtv) and that he just overall sucks as a person. but we r supposed to root for the two of them to get together as in most of the games, she's the primary/most fleshed out romance option. and its like i do NOT expect ppl just playing the games or watching the netflix series to read the books but its also like she is genuinely really bad to him a lot, just talking down to him and it is actually um. very interesting bc geralt as a character is very emotionless a lot of the time (some of this is due to him being a witcher but some of it is just his personality or the trauma hes endured) but the increase of him just being upset or silent and resigned has increased tenfold in just the first 100 pages of this book. its so so frustrating to see esp after seeing how bad yennefer was treated, i really hoped triss would be better. but in every single way she's been worse.

[crstapor]

Terror White

“You’re either with us or against us.” - George W. Bush


1.

On January 6th, 2021, domestic terrorists invaded the Capital Building in an act of political insurrection. Their intent was to overthrow the will of the people by preventing certification of a free and fair democratic election. They did so at the behest of their political leader (who was impeached a second time for inciting this gross transgression of his oath of office), other voices in their party - the so-called GOP - and talking head agitators inhabiting the far-right media echo chamber. Nearly to a man, a woman, a they, each of these terrorists were white.

Images of ‘good old boys’ traipsing down the halls of the people’s house waving confederate battle flags, kicking feet up on the Speaker’s desk, walking off with public property or smearing their shit on the floors pervaded the internet. These images provided by the villains themselves, posted shamelessly to social media profiles.

As a result of this treasonous, insulting, juvenile, despicable, and ultimately futile effort five people died. Even still, hours after the fact, a majority of members of the so-called GOP voted in accordance with the will of these terrorists. They voted to overturn the results of a free and fair election in the world’s oldest modern democracy. They did so because they believed there were serious ‘concerns’ (‘concerns’, let’s be clear, that started with them and like the Ouroboros, ended up with the confusing, if unhygienic, phenomenon of not knowing where their mouths or assholes ended or began) with the 2020 presidential election. After over 60 court cases arguing that point only one was ruled in their favor. None of the 50 States comprising our union found any evidence of wide-spread fraud. Indeed, a federal agency tasked with monitoring election security stated unequivocally that the presidential election of 2020 was one of the most secure in a generation.

And yet? There they were. Spouting conspiracy theories, assaulting police officers (those stalwart stewards of the ‘law & order’ they otherwise claim to love), brandishing spears and bearskins, stealing mail, leaving death threats to the Vice President, fundamentally acting the fool. A bunch of bullies let out of detention with rage and rebellion on their minds.

Let me be clear: each and every one of these terrorists should be hunted down by law enforcement and charged to the fullest extent of the law. They should then be prosecuted and the judges in each and every case should show or allow no mercy. These barbarians must never be allowed to storm the gates again.

Fine.

But that’s not the really interesting question here. The far-right has been producing assholes forever (one of the few things the ‘right’ is truly consistent at). What’s actually interesting is how these insurrectionists arrived at the conclusions they did. Which is to say; how did their ‘thinking’ bring them to this point.

2.

While it might be tempting for some on the left to see that last sentence as a joke, let’s remember we’re sitting at the adult table. These terrorists, being human, sharing our genetic code, are people - real, live, eating, shitting, fucking, anxious, sleeping, scared, afraid, terrified people - just like you and me. As much as it would be easier if we could see them as Uruk-hai instead of our brothers and sisters, sadly? That’s what they are. Family. Part of the Human Condition.

Though humans that are clearly very, very, very sick. My diagnosis? Mind Cancer. Let me explain, under the assumption my readers understand the difference between mind and brain. As such, I am not asserting that the terrorists are physically sick. From their pics and videos it’s clear many are - obesity, hypertension, anal retention - though that isn’t the point. It’s their mental programming, their minds, that have been infected. Infected with what?

Put simply? A disjointed ontological phenomenology obscured, obfuscated, and accelerated by persistently chaotic epistemological aberrations. Said plainly? Their ability to process reality has been impaired.

Why? Racial resentment, poor economic opportunities, an aversion to books and learning? Yes. All that. Plus? The internet, which has created a new Dark Ages.

Paradoxically, one built on light.

3.

Look. Self-interested demagogues intent on self-aggrandizement are nothing new. Nor are their ability to rally or rile a downtrodden populace. Sadly, demonizing the ‘other’ is also pretty par for the course in these scenarios. An old story, all told. What’s new this time is how it happens.

In a single second - count it out! One Mississippi - a beam, or photon of light moves 186,000 miles. Roughly seven times the circumference of the Earth. The new speed of hate. The internet, that modern marvel ushering in Humanity’s first truly post-scarcity resource, is built on light. Philosophers have for millennia wed knowledge with light. And now we all (well, those of us in the post-industrial world) carry a terminal connected to this internet in our pockets. A stunning marvel of human ingenuity. One would imagine that access to such a wellspring of knowledge and information would have a truly edifying affect on the Human Condition. Perhaps, in aggregate, or retrospect, it will. At the moment?

Yeah ...

At the moment it seems that the more access to information humans have the more they double down on tribal identities, wish fulfillment, instant gratification (read: porn), perceived slights, fantasy lands, Rick Astley videos, or the jibbering incoherent rantings of simple capitalists fomenting the fragile emotional states of low information individuals who feel they have no place in this world. This is a fundamentally devastating epistemological conundrum. Why? For centuries the barrier to the future was the amount of information, knowledge, you could access or process. Yet here and now? Here and now there might be too much access. Too much information. More so, the striking fact that our ability, as a species, writ large, to process or parse this information has not kept pace with the information at hand. A sad equation that inevitably leads to moments like 01/06/21.

4.

The Trump Terrorists of January 6th, 2021, weaponized the internet to facilitate their attempted coup. As did their ‘dear leader’ throughout his humiliating single term in office. In fact, it was the geometrical acceleration of connectivity and interconnectedness enabled via the web and its insanely capitalist platforms that allowed for their ‘movement’ to incubate and evolve. While it is true that neo-liberal policies advocating globalist economics and monetary policy are at the current root cause of most ills genuinely affecting rural, or poor, or uneducated MAGA-heads, it’s also true that apart from an Independent from Vermont no one in the political economy of the last couple decades gave much of a shit about these poor and dispossessed inheritors of old racial mythemes and toxic narratives of self-reliance. No one that is, other than their ‘dear leader’. Never mind he didn’t intend to ease their suffering in any material, or structural way. He talked about it. He tweeted about it. And then he gave them a little song and dance at the rallies. Breathtaking stuff.

However, it wasn’t just the performative act of playing ‘authoritarian’ that got them hot and bothered. No, it was at the same time the eternal need to belong to a group, the legitimate feeling of economic obsolescence, coupled with these new tools of information transmission. Tools that at once gave them powers unheralded and seemingly ensconced them in a protective shell, a perpetually larval manifestation of all their baser inclinations. A reactionary ‘safe space’ from which they could launch a thousand ships of intolerance and hate. What good is truth if you can’t weaponize it? What good are facts if you share them with everyone else?

And so we find ourselves revising Plato. There isn’t just one cave in which we are chained, kept from reality. There are multiple tunnels, alcoves, deeper caverns in which we might dwell. Furthermore, if lucky, there are different days, vistas, egresses in which we can escape from the confines of ignorance. Much like the lucky Mormons, it would seem the far-right believes there are plenty of planets in which ‘Truth’ can dwell. Never mind that multiplying ‘Truth’ in such a way doesn’t actually produce more truth.

In fact, it reduces ‘Truth’. Impoverishes it. Hollows it out.

Which is sad, really. For the major harm caused by these rebels isn’t to our democratic institutions, nor our mythological vision of our nature, nor that ever-loving economy - but to the very fabric that binds the social contract on which all the preceding rely.

That fabric being, specifically, a shared objective reality.

5.

How can we survive if we can’t agree on basic facts? Can a multi-racial, multi-cultural, representative democracy exist when a large percentage of the comprising citizens don’t believe in, or even acknowledge, that that’s actually what’s happening? Is White Supremacy so fundamentally a part of our nation’s DNA that the country can’t exist without it? If so, for those of us who vehemently oppose White Supremacy, the question might then be: is the country worth saving?

Most versions of Western Ethics indicate that violence is not the cure. Nor do I advocate such a position. At the same time I’m deeply troubled, because due their illness these actors are neither rational or coherent. Ergo, we can’t reason with them either. So what next?

To corral the revolutionary, if inchoate, spirit of these sick, fringe minds diseased as they are by hate, grievance, and digital oubliettes would any policy proposals be acceptable? Perhaps as fantastic an idea as the images from 01/06/21, what if the Federal Government decided to halt its obsequious sycophantry to corporate America and ‘elites’ and instead actually, seriously, emphatically reinvested in the heartland, in Main Street, in the working class? Wouldn’t it be ironic if a little more socialism was truly the cure these hatemongers require?

6.

Maybe we should step back and listen to the wisdom of George W. Bush.

Confronting what was at the time the most disheartening terror attack on the homeland, Bush made clear not all who could otherwise be lumped in with the terrorists were terrorists. In the same way that, yes, not all Trump voters are Trump Terrorists.

Even so. Bush made it clear you needed to pick a side.

With us - toward a diverse future in which the promise of the Founders is emboldened and expanded for all who live between our shores. Or against us - back to your stunted hovels and holes with all the other low information troglodytes you like to cosplay revolution with.  

Choose.

It’s your call. But choose quickly, because history is watching, and only one path moves toward the future.

C. R. Stapor Longmont, CO 01/16/21

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: overseas trip 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: yukishiro azuma/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: n s f w 𝐰𝐜: 2.4k words

𝐚𝐧: @sleepy-ruri​ hi ruri, nsfw definitely isn’t my strong suit in writing so this took a while to get out~  i tried to bring azuma justice here!!! uhh, practice safe sex guys— gender-neutral pronouns, but cis female body parts

“This is a little nostalgic, isn’t it?” Azuma said offhandedly, his hand coming to rest gently on your wrist. With a feather-like touch, his thumb barely brushing across your pulse. After a few seconds, you closed your fingers slightly around the length of his.

“To think we’re back years later in the place we first met,” you laughed quietly, your boyfriend following suit as the two of you enjoyed the walk back to the hotel room.

The two of you had been to this country before, albeit flying in separately.

It was a city of subdued colours but bustling theatricality, traditional buildings with tall chimneys made out of brick and spires of dark stone setting the main hub apart from the windswept, grassy hills and mountains compromising the landscape.

It was hard not to love the historic core of the capital, opulent with ethereal sites— its castles and churches and gardens putting an almost dreamy, magical filter in the world of reality.

“I remember it pretty clearly,” Azuma said, momentarily looking away from the row of buildings you were passing through, “the day we met,” he continued.

“We met in a garden near here, didn’t we?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed in affirmation, “would you like to go visit? It can be our little detour before heading back to the hotel.”

You smiled gently, giving him a small squeeze on the palm, “I’d like that.”

It was springtime, too, when you first saw Azuma. He stood there in the middle of the flourishing tulips, narcissus, and lupines; despite being surrounded by exquisite horticultural creations, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the long-haired man.

“It still looks the same,” you said, taking in the sight of flowerbeds and groves being illuminated by the street lamps, giving the garden an almost mystical, fairylike glow.

Or perhaps, it was the memories seeping in that gave it that effect.

“Meanwhile, you’ve gotten more beautiful,” Azuma replied, a chuckle leaving his system. “I still remember how adorable you were, looking all lost and confused in a sea of flowers. Your dishevelled hair was cute, too.”

You nearly sputtered, unsure whether to call him out for his flattery or his teasing first.

“That’s not fair! Here I am, remembering how dazzling and graceful you were, meanwhile, you’re telling me I looked…” you trailed off, quickly changing the topic. “Besides, how do you even remember that?”

“Fufu, because it has to do with you, obviously,” he teased, “I even remember the leaves stuck on your sweater. I was almost afraid there’d be bugs, but you looked so helpless I just had to step in.”

“Azuma!”

You half-heartedly hid from his gaze, his body beginning to shake with mirth the more embarrassed you appeared.

“You make it sound like I got into a mess on purpose,” you muttered, pout already present on your features. “Is it my fault the wind hated me and smacked me in the face?”

“Well, someone needs to be at fault,” he began, “but I can’t blame the wind that brought me to you in the end.”

Honestly, where was he getting these lines? If he went on for any longer, you probably would have been set ablaze, and even in the dark of the night, you knew Azuma would be able to see it somehow.

“Really! Don’t tease me so much, we’re still outside!”

“Nn? Then it’s fine if we’re in the hotel room?”

You knew he was toying with you by the way the corner of his mouth quirked up, eyes steadily gauging your reactions. At this point you weren’t sure what else he was expecting, your widened eyes and the heat creeping up your neck already a set standard for whenever Azuma said something with… implications.

“Fufu. Ah, it’s getting darker. We should really be heading back now.”

Even as the two of you left the garden, you couldn’t shake off the flustered feeling that stuck with you. It wasn’t as if you and Azuma had never done anything, far from that, but perhaps the mood of tonight— being in the country where you two first met, further amplified your feelings and restlessness.

Still, you two had a tiring day sightseeing, and another long day ahead of the both of you tomorrow, so it was probably unlikely anything would happen.

You immediately changed into comfortable sleepwear the moment you entered the hotel room, your boyfriend chuckling as you sprawled onto your shared bed. As nice as the sights were, nothing could beat the expensively fluffy pillow welcoming you back after a long day.

“Little bunny~ don’t go to sleep yet, we still have something to do, remember?” He asked, voice mellifluous, as though sweetened with honey.

You shot up immediately, head rising up to gape at Azuma. Within a few beats, you notice he’s not looking at you, but instead laying out all of his (and your) skincare products on the coffee table.

Aha, right.

Your lack of an immediate response made the man turn around to face you, his ever-present smile looking a lot slyer than usual.

“Hmm? Is something wrong, honey?” he asked, leaving his station to sit on the bed beside you. His robe shifted slightly as he inched closer, a movement that did not go unnoticed by you.

Your heart fluttered the moment he started rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, a subconscious action that turned more purposeful as the tactile affection escalated upwards, the soft pads of his fingers slowly moving upwards to rub your arms.

With the distance between your faces decreasing, you resist the urge to shut your eyes as his you felt his hot breath against your cheek.

“You still haven’t said anything,” he reminded you, his free hand tilting your chin upwards. Eyes of gold greeted you, not unlike the lustrous jewellery royals would wear or the leaf crowns gods and goddesses would adorn in mythology.

“Your face is flushed, how cute,” Azuma said, “did you catch a cold, somehow?”

He didn’t actually think that, you knew perfectly well that he was aware of the effects of his actions. Still, he wasn’t one to pass up teasing you just as you weren’t one to unabashedly admit to how he was making you feel.

However, your patience could only take you so far.

“That’s not it,” you mumbled, “it’s… well,” you trailed off, hoping he would help you out and take the words out of your mouth.

He did not speak but his eyes did, a visible crinkle as he waited for you to arrange your words into something coherent.

“I know you’re probably tired from today,” you began, eyes darting to the side in a vain attempt to hide your embarrassment, “but I guess I’m… you’re—ugh,” you struggled to find the words, a direct enough phrase that didn’t come off as too desperate.

Azuma interrupted you with a fruity laugh, “you don’t have to worry. You could have just told me— we’ve done this many times before.”

You pouted, “it’s not fair. Why do you have to be so erotic?”

“Fufu, thank you. Now, let’s play around for a bit tonight, okay, little bunny?”

The hand beneath your chin tugs you forward, and before your eyes closed you noticed the gold diminishing, hidden beneath the dark coal of his pupils.

The first of Azuma’s kisses always leaned towards the sweet side, and this time is no different. His lips were soft and gentle, but his kisses were given with enough pressure to prove that you’re not the only one enjoying this.

Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder as you interlace the fingers of your already joined hands. The night had only just begun, but you appreciated this moment of tenderness as the day’s fatigue slipped away.

Hands abandoning their chaste positions on each other’s hands and face, your arms go around his neck as one of his arms hug you closer by the waist and the other presses against the flat of your back.

Despite the slow motions between your lips, it was clear who took lead of the other, him slipping past the seams of your lips and rendering tiny sound out of you. The hand on your back travelled upwards, his nails catching the soft hairs at the nape of your neck making you shiver.

No matter how many times he’d done it, he could never tire of exploring you, the way you’d pull away from him to breathe a low, spell-inducing, “Azuma…”

He murmured your name in return, the sound sinfully pleasing into your ear. In the time you took the catch your breath, he went from holding you against his chest to having you underneath him, lips pressing against your jawline as he muttered sweet nothings to you.

“You’re so cute, my little bunny,” Azuma said, and you felt like every appendage in your body melted into a puddle.

He gave a teasing nip to your ear, the hitch in your breath making him chuckle. He wetted his lips his tongue before gently kissing every part of his neck. You closed your eyes at the sensation, gasping as he breathed hot air on your neck in between kisses.

“Are you ready for more?” He asks, the hand still around your waist playing with the hem of your pajama shirt. When you nod, Azuma takes his time in unbuttoning the piece, his fingers brushing over the newly-revealed expanse of skin. The contact was brief, and you whined as though to tell him to hurry up.

“Hn, what’s that? You want me to go slower?” Despite his words, he doesn’t make you wait any longer, pulling off your top as you propped yourself up momentarily to discard the article of clothing.

As you settle back down onto the plush bed, Azuma’s index started at your collarbone, before tracing down towards your chest. He drew an indecipherable pattern, before stroking the side and massaging the mound as his thumb tweaked one of your hardened nipples. He puts his mouth on the unattended one, sucking firmly, and you nearly come right off the bed, feeling the first, tiny bit of slickness rush through you.

Needing an anchor, you slid one hand in his hair and gripped his forearm with the other.

“Azuma,” you said, not quite sure what you’re asking for— but apparently he knew, because the pressure leaves your chest as the pad of his thumb ventures from your stomach to the garter of your underwear, pulling down your sleeping shorts with it. He adjusted himself on the bed, positioning himself so he could be closer to your lower half.

You shuddered as his fingertips travelled down along the length of your legs to follow your bottoms. When you lifted your head, you felt your face grow hot as you see the look on Azuma’s face as he eyes your pussy. It’s rare to see a hungry look in his eyes, a look only reserved for the most private of moments, but nonetheless it never failed to get you more excited.

His face came closer to the space between your legs, but when he made contact with your lower lips, the sheer skill of his tongue and mouth electrified you. Azuma knew just the right places to kiss, to lick, to suck— knew when to change spots and at what pace to do it.

“More,” you croak out, breathless,

“So responsive,” he crooned against your pussy, your body responding to the pulsation in kind, trembling.

“Azuma!” you mewled, warning him that you were closely approaching completion. When he finally pulled his mouth away, you couldn't help the disappointed noise that slipped out of you, though it’s quickly cut off as Azuma unties the belt of his robe.

The silky fabric slides off his body sensually, slowly unravelling himself to you until he was completely bare.

The sight of his naked body does nothing to quench your desire, but if his hardened member was anything to go by you could tell he wanted you just as much.

“Are you ready, my little bunny?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, the both of you spending a few seconds to stare at each other lovingly, before he finally aligned himself with your hot, dripping core. The tip kissed the entrance, and you can’t help the feelings of anticipation you felt.

His expression remains the same— the corner of his lips quirked upwards as he slowly moved into you. The slide is easier than expected because of your wetness, but both of you wait a couple beats for you to adjust to his size.

When you finally felt ready, you whined out Azuma’s name.

Pulling out slowly, he slid back in, sinking into your skin. Pressing his chest against yours, he briefly kissed you once again as he continued gliding in and out of you. You tasted a little bit of yourself on his mouth, which did nothing but to spur you on more.

He rolled his hips against yours, before pumping more rapidly into your heat, hammering himself into your insides. Tireless moans, whimpers, and iterations of his name spill out of your mouth as your gripped onto the bedsheets beneath you.

You’re clenching around him almost painfully now, still sensitive from his earlier ministrations on your clit, and both of you knew there wasn’t much time left before you reached euphoria.

You wouldn’t mind staying like this, having his perfect cock sliding in and out of you, but you know it isn’t possible as your breathing shortened and a shower of stars blur your vision.

“Azuma!” you wailed out, your head falling back as one last thrust making you cum at last. It doesn’t take long for your lover to follow suit either, a pained groan escaping his lips; pulling out of you and smearing your stomach with his cum.

The both of you are spent and sweating, Azuma collapsing next to you on the mattress. Using what little strength you had left, you inched yourself closer to him until your head rested against his chest. His arm moved to settle beneath your head, massaging it lightly.

“I love you,” you said. With a gentle smile, he repeats your words.

“I love you too.”

You knew the two of you would have to get up eventually. You two had to clean up, and Azuma would never let either of you sleep without going through your respective skincare routines, but as you stared lovingly into his eyes you knew it could wait for a little longer.

want to order again?

[galpalaven]

(sorry i'm late) BRUH YOU'RE WRITING A BOOK? THAT'S SO FUCKING COOL TELL ME ***EVERYTHING***??? oetrugnaf Like. Seriously. Everything. What's the environment, plot, characters, time period, mood, everythiiiiiiinnnng. Please, gush away!!!

hfjkasdhfsjkfh let’s see how coherent i can be without giving away spoilers 

UNDER THE CUT FOR LENGTH LOL

Setting

pretty much ur typical fantasy environment, except maybe a little more ~steampunk~ than usual. i like the idea of having trains and stuff further inland, even if most of the book takes place on the coast or the sea

MAGIC!! yes we have magic of course we have magic. still working out the kinks of that and how it works, but the gist of it is that most people who do magic use runes because the innate magic that u could theoretically just do–that magic disappeared from the world at the end of the last Great War. 

Supposedly, anyway. Most people think this is a myth, that the sea witches and their lost city are nothing but a fun legend

most runecasters (still working on what we’re gonna call ppl who do magic orz) get tattoos! good magical tattoo artists are few and far between, but if you’ve got the money to have a good one on call, you will probably be nearly unstoppable

Nox’s friend Cade is a very talented tattoo artist, and did a lot of her more intricate runes (like the one on her throat that lets her breathe fire)

Cade belongs to @jackalopse who is also helping me hammer out magic details bless them

Mermaids!!!! we got mermaids!!! though i’m gonna be calling them sirens bc i hate the word merman more than i can say jfkdsl our love interest and resident best boy Ilya is a siren

sirens have sharp teeth and pointy ears and a whole ass society beneath the waves

they can mimic voices and some sounds to lure in their prey

they have their own magic (though Ilya doesn’t know any) and there are legends of sirens protecting the location of the mysterious Lost City i mentioned before :3c

sirens are also hunted for their body parts :)) there’s a whole… not illegal but frowned upon trade for siren parts. rich assholes have started a superstition somewhere along the way that having a siren head hung on your ship will grant you safe travels and calm seas

this is a lie but that don’t stop capitalism

then we have our main event, so to speak, which is basically a Fantasy Bermuda Triangle. there’s a section of the sea where supposedly the lost city disappeared into the depths that is completely covered in mists all the time. it’s a floating graveyard full of the corpses of ancient warships and the wreckage of any other ships over the years who dared to brave the fog looking for treasure and glory

this was the First bit of lore Nox threw at me when she gave me this idea–this area of the sea is known as The Graveyard of the Ancients, or just The Graves

as you can imagine there are about 5 billion ghost stories about this place, just like the real bermuda triangle jfklds

Characters

Nox Pendragon

of course she is the main character did you expect anything else

youngest daughter of a well known cursebreaker and magic shop owner Ravan Pendragon, she’s a fresh-faced young adult who spends most of her free time flirting with ladies down by the docks and studying magic

of Ravan’s two girls, she’s the more rambunctious of the two, who tends to get into more trouble on any given day

Nox kicks off the book by getting kidnapped! by pirates! how exciting!

her solution to this is to accidentally capsize the entire ship 

:D

Ilya Fisher

as mentioned before, Ilya’s a siren

Fisher is not this poor boy’s real last name, but Nox is bad at improvising, so that’s what it’s gonna be

Ilya’s had some interaction with humans before, and though they didn’t end well per se, he’s still interested in walking on land someday

he saves Nox from drowning once she capsizes the pirate ship, and their friendship will be progressing from there ;w;

Fawkes

Fawkes is the world’s leading scholar on all things relating to the Graves and the sea witches

Nox and Ilya go looking for them specifically at some point, and they’ll end up being the 3rd main character eventually

Fawkes is a bit odd, and though they’re quite young compared to Nox and Ilya, they are incredibly smart and incredibly talented at… well, Nox isn’t really sure what kind of magic it is that they do, but they seem to know a lot more about things than they should

I love them and i think other people will also love them they are Fun

Minor characters that I don’t want to give too many details about right now include 

Captain Hale, who kidnapped Nox 

a man named Carter 

Ravan Pendragon

Nox’s aunt who isn’t really related to her but that doesn’t matter, Sirena + her wife

Ilya’s mom, Rivkah, and his baby brother, Elliot 

Nox’s friend, Cade

Plot

we out here looking for that lost city of sea witches babes bc something is fishy (haha) and Nox wonders what sort of truth there could be to Captain Hale’s insistence that she and her father had ‘the key’ to finding that city again

idk about mood but i hope it ends up being fun and enjoyable fklsdj

[supercilium-sulcos]

Fictober 2019: Day 5

Prompt number: 5 - “I might just kiss you.” Original fiction: Decadence Rating: G Warnings/Tags: alcohol, implied polyamory (not really a warning but? w/e)

Even if the party had ended, their night was far from finished. Elegant soirees in the Crest were for intrigue and guile. They weren't for entertainment, they were tests of his mettle. Central, on the other hand -- Central folks knew how to party.

He'd come to the capital to do something worthwhile, but the strain of his non-stop performance weighed on him. And, he was sure, it had begun wearing away at Arael and Samira as well. They deserved a break, if only for a night.

The streets were deserted. They must have woken every resident from the lifts to the palace with their laughter. Cassian carried them both -- Arael on his back and Samira in his arms. He was the only sober one of their trio, though he didn't mind. He couldn't recall ever seeing Samira so giggly. It was refreshing. She reached out to open the door for him when they were in range.

Cassian headed for the living room where he let them down. Rather than split up, they all fell against the couch in a cozy heap. Arael sprawled across his lap with his legs stretching over Samira's. Cassian kept an arm around Sam's shoulders to pull her in close. So much of their affection was simply for show to play the part of husband and wife. In private, they rarely cuddled. She nestled comfortably into the crook of his arm and laced one hand with Arael's.

"Hey love," Arael grinned, nuzzling against him. "We should play a game."

"I don't think you're coherent enough for  games," Cassian reminded him. He ran his fingers through Arael's loose hair.

"Not your weird games." His beloved poked him hard in the chest. "Let's play truth or dare. C'mon. You start."

Chuckling, Cassian said, "All right. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Arael declared with a dramatic waggle of his eyebrows.

"I dare you to show Samira your tattoo."

Samira perked up. Her rosy cheeked grin was lovely to behold. "You have a tattoo?"

Arael groaned. "I know, I know! I made a really stupid bet with my brother once. Long story short, I didn't know turtles laid eggs until I was seventeen and I thought our parrot was the devil--"

"Stalling won't save you," Cassian reminded him. "Show her."

Grumbling all the while, Arael hooked his thumb into the side of his pants and tugged them down a few inches. He angled himself up so Samira could see the design inked into his hip.

"Oooh, is that a fish?"

Arael explained, "Yeah. A fighting fish."

"It's really beautiful," she sighed. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. I think it's elegant."

"I like it too," Cassian smiled, scratching lightly under Arael's chin. "The way the fins twirl remind me of your hair when you dance."

Arael pushed against them both with hands and knees. "All right, that's enough. You're both being so gross," he groaned. "And it's my turn. Sam, truth or dare?"

"Hmm... Truth," she said.

"What's the tackiest part of Cassian's house?"

"Honestly all of it is a bit tacky for my taste," she said, "but I think the whole city is like that." After pausing for a moment to suck on her cheek, Samira's eyes lit up. "Oh! The gold busts of those old men down the hall. Those are hideous."

"Agreed," Cassian had to admit. "I think my grandfather commissioned those, and I don't have the heart to throw them out."

Arael patted his chest for his attention. "Cass. Truth or dare?"

"It's Samira's turn."

"No, you go," she said.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "All right. Truth."

Something wicked lurked in  Arael's smirk. "What's the most you've ever done with a woman?"

"You already know the answer." But the way Arael looked at him so expectantly, Cassian knew that wouldn't be enough. He sighed, looking away. "Nothing."

"Have you ever been attracted to a woman?"

"Ari."

"It's just a question!"

"And you've already asked one. You don't get two per round."

Arael reached up to stroke his cheek. The movements were still a little sloppy, eyes a little glassy. But his beloved's smile still brought him comfort. "I'm not going to be jealous."

Hesitating, Cassian murmured, "Yes."

He didn't think the answer would be satisfactory, but Arael pressed him no further. Instead, he moved on to Samira.

"Truth or dare?"

Perhaps she'd learned her lesson from Cassian. "Dare," she said.

"I dare you to try one of my dances."

"Oh Creators," she sighed.

But she didn't shy away from it. She untangled herself from Cassian's arm and Arael's thighs, standing before them with her hands clasped behind her back. Rolling up to the tips of her toes, she asked hesitantly, "So which dance, exactly?"

"Any of them," Arael said.

"I... Well. I don't know," she admitted with a soft  giggle. "Sometimes I get so distracted by your water magic that I don't really, um... pay close attention to the dance moves."

Normally Arael, as Cassian knew him, would have jumped at the chance to be appalled at the notion. Too distracted to pay attention to me? I am SCANDALIZED, Samira. SCANDALIZED! Cassian could hear it already. But instead, he'd say that Arael looked almost... pleased? His husband slipped off of his lap and circled around Samira until he stood right behind her. "How about I give you a little lesson?"

Surely it wasn't meant to be this way. Arael hadn't meant to wink at him. Samira hadn't intended to flush and grin when she agreed. His mouth watered. Stomach somersaulted. If he wanted this to stop, he could make it stop. He knew Arael wasn't so far gone that he would test this boundary without Cassian's consent. Their eyes met. Cassian gave him the slightest nod and perched his chin on his palm. Pleased, Arael put his hands on Samira's hips.

"This is where you've got to build that rhythm. Like a heartbeat," he said. And began rocking her hips left... right... left. His own swaying in unison. "There you go. You're way better at this than Cass."

Samira said, "I've danced before, you know. Just not like you."

"Sweetheart, no one dances like me."

When he guided her to dip, to bend and twirl like a willow, she moved. Gods, she moved.

"So why did you dare me to try?" she asked.

Arael flashed another mischievous grin over her shoulder... directed at Cassian. "Oh, I don't know. Just for fun."

He pulled her in close, leaving no room between their bodies. Flush against her back, he wrapped his arms around her while Samira lead their dance.

"Did you know Cassian fell in love with me the first time he saw me perform?" Arael said.

A breathless giggle parted her lips. "I'm not surprised. You're the most incredible dancer ever."

It was Arael's turn to laugh. Dipping close to her ear, he slid his hands up her waist. Samira leaned into his touch. "Glad you noticed." A tiny sigh fluttered past her lips. Delicate fingertips traced Arael's hands. Cassian wasn't sure what he was meant to feel in that moment. All he knew was the intense satisfaction of seeing the two of them -- together, blissful.

"You really do move like... like water," Samira murmured. "Like a river. Never losing your flow."

"Careful with all the compliments. I might just kiss you."

One plump lip disappeared between her teeth. "What are you waiting for?"

A primal, fierce sense of hunger stirred in the depths of his gut. He watched as if transfixed. Arael peered up with half-lidded eyes, mouth hidden against Samira's shoulder. "Seeing if Cass wants to do it first."

He didn't know how they'd gotten to this point. Realistically, he should have seen this coming. How long could two people pretend to be a loving couple before it was no longer pretend? Cassian thought his feelings were something different: friendship, companionship. Attraction was normal... right? Samira was a beautiful woman. He certainly thought so, and so did Arael. He remembered many occasions when Arael admitted to his attraction. But the pieces didn't come together until Samira looked him in the eyes in their living room, tipsy and barefoot and messy-haired.

Cassian dry-swallowed. Well. Now we've really stepped in it, haven't we.

He extended his hand towards her from his seat on the couch. Tentative, she approached and settled her hand in his. He had not forgotten how much she'd had to drink. He pulled her knuckles to his lips, held her gaze while he planted a gentle kiss against them.

"Perhaps it would be best to continue in the morning when we have clearer heads."

Samira gave his hand a faint squeeze. "Always the gentleman."

And from behind them came a very soft "oof." Cassian peered around Samira where his husband swayed. Not in the motions of his dance routine, but as if woozy. "Ah... yep. Yep, that's the vomit. Be right back--"

His husband barely made it out of the room before finding some receptacle to ruin. Cassian could not help but to roll his eyes. Whatever it was, hopefully it wasn't another expensive vase. The kitchen must have still had mint and ginger. Though it would have been far more satisfying to let Arael take care of himself -- and learn his lesson about over-indulging -- Cassian would not risk their good bed sheets. He touched Samira's back just enough to get her attention. "I'll get to him in a moment. Can I help you to your room?"

"I'm fine, I... oh." Springing to move so quickly left her stumbling, and Cassian steadied her. "Maybe. Please."

She walked on her own, but her wobbling would have led her stumbling into any of the hall's many hazards. From statues to tapestries to paintings, there was no end to the dangerous furnishings between the couch and her bedroom.

"Sorry for troubling you," she murmured. That meekness had faded so much during their time living together. It was the first time Cassian had seen it creep back in a long while.

"I enjoy a bit of trouble on occasion."

"To be with Arael for so long, I suppose that must be true," she chuckled.

He stopped at her door. "Do you need anything?"

With a little shake of her head, Samira let herself in. One foot crossed the threshold. She looked back up at him. "Cassian?"

"Yes, dear?"

She said nothing. Maybe she was waiting for him, like Arael. Maybe she worried that he would prey upon her like a beast. Whatever happened behind that furrowed brow was a mystery. Samira did nothing to enlighten him with her soft chirp of, "Goodnight."

Arael was a lost cause if the sound of his puking was anything to go by, but Cassian hoped that Samira might get a better night's rest than him.