#there are thousands of versions in the notes without it there

[forgetbeam]

since adding to that chocolate guy post saying that the tma tags are annoying i’ve had two separate people get upset because i’m “getting mad at them for liking things” or whatever when i literally never said that 😭 i said the tags were annoying and that’s it

[pearl-kite]

So I guess it's time to learn how to code custom script for google sheets. For this curriculum and instructional coach thing. Yep. Definitely aligns to what I was expecting from the nonexistent job description.

I'm cool with it, I like excuses to learn coding, but, like, feels a little funny, yanno?

[bemusedlybespectacled]

what's happening with James Somerton right now: a probably-incomplete primer

TW: suicide, including suicide as a threat and a manipulation tactic.

The short version:

James Somerton is a former Youtube essayist who focused entirely on queer history, queer media criticism, and queer issues in general. He is also a flagrant grifter who has made tens of thousands of dollars via fraud, both directly (lying about his finances to beg for money and getting donations for films he never even started making) and indirectly (stealing whole essays and articles and books, reading them out loud verbatim for his videos without indicating they were anything other than his own work, and then using the prestige he gained from using their work to get Patrons and sponsorships).

The story as told James and James apologists was that James attempted to apologize twice, was hounded mercilessly on the internet for weeks, and then, driven to the end of his rope, he posted a suicide note on Twitter, was MIA for several days, and from then on has been avoiding the internet.

The actual story, as revealed yesterday, was that James used two sockpuppet accounts to defend himself and parrot his talking points (again, while publicly claiming to be trying to take responsibility for his actions), using one to try to rebrand the con under a different name and another to deliberately stoke the panic caused by his suicide note. He was not only aware of the pain and anxiety he was causing people, but he encouraged it on one alt while hornyposting about his favorite movies on the other.

He is an unrepentant con artist who successfully used a suicide threat to prevent further interference with future cons. The only reason he was caught is because he is apparently incapable of going more than a couple of weeks without trying to get back in the internet spotlight, allowing people to tie his alts back to him. He lies for fun and profit and he should not be taken seriously, ever.

The long version:

In December 2023, Youtube essayist Hbomberguy (Harry Brewis) put out a four-hour-long video about plagiarism on the internet, and devoted two hours to addressing as much of JS's plagiarism as he could. I strongly recommend watching the entire thing, as the first two hours build on the concepts that he uses later in the video.

He also blew the whistle on James' fraud surrounding Telos, a studio James founded using thousands of dollars of IndieGoGo money that never actually produced any films despite him definitely working on them! Any day now they'll be released! Don't you worry!

A day later, Todd in the Shadows, a guy whose entire thing is music reviews, posted his own video debunking multiple outright lies that James had told about history, especially queer history. A few more days later, The Ace Couple, who run a podcast about asexuality, released an episode detailing how they'd lost $1.5k donating to Telos.

I have put the videos, Twitter threads, Patreon posts, and Reddit posts by other people discussing different aspects of James' fraud under the cut.

Every other time James was caught plagiarizing, prior to Harry's video, he would lie about it. Either he'd have some excuse (easily proven to be a lie) or he'd retreat to his favorite deflection: "I'm just being harassed because I'm gay."

This last lie was one he'd use not only to deflect accusations of plagiarism, but all criticism in general, no matter how trivial. Every time, the critic or someone associated with them would somehow dox him, or harass him, or send him death threats, or threaten to falsely accuse him of sexual assault.

This happened to The Ace Couple (who'd tried to correct him on something extremely acephobic in one of his videos), Jessie Gender (who'd tried to correct him when he claimed that there were no queer content creators on Nebula, given that she and a bunch of other queer creators were definitely on that platform), and the person who first blew the whistle on him stealing from Tinker Belles and Evil Queens by Sean Griffin (who was accused of being behind death threats he'd received, and hounded so harshly they had to leave Twitter).

It is important to note that every time James faced potentially damaging criticism, or even just a threat to his ego, suddenly he would claim to be harassed by people connected to the critic, including threats to his life. There has never been any proof of any threats being directed at him, nor evidence that, if the threats were real, that they are actually from people connected to the critic.

In the original video by Hbomberguy, Harry makes a compelling argument that James brought on a friend of his, Nick, as a co-writer specifically as a shield against accusations of plagiarism. "How dare you accuse me of plagiarism! Nick would NEVER do that!" This is even more apparent given subsequent developments which I will get into.

When evidence started dropping about different aspects of his fraud (not only Harry's video, but Todd in the Shadows' video debunking his misinfo, The Ace Couple's podcast about their experience donating to his fraudulent film studio, and Dan Olson's tweet thread about James' obvious lies about his finances), he went into hiding for two weeks, and then put out the first of two apologies. He then deleted that one and put out another one a few weeks later. And then he immediately deleted that one.

While his first apology was rambling, vague, and dramatic (lots of sniffing/crying), and his second was more measured, thought-out, and totally batshit (lots of hilariously and bizarrely implausible excuses for why he'd done what he'd done), they had roughly the same points:

Not ALL of his stuff was plagiarized! Actually, a lot of it wasn't! No specifics as to what, though!

Most of the stuff that was plagiarized was just a failure to properly cite sources, as he had no idea that putting someone's name in your end credits or video description (without specifying what parts are attributable to that person or disclosing that you are using their words verbatim) is not sufficient credit,

Also, he totally had permission, in some cases, to use their work verbatim prior to publishing the video (this is not true, and is disproven both in Harry's video and his own screenshots);

He definitely didn't commit fraud with Telos and would soon have a good explanation for where the money went! (he did not)

He was going to keep the videos up so that he could either donate the funds from any monetization to the fund Harry had set up for his victims or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing his work;

He lost his best friend (i.e. Nick) over these allegations, who absolutely definitely wasn't a scapegoat, except Nick was also responsible for a lot of the stuff James was being criticized for;

He was going to keep the videos up so he could either donate the advertising proceeds to Harry's fund for his victims (first apology) or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing the work he'd done; and

As a result of this entire ordeal, he had attempted either self-harm or suicide (he merely alluded to "doing something stupid").

Again, his response was to 1) downplay the severity of his actions or flat out ignore allegations against him, 2) come up with ridiculous excuses for his behavior, 3) throw Nick under the bus, and 4) claim to be in mortal danger. As far as I am aware, he has never taken any concrete action to make amends to any person, not even donating money to charity.

This was coupled with some kind of attempt to profit: monetizing his apology videos, closing and then reopening his Patreon right before the monthly charge cycle happened (totally to let people unfollow him, not at all as a grab for that money), creating a new Patreon under a different name, and changing his Twitter and Youtube handles to distance himself from the controversy while gathering new followers.

At one point (I forget if this was on Twitter or Instagram), he also said that someone had broken into his apartment due to the notoriety he'd received from Harry's video. I believe that was after his first apology, when people started to point out that he'd just changed the name of his Twitter and Youtube channel and had restarted a new Patreon under a pseudonym. (BTW, the pseudonym he used for his new Patreon was "The Gay Raconteur"; this will be important later).

It had what I think was the desired effect: any attempt at pointing out that he was rebranding his grift now came across as weirdly fixated on minor things he was doing, which certainly wasn't worth putting him in physical danger. (Again, he has never provided any proof of this happening, nor provided any evidence that these people allegedly threatening him were, in fact, in some way inspired by Hbomb).

So along comes March 5, 2024, and James posts a suicide note on his Twitter, saying that he is going to set up his videos to automatically publish (for Nick's portfolio), provide in some way for the ad revenue to go to a suicide prevention nonprofit, and then kill himself.

The immediate response from the internet was compassion and totally chilling any further criticism, since you might be callously criticizing a dead person. Harry and Kat worked for a couple of days to get a wellness check for him while a substantial section of the internet called them murderers.

On March 6, a day after the note was published, Nick tweeted that that he had cause to believe James was fine. Kat confirmed that James was safe on March 11. Due to the drama of the "suicide attempt," however, the chill on criticizing James stayed in place for months.

And then yesterday Lady Emily, one of the cowriters for Sarah Z., drops two more bombs:

James has not one but two alt accounts that he was using to rebrand and start over.

The first one was created between his first and second apologies, and originally was for "The Gay Raconteur" until he changed it to "Will"/"thatgayyouknow" and, later, "The Achillean Boy."

The second one was much older, under the pseudonym "Mikey JB," and used stolen pictures from Grindr instead of his own face. However, it is pretty obvious that it is, in fact, a sockpuppet account and not just some other person who happens to like James, as detailed below.

Both accounts, both between apologies and after his "suicide," talked about how criticism of James was unfair because the plagiarized stuff was "like a decade old" and repeating the same excuses that James had also made.

The "Mikey JB" account not only supported James, but actively threw Nick under the bus, saying that a criticized part of a video "reeks of his co-writer."

On March 6, the day after James' main Twitter posted the suicide note, The Achillean Boy account was hornyposting about Ryan Phillipe. James didn't even take a day or two off of Twitter. If he had been completely off Twitter for a couple of days, that could have been an indication that he really had hurt himself and was unable to access his phone, or at the very least unaware of the panic. But he wasn't. He was aware of it and did nothing. Actually, no! Worse than nothing!

On the same day (March 6), the Mikey JB account was actively contradicting Nick saying he was okay (they "haven't spoken in months" so there's no way Nick could know if he was alive) and saying that "people like you" i.e. his critics, "drove him to it." Not only did he ignore the panic he'd intentionally created, he actively drove it.

He saw people going emotionally through the wringer over the idea that they might have somehow caused his death, and intentionally made them keep thinking it. He say people calling his critics "murderers" for "driving him to his death," and he joined in.

Why am I explaining all of this? I want to make a couple of things extremely clear, and the context is necessary to my ultimate points, namely:

James Somerton didn't merely "credit people improperly;" he conned his followers out of more money than some people make in a year with the Telos con, while raking in thousands more per month on Patreon and buying expensive equipment, while claiming to be near insolvency and in desperate need of money.

James Somerton has never taken full responsibility for his actions or attempted to make amends. He has only ever tried to dodge responsibility, particularly by throwing Nick under the bus.

Every time he has ever been criticized, for any reason, he has lied about threats to his life to gain sympathy and quell criticism. This is a standard part of his MO. He has done this over and over and over again. At this point, I think if he says the sky is blue, someone should go out and check first before doing anything.

"But BB, what if he really is getting harassed/threatened or really is suicidal?"

So, okay: people who are attempting to manipulate you may use legitimate problems as a tool. It doesn't need to be fake to be effective - in fact, it might be more effective if it it's true. An abusive ex who says "if you leave me, I'll kill myself" and genuinely means it and actually attempts it (and possibly even succeeds!) is a lot harder to leave than someone who says the same thing but is clearly just bluffing, because the threat is real.

My rule of thumb in these cases is to treat the threat like it's real, without caving to the intended manipulation. Whether your ex is lying or telling the truth when they say, "I'll kill myself if you leave me," the appropriate response in both cases is to immediately call a mental health service or supportive family member. If it's fake, it's inconvenient for them; if it's real, you reacted appropriately. Your response needs to be the same regardless.

You don't get back together with them because it's a real threat (presumably you wouldn't do that if you knew it was fake and they were never in any danger), and you don't tell them that they're a piece of shit who should be dead (HOPEFULLY you wouldn't do that if you knew for a fact that they were telling the truth).

In this case, I am extremely confident in saying that he was coldbloodedly lying the entire time and was never once threatened, and certainly not to the degree he claimed to be. But even if he wasn't, that does not and should not change anyone's behavior in terms of holding him accountable.

And I mean actually holding him accountable: making sure he doesn't try to start a new con on new people, continuing to point out that he hasn't paid anyone back for his previous con (so long as it's still true), that sort of thing. It doesn't mean people should tell him he should go die for real or, I don't know, try to get him fired if he gets a job at Tim Horton's or Target or something else that's not fraud. That would be wrong regardless of whether he's actually in danger or not. The point is to avoid being cruel without negotiating with terrorists.

Video sources and links under the cut:

Links:

It's like Breaking Bad, but backwards: a brief history of how Somerton successfully screwed himself Dan Olson's Twitter thread about the financial fraud My Year With James: Todd's post explaining the backstory of his video (Patreon-locked) DJSO#: Dan Olson's breakdown of James' second apology (Patreon-locked) Lady Emily's Twitter threads revealing James' alt accounts, part 1 and part 2

[realcube]

HQ MEN AS YOUR BOSS ...with chemistry pt2

characters ♡ kuroo, atsumu, sakusa & ushijima

tws/tags ♡ vaginal, semi-public sex // recording, slight daddy kink // oral (receiving) // size kink — minors dni!

part one ♡ sfw version

♡ KUROO

as a chief sports promotor, of course kuroo needs a secretary, but the jva says he'll need to pay for one out of his own wage. he's apprehensive about the idea at first but figures that with the time he'll save by having one, the profit would be greater than the loss. and once he meets you, he's automatically sold.

although he may have have been wrong about the whole 'profit greater than loss' thing, he's definitely losing a bit of money by having you as a secretary. not of your performance or anything — no, you're an incredibly effective worker and are increasing engagement by tenfolds — but rather, due to the fact he's dropped thousands on gifts for you.

kuroo isn't subtle about wanting you, so instead of overtly flirting with you like a lout, waiting by your desk almost everyday is a gift with a cheeky note. without fail, it is always pricey and extravagant too: diamond necklaces, luxury perfumes, designer bags and jewellery made from real gold and silver (he knows which metal you prefer, but he buys you both because you can have it all). it's a classy way of showing he cares.

one day, a random tuesday a month after you and your ex broke up, your primal desires took over, and — after two years of knowing each other — you finally decided to submit to kuroo's advances. you could do a lot worse, anyway.

and you realise that as he has you bent over his desk, in his office contructed of mainly windows. at least you had a nice view of the city skyline while he hit it from behind. with his hands starting at your waist, then exploring under blouse, he leans forward to sensually kiss from your shoulders to your neck. slowly and gentle, in stark constrast to how roughly he was nailing into you.

he keeps going until he reaches just behind your ear, then he chuckles against your flush skin, "wearing the perfume i bought, angel? smells good on you." his finger circles your clit teasingly, "i like it. gotta let everyone know whose bitch you are."

♡ ATSUMU

he doesn't give a shit about his garden, it just happened to come with the big house he bought. there could be a family of rabies-infested racoons living back there for all he cares. atsumu just saw your personal adverisement for your gardening services online and thought you were hot. thus, he made up some lie about wanting trees planted and flowers grown to get you to come over.

but once you actually arrived at his home, you were far too focussed on taming the inhospitable environment he calls a garden to even notice the passes he was making at you. eventually he just gave up and left you to your work, but not without discreetly taking photos of you from the windows in his kitchen to send to the msby jackals groupchat with the 👀 eyes emoji.

he was expecting jealousy to befall the team but instead, the jackals take notice of how intently you are working on the garden, and atsumu receives and influx of messages mocking him for showing off a girl that clearly has no interest in him and offering their houses as a solace for you. however, he promptly replies stating that even though you may seem preoccupied right now, by the end of the day, he guarantees he will have slept with you, and if he doesn't, he owes each one of them ten thousand yen.

and unfortunately for the jackals, atsumu wins that bet.

"just like that, yeah." he grunts, holding your legs against his shoulders, "cum for daddy. c'mon." his breathing is heavy while his bare chest, glistening with a sheen of sweat, heaves. he has you laying on his coffee table while he fucks into you, big cock leaving you a wet, incoherent mess. your greedy cunt clamps down on him and he can tell by your quivering legs and heightening moans that you are close to your climax.

"thats righ— wait.." his breath hitches, steady pace faltering for only a moment as he grabs his phone off the couch and swipes, onto the camera. slowly regaining power and momentum in his thusts while holding the camera above your exposed figure. he grins and slurs, "gotta record this t' send to the team n' prove i wrecked this gorgeous body. go on. keep moaning for daddy."

♡ SAKUSA

there's no better feeling than coming home to a pristine house, that's what sakusa thought. however, being pro volleyball and always training and going to promotional events hasn't left him with much time to get the cleaning done himself. he wasn't fond of the idea of someone being in his house alone when he wasn't there, but he was even less fond of coming home after a long day of training, muscles aching, and still having to vacuum.

he researched dozens of cleaning companies, until he found one that he deemed reputable enough hire from. he arrages the trial for a day he is off so he can assess the quality and trust-worthiness of the cleaner he is sent.

so perhaps it was the halo effect, but as soon as he saw you walk through his door, he knew he wouldn't have a problem with leaving you alone in his house. in fact, the idea tickled him slightly.

having a cleaner wasn't cheap, especially considering how big his house is. despite that, after he met you, he increased the frequency of cleaning visits to five days a week, making you essentially his personal staff. and it goes on like this for around five months, racking up quite hefty total.

every single penny is worth it though, in his opinion. to come home to shining floors, spotless counters and to experience the habitual fleeting moment of tension between the two of you, before you left. that all changed though when he got his first day off in months, and he was able to hang around the house while you did your usual duties.

you were sprawled out over his linen couch, one leg hooked over the armrest and the other resting on his shoulder. lips moves vigorously against your folds, while his tongues delves in and out of your dripping hole. the sizzling coil that's been winding in the base of your stomach suddenly gone stiff, ready to snap at any moment.

his merciless fingers pinch and pull at your clit, as his tongue continues to plough in and out of you, rhythm only ever wavering to lap up the juices covering your folds. that is, until the coil breaks and you come undone right against his face. your walls convulse around him and a breathy moan is pulled from you. hot liquid surges out of your pussy in squirts with each thrust of sakusa's tongue, as he fucks you through your high.

once you settle down, he finally pulls away for air. with your fluid dripping down his chin, drenching his shirt and the wooden floor beneath. slowly standing up, sakusa looks at the floor with a grimace, "clean this up."

♡ USHIJIMA

whether ushijima can cook or not is down to personal preference, but he is independant enough to know how to cook meals that are vital to a hearty and healthy diet, such as boiled eggs, oats, beef stew etc. yes his dishes may be lacking in any flavour or delectability but it's nutritious and that's what matters.

but once he is a pro volleyball player and travelling constantly, he doesn't have the time to meal prep for himself anymore and his paycheck grants him some disposable income, so what's the harm in hiring a chef?

however, once you enter his life as his personal cook, you become a luxury he can no longer live without. until now, ushijima wasn't aware eating was supposed to be enjoyable, he always viewed it as something he just at to do in order to get all his essential vitamins and minerals. who knew food could taste this good?

it was an extra benefit that you looked so good while making it, too. neither of you would ever admit it but there was always a heavy atmosphere of sexuality when you were around each other. ushijima was undoubtably stoic so his tells were subtle, but you took notice of the lingering eye-contact; how his hand would always brush past your ass when he'd walk by you in the kitchen; the way he'd stand so close to you in coversation.

it was only a matter of time before the boiling tension between you two erupted.

you sat on the kitchen counter with your legs wrapped around his torso as his big cock drilled into you. your arms were over his shoulders, nails digging into his back with your eyes sewn shut. he's a mammoth; the biggest you've ever taken. every time he pushed into you, it was as though you were going to split in half.

he could tell you were struggling, so he slipped a hand under your ass and pulled you towards him in order to whisper in your year, but during the process he ended up forcing his dick even deeper inside you, resulting in a mewl from you. he leaned down and grunted, "take it."

something about your trembling form, so delicate and supple, hardly able to fit him inside you, it drove him mad. so eager finish himself off, he picks up you up by the ass so you are hovering a couple inches off the counter, and takes full control of your movement. pressing you against his dick per his whim and matching your movements to his brutal pace.

your only response to this is a chorus of profanities, and piercing the flesh of his back with your nails. he's delighted, though, at how your pleading pussy swallows him so nicely, despite its initial protests.

[jammiesjars]

MDNI

Warnings: Accusation of Infedelity, heavily unedited writing (wrote this in a power outage in my notes app xx), fingering, eating pussy, dirty talk, dumbification if you squint REALLY hard.

One message is all it took for you to spiral.

Outrage was an understatement. A month, a single month, into Price’s deployment you had recieved a message from an unknown number. They insisted of Price having an affair with his so-called ‘receptionist.’ Being his wife, you didnt believe it. You and John had been married for years now. He wasnt that kind of man! (You hoped.)

Weeks passed and wheels start turning. Seeds of doubt had started digging into you. The late nights he had stayed at base before his deployment, only sending as much as a quick text of ‘Be home late. Dont wait up.’ Or the necessary secrecy between what happens at his job or deployment were starting to plant ideas in your head you wouldnt have ever had if not for that message. Youre being worn down, and its killing you. Its not like you could ask him; being thousands of kilometres away without any time to do as much as glance at his phone.

So the emotional resentment grew. You find yourself wondering how he could do this to you, crying in your empty home that housed the both of you not long ago. Before you even come to terms with it, Youve packed your bags and lawyered up, letting your resentment fester for far to long without any outside input.

On the third month of Prices deployment, you drive yourself up to base with one intention; leave the divorce papers on his desk to find when he comes back and to leave without confrontation.

Security on base knows you as ‘Price’s missus’ by now, offering a small wave and a smile as you walk by and into your husbands office. You put the papers on his desk, that frustration and hurt bubbling up all over again. He has your wedding photo framed on his desk and it only hurts more. What did you do to deserve this?

You turn to go, heading back towards his door when you hear muffled laughter and the sounds of gear being unzipped and dumped from down the hallway. Theyre back. You pick up the pace, praying you can slip out before he gets close enough to notice. You reach for the door handle, but the door opens before you can even grasp it.

Shit.

And there he is, your eyes drinking in the sight of the awfully more rugged version of your husband; beard outgrown and messy with tired eyes that light up at the sight of you.

That light dies as soon as sees just how mad you look.

“So youre telling me, one message is all it took to lose all fucking faith?” Price practically growls, fingers rubbing at his temples. Hes sat in his chair with you on the other side of his desk, just as furious. “Everything makes sense! The staying late at base, the short messages and lack of updates when your deployed!” You hiss, frustration bubbling over making anything small seem huge.

Price takes a deep breath, a futile attempt to calm his temper. “The shit I deal with doesnt sleep. Theres reasons i stay back that you will never know, love. The law itself, wont let me tell you. Same goes for messages. Im sorry i dont have the time to let you know im okay when im deployed, god knows i wish I did.” He scowls, his gaze so heated and intense that you almost look away despite your own fury.

“And what about this receptionist huh?”

Your tone has changed, soft and shaky. vunerable.

Price’s expression softens, but he doesnt say a word, simply rounding his desk to pluck you out of your own chair and putting you down in his office chair. He sinks to his knees in front of you, hands rested on your thighs. Blue eyes peer up at you, sickeningly sincere. “Love, I dont interact with her unless necessary. This isnt some romance movie bullshit.” Your heart is working overtime, lips parted as guilt bubbles. “You- you understand where my doubt is coming from, though…right? Everything lined up perfectly, and-“

Price simply tuts. “We’ve talked about that pretty little head of yours overthinking too much, havent we?” You freeze, throat drying. You nod. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“Yes-“ you croak. “We have.”

Price grunts in approval, his hands now running up and down your thighs.

“Have you been feeling neglected, hm? Is that it? My sweet wife needs some attention?” Price rumbles, his large, calloused hands that have been marked by countless battles now playing with the hem of your skirt.

“You’ve got my attention now, luvie. No need to play these stupid games with me.”

Your mind is already growing hazy; your husbands words making you almost want to forget about this whole incident. A finger hooks onto the waistband of your panties, bringing you back to the moment.

“Stupid games? John i was prepared to divorce you-“ he shushes you, dragging your underwear down your thighs, then your calves and over your shoes before slipping them into his pocket. A cheeky smile graces his face. stupid muttonchops.

“Must’ve left you alone for far too long then, if you were willing to take it this far.”

He slings your legs over his impossibly large shoulders, making you squeak as your pulled forward on the chair.

“Wouldve come home and fucked those stupid thoughts straight out of your head if i had known you were having doubts about my loyalty, sweetheart.”

He presses a messy kiss to your clit, making you gasp. He grumbles something incoherent (“Me? Cheat? Silly girl.”), before licking a long stripe up your neglected cunt, causing your hips to buck. The taste of you after going months without has price groaning into your heat. He eats like a man starved, a mix of desire to prove his loyalty and that he finally gets to taste his wife after being away for so long.

Hes fuming, really. Toward you? No.

Towards whatever stupid bastard sent you that message. He’s glad you didnt notice him slip your phone in his pocket, because he knew you’d be against him hunting the fucker down. You just need a distraction to keep that pretty little head thinking too hard. And he’ll give you just that.

“Oh, my poor sweet wife…” He grunts, before sucking on your clit with a renewed fevor. He pulls off with a lewd pop, two thick fingers replacing his previous ministrations. You’re squirming in his office chair, mind hazy and hips bucking.

“Thinkin’ I was out here cheating on ya’… you know better, love.” He tuts.

His fingers curl so nicely into that spongey spot that makes you see stars. “M sorry-“ you’d slur, “I didnt believe it when I first saw the message I promise-“ you gasp as price presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing in small tight circles.

“Lovie, you stormed in here with divorce papers. Dont tell me you didn’t believe it.”

Your head tilts back as you pant, small gasps slipping past your lips.

“There we go.” Price coaxes, his fingers picking up their pace.

“Wouldnt even cross my mind to look at another woman when my gorgeous girl looks like that as I stuff her cunt full of my fingers.” He coos, watching your face intently as your release crashes down; intense enough to make you writhe and moan.

Price pulls his fingers from you, licking them clean before getting up off his knees. Your throat runs dry, bracing for whats to come even as you grapple your bearings. You’re mentally preparing for Price to be dissapointed, upset with you, maybe even mad.

He analyzes your expression, leaning back against his desk. His eyes scrape over your small form sat in his chair.

“Im not upset, love. That pretty little head of yours had months to overthink that message without a voice of reason.”

Price tilts your chin up.

“Lets just not have to do this again, hm? Then i’ll be mad.”

Its sounds like a threat, but it isnt. Price knows he’ll always be there to talk his beloved wife down from the edge.

[hxxsxxng]

Jungwon backstage smut

GIRLFRIEND EXCLUSIVE y.jw

「pairing」 : idol!jungwon x girlfriend!reader

「genre」 : smut

「word count」 : 1.2k

「synopsis」 : jungwon catches you being desperate after the shows over

「warnings」 : MINORS DNI!!! teasing, jungwon walks in on the reader masturbating, fingering, oral (f recieving), implication of sex

「authors note」 : thank you to who requested this and plan to make an extended version of this if enough people think i should! SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

「taglist」 : @jakeflvrz

The Fate tour made Jungwon and his members travel all around the world. Of course he couldn’t leave his girlfriend behind. I mean really, going on tour for months on end without seeing his girl would just be a nightmare. Flying first class, traveling the world, and experiencing different countries together were all things that were a plus to being with him.

Having to stand in the crowd acting as if you do not know each other during sound check, but him practically staring at you the majority of the time doesn’t really make anyone suspicious since the people around usually think they he is looking at them instead.

But then when the show really starts, you are in his dressing room, helping him get changed and showering him with kisses, something nobody else will ever get to do. Seeing him all sweaty from the performances and changing between each outfits was a girlfriend exclusive viewing.

“What are you looking at” he catches you ogling at him while he is putting on his jewelery. “You” you said confidently, keeping your eyes glued to his slim fingers and his neck.

“Oh, that” he chuckles, shaking his head like a teacher reprimanding their student. “Stop being silly, babe. You know very well that you could see my entire body right now.”

“Maybe” you hummed teasingly, poking him on the ribs. Each bone in his body was carved perfectly to your liking, seeing him get dressed to perform in front of thousands on random people who will never know the true Jungwon made you sort of… jealous?

You slid you hand up his chest and began to slide his white jeweled jacket off of his shoulders. “Babeee, the count down is starting, I can’t miss the begining of this next set” he protested, trying to put the sleeve back on his shoulder.

“Okay… just know that I will be waiting ever so patiently for you to get back” you teased while squeezing your tits together, enough to create even more visible cleavage in your dark red fitted shirt.

He blushes, biting his lips while you continue to stare into his captivating brown orbs, feeling the need to pull him into a sweet kiss until the last second before the song starts.

“God I hate when you tease me” he tried to complain, not knowing that you could see a tent growing in pants. You could hear the ticking getting louder in the dressing room, indicating that it was getting close to time for him to go. You pull him in for a quick kiss before the count down finally came to an end and he had to rush to make it to the stage on time.

“I love you baby” he says while holding your hand until he got far got far enough apart that your hands couldn’t reach. “I love you too darling”. By that point, he was almost too far away to hear what you said.

Seeing him leave without having any of the pressure between your thighs relieved was more than uncomfortable. You felt like a child being ripped away from their toy.

You slumped back into your chair in a more desperate mood than you were before. There was no way you could wait until Jungwon came back from the next set. You find your fingers wondering down your stomach, unbuttoning the jeans you wish he were taking off, and slide your hand into your sticky panties.

You let out a sigh of relief, massaging your clit gently as you imagined between your legs instead. Just thinking about Jungwon’s face when he returned after performing his last show left goosebumps on your skin. So sweaty and elegant, it turned you on even more. He’d look so good with his mouth hanging open as you rode him slowly the times before, the images were engraved in your mind as if you were watching porn.

Even now, with your fingers wrapped inside your panties, you could imagine him there, and you aligning his tip at your enterance, before letting your weight down onto his length.

You pulled your pants down further, allowing you to remove your underwear as well. Now you were just left in a t-shirt in the middle of Won’s dressing room. You slid your ring and middle finger into your gushing hole and kept a consistent pace on your clit wit the other hand.

The more your mind wondered, the closer you got to your orgasm without realizing. Your fingers were coated with your slick and your head was thrown back on the couch, eyes closed. It was an erotic sight for Jungwon to walk in on. Even when he walked, you didn’t notice since you were lost in your own world of pleasure.

He bent down in front of you, trying to be quiet enough for you not to notice. He removes both of your hands that make you jump to immediately cover yourself. Your cheeks were glowing red with embarrassment.

“It’s already over!?” you screamed in shock. “Shhhh baby just relax” he says calmly while rubbing your clit slowly. The words got choked up in your mouth as you allowed yourself to slowly melt into is fingers.

He spread your legs open further and inserted his tongue into the mixture. “Really couldn’t wait until I got back, huh?” he teased. The sensation of his light touch made your mouth fall open, trying not to be too loud for the members in the neighboring dressing rooms to hear.

His hot breath hitting your wetness sent shivers up your spine as he continued to navigate your folds with his tongue. He inserted two fingers into your gushing hole keeping a slow pace to keep you on the edge as long as possible. He made sure to hit your spongy patch with each thrust. The more he pushed you over the edge, the more he found yourself gripping the couch to keep your balance, gasping in pleasure as you ride Jungwon through his fingers.

You gripped his hair as the coil in your stomach was about to snap. “Fuck Wonnie, I’m about to cum” you pleaded while your hips were shaking under his touch.

“I wanna taste you, cum all over my tongue angel” he growled, pressing a soft kiss against your inner thigh. Your walls squeezed his digits, pulsing in ecstasy. His tongue collected your juices and he swallowed them with pride. He smirked as he slipped his fingers out of your dripping pussy, taking them up to his mouth to get another taste.

“Fuck, you taste so good sweetheart” he praised while licking his fingers clean. The looks in his eyes spoke for themselves, he needed you bad. He began to get undressed and changed into his comfortable clothes as if nothing ever happened.

“Can we please go back to the hotel? I don’t know how much longer I can wait” he said. It wasn’t like a question, it was more like a demand.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a 'regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this. if you notice any mistakes in this post, please tell me.

Character Creation

All armor and clothing options will scale and mesh to any body type [source]

The character creator has lots of sliders for body parts and overall shape, none of which are tied to the voice or pronouns (she/her, he/him, or they/them) that you choose [source]

"Epler took special care to show off the extensive curly and textured hair options in the game, including several versions of braids and locs, noting that increasing these options in particular was very important to the team" [source]

You can change your character’s physical appearance at any time during the game, but not their class or backstory [source]

"Each individual class has some variability, too; even the mage class has some up-close-and-personal attacks, since a mage player character could still conceivably have an assassin backstory and would therefore need to have some attacks to accommodate that sort of career path" [source]

" "We’ve spent a lot of time thinking about skin tone,” Corinne said. The character we made, a Black elf, seemed to glow in the bluish light of a nighttime scene, and under bright sunlight, I could see the richness of his color. Corinne: "We want to make sure that skin tone is reflected authentically" " [source]

" “We have dozens and dozens of hair types,” she said. “And they’re fully affected by physics.” The quality and variety of choices I saw delighted me. The rows of bouncy, luxurious-looking hair of all curl types and textures (and yes, the annoyingly ubiquitous “Killmonger cut” was among the options, what can you do?) brought the biggest smile to my face in the hour I spent with Busche and The Veilguard." [source]

Story and lore

NPCs will remember when you chuck a shopkeeper through a plate-glass window [source]

" The game’s story sees Solas intact a plot that will result in the deaths of thousands. When his justification that “people die, it’s what they do,” falls on deaf ears, you and your merry band of misfits have to stop him " [source]

" “Early in the demo and in the trailer, you’re in a part of the world you’ve never been in – Tevinter,” Epler tells me. “Tevinter is known for being a place of high magic; visually, it’s different. Obviously in Origins you’re in Ferelden, which was grubby, muddy, and very visually different and distinct. That said, it’s the first hour of the game, so we’re only seeing the prologue. As you go deeper, you’ll find that the game can be just as bloody and just as grim as Dragon Age Origins, 2, and Inquisition. For us, it’s that feeling of contrast. You get moments of higher fantasy magic coming back to the world through Solas’ ritual, but also things get pretty grim, and things get pretty dark in some spaces for sure.” " [source]

"Snappy dialogue" [source]

The game is really about each of the companions [source]

Narrative narrative narrative! [source]

The Shadow Dragons are an underground resistance that engages in guerrilla warfare against the corrupt mage rulers of the Tevinter Imperium [source]

"Varric has created the group called the Veilguards, recruiting a veritable group of weirdos to pursue Solas, who’s carved a path through the magical empire of Tevinter" [source]

"There’s intrigue to the game’s tale already, with Varric hoping he can convince Solas to stop his plan of tearing open the Veil: a wish by the dwarf to save a dear friend. There’s a fascinating relationship that's already being set up, Varric and Solas as opposing narrative forces, with your character, Rook, pulled between them" [source]

"There’s extra context to flesh out dialogue, with short descriptions that help give a vague idea of how things play out. The example we were shown was Rook trying to take down a gang leader inside a bar. We could choose to defuse the situation with either words or weapons, but the catch is you don’t know how effective those approaches will be" [source]

" Busche explained that the team wanted to give players a game where locations were imbued with just as much personality as the characters. “That meant making contrast from the areas that are dark and decaying to the areas that are illuminated with magic,” Busche said " [source]

" “This is a part of the world where magic has been embraced,” Busche said. “It is a society of mages and magic in this world is inherently colorful. So whether we’re seeing them use magic for everyday purposes like signage or using them as spells, that color really comes through.” " [source]

We will visit the Necropolis of Nevarra [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

There are dozens of abilities and spells [source]

The game has an easy mode [source]

There is a setting where your character can't die in battle [source]

"The Rogue class in our demo had a bow with recharging arrows for ranged attacks, and dual blades that could unleash a furious flurry of instantaneous blows" [source]

[☕ found this post or blog interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

[ckret2]

Chapter 46 of human Bill Cipher frantically wishing he was still locked in the Mystery Shack and not getting his wish:

The Eclipse: Part 4

Gravity has fully disappeared from Gravity Falls and Bill finally learns why the Axolotl traveled all the way to Earth to see him. And meanwhile, Ford's in mortal peril.

[SUPER IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: if you're reading this, it means that I've edited chapters 6&7 to make them compatible with The Book Of Bill but I have not edited this chapter yet.

Before TBOB came out, in chapter 7 I wrote that the Ax's deal with Bill was "I'll give you a different form (a human body) in a different time (dropping you a thousand years in the future) so you don't have to see your old enemies" and then Bill stole a time tape to come right back to the 21st century. I've now edited ch 6&7 to make the Ax's deal with Bill "I'll drop you off in Theraprism" and then Bill escaped via reincarnation.

However, this chapter refers to the OLD version of ch 7. That's because there are not physically enough hours in my life for me to do all the editing I want to do as fast as I want to do it.

Things Bill & the Axolotl say in this chapter contradict TBOB and contradict what the new ch 6&7 say. The conversation they're having DOES NOT accurately reflect the fic's current plot. Don't freak out. I'll fix it when I can. - (note added Sept 7, 2024; will be removed when it's no longer necessary.)]

####

There were only two ways to remove a pair of magic friendship bracelets. Either both wearers had to consent to removing the bracelets; or one of the parties had to die. The bracelets weren't active if they were only being worn by one person, and a corpse wasn't a person.

The moment Dipper's soul left his body, the thread connecting the bracelets turned visible again.

Bill immediately yanked off his bracelet. He considered just letting it go, reconsidered considering that Dipper's ghost would probably tattle to Mabel, and carefully, slowly reeled the thread in. Without the magic active, it was just normal embroidery floss. The Axolotl's gravitational pull didn't make Dipper's body heavy enough to break the line, but if Bill jerked it just a little too hard, it would snap.

Bill heaved a sigh when the body was close enough he could grasp its wrist. He grabbed Dipper's head and snarled in his dead face, "This is why I told you to get in the cave." He wrapped the bracelet around and around the tree trunk and Dipper's forearm, muttering to himself, "But does anybody listen to the all-knowing immortal dream demon who's seventy times older than their entire universe? No! No, what could it possibly know! Surely we'll get better ideas from the brain-damaged hick who married a raccoon—"

An immense voice said, "Hello."

Bill froze. He slowly turned away from the beast above Gravity Falls.

The voice said serenely, "Look at me, you 8-karat coward."

He slowly turned toward the beast above Gravity Falls. He swallowed hard, steeled himself, and dragged his gaze up until he met the Axolotl's eye and he was gently tugged into the time and space between time and space. "Oh, heyyy," he squeaked. He forced a pained smile. "Didn't see you there! Haha, hi! Wow! Imagine running into you in this dimension on this planet, crazy."

"Yes, crazy," the Axolotl agreed.

"This isn't a regular part of your commute! I guess you've got some time off," Bill said. "Work must be going well!"

"Pretty well. I scheduled an extended lunch break," the Axolotl said amiably. "How's being human going?"

Bill shot the Axolotl a dirty look.

The Axolotl continued to give him a perpetual smile. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"I'll kill you."

"No you won't."

"Okay look, let's just cut to the chase," Bill said. "Go on. Tell me my punishment."

"Punishment?"

"For! Coming back here instead of staying when you dumped me in 3012. I skipped time while on parole. That's obviously why you're here." He looked down, shielding his face with a hand and squeezing his eyes shut. "So stop wasting my time and tell me how much trouble I'm in. I'm a busy guy, I don't wanna drag this out."

"Well," the Axolotl said, "it appears to me that you're locked in your enemies' home, you can't use doors, and you need to be handcuffed to a child to go outside. Is that enough 'trouble' for you?"

Bill opened one eye. "Wait, so." He looked up skeptically. "You're saying I won't get re-executed for breaking the rules. Or—or get stuck in a worse body."

"No," the Axolotl said. "You'll answer to no jailer's voice; what you do now is your own choice. I moved you by a thousand years to free you from your killers' fears. If you decide then to return, it's your own second chance you burn."

"Ohhh. See, I assumed this entire situation was a... prison... thing. Considering the..." He gestured vaguely at his body. "The flesh prison." 

"It's a body. Not a prison. You aren't being imprisoned."

"'Not a prison' my base, if it's not a prison then why can't—" He caught himself before he asked a question, and took a deep breath. "So, there are no rules against coming right back to where I left off."

"Though I think your plan is clunky—not my circus, not my monkey."

"Oh. Okay, great." Bill planted his hands on his hips, straightening up properly for the first time since the Axolotl's arrival. "Huh. How 'bout that. Spent the last two days worrying for nothing!"

"You? Worried?"

"Of course not, I wasn't worried for a second," Bill said. "So if you're not here to punish me—that doesn't explain why you are here."

"Are you asking?"

"You know I'm not."

The Axolotl stared at Bill, patiently awaiting a question. Bill stared at the Axolotl, patiently not asking one.

The Axolotl caved first. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't burned down the dimension yet."

Bill pointed sharply at the Axolotl. "Hey! Hey!"

The Axolotl gave him a look like a toothless gumball learning how to smile.

"Not funny! Seriously, now!"

"I came because you called."

"Wh— When did—?" Bill cut himself off. He thought back to the day he'd spent locked in the bathroom. He recalled the desperate plea for salvation he'd painted on the ceiling. He buried his face in his hand. "That... that was a joke. False alarm."

"I gathered," the Axolotl said.

Bill peeked between his fingers. "But, I did call for rescue. Therefore. You're here to rescue me."

"No."

"Why n—! You said I'm not supposed to be in a prison! You've seen what these humans have done to me!"

"You aren't a prisoner," the Axolotl said. "You're a kidnapping victim. That's outside my jurisdiction."

Infuriating—but it told Bill something important: in the Axolotl's eyes, Bill's captivity wasn't just. And Bill didn't consider the Axolotl any kind of god—he didn't consider anyone any kind of god—but the Ax had a lot of pull in the multiverse when it came to defining the universal concept of justice. That was promising. 

"But I do have a keen interest in your case. I wanted to check in on your progress."

Bill gave the Axolotl a questioning look. "'Progress.'"

The Axolotl said nothing. Bill waited. The Axolotl simply continued to smile. "You haven't asked a question yet. Usually you can't wait to get rid of me."

"Under the circumstances," he gestured again at his body, "I didn't think I could afford to waste it."

"I see. However, I do have a meeting I need to get to."

What was the most important thing he could ask. What did he need to know the most. "So... if I learn my lesson or complete my sentence or—whatever I'm supposed to do... will you turn me back into a triangle?"

"I can't and won't do anything else. I've completed my obligation to you," the Axolotl said. "Whatever happens to you from now on is up to you."

That could mean anything from "you're stuck as a human forever and will die in less than a century" to "there's a secret spell on you and when you meet its conditions you'll automatically turn back into a triangle" to "you're already a triangle, you just need to believe in yourself." All Bill knew was that he wasn't getting any help from the Ax.

"It's been a pleasure as always," the Axolotl said. The world slowly began to move again as he gently returned Bill to the dimension he'd come from.

"Wait!" Bill called. He needed to know—was he still a triangle, somewhere on the inside, buried beneath all this flesh and bone? Or had the Axolotl's transformation rotted him to his core—was he now nothing but a human through and through? If he wasn't being punished, why had his suffocating soul been smothered under a blanket of meat? If he wasn't being punished, why had his own corpse stared him in the eye as if it didn't recognize him? "Just one more question before you go!"

"If you have the time. Up to you."

If he had the time? Bill's eyes darted around. Why wouldn't he have the time, what was he missing—?

His gaze locked on Ford. Floating twenty, thirty feet out from the cliff's edge. Oh.

Bill let the Axolotl's gravity drag him to the edge of the cliff before digging a hand into the ground, holding himself in place. Bill was safe; Dipper's body was safe, and his soul could float home once the Axolotl was gone. But when the Axolotl was gone, gravity would immediately come back—0 to 100, just like that—and Ford was dead.

And the Axolotl was already turning away. The millions of axolotls in the water below followed, moving through and out of the lake as though the lakebed didn't exist, migrating in the Axolotl's wake.

Ford was unsuccessfully trying to swim through the air back to land. Several useless feet of cable from his infinity belt floating around him from trying to fling it at the cliff. The best he could do was stretch an arm toward land.

He met Bill's eyes. The only other time Bill had seen Ford this terrified was when he'd threatened to torture the kids.

Bill looked at Ford, looked at the Axolotl—nearly too far to shout to—and looked down. By now, the future death he'd witnessed earlier was so close that Bill could see more than the blood to be left on the rocks. He could see the body—gray hair, tan overcoat, broken. It was just a few moments away.

Stanford Pines was about to die. Bill Cipher was innocent. Dipper was his witness; Dipper, honest goody hero type, could verify that Bill not only repeatedly told them both to stay away from the thing in the sky, but also warned them to anchor themselves right before totality. Everyone at the shack knew he'd protested, knew he'd warned them, knew he'd begged to stay home. There was no possible way Bill could get blamed for this.

And once Ford was dead, none of the idiots in this town would ever find a way to destroy Bill.

Up to you.

Bill didn't stop to think.

He kicked off the edge of the cliff.

He could see, hovering in the air like a golden arc amidst a dozen blurry failures, the path he needed to jump to reach Ford. The Axolotl's tail was already soaring over the town, his sky blue fins rippling like vast, slow sails. If Bill reached Ford before the Axolotl's influence was completely gone, he could fly them over the lake and they might both survive. 

They collided. Bill had to fling an arm over Ford's shoulder before he managed to get a grip on his lapel; Ford seized Bill's hoodie in both hands. Ford demanded, "What are you—?" He fell silent as their trajectory took a sudden sharp turn from south to east.

"The lake!"

Ford nodded. Why could come if they both survived. He could already feel weight grabbing onto his limbs. He spared a split-second glance down, but with half the lake floating in the air he couldn't tell if they'd cleared its banks yet. "Have you ever learned to swim?"

"You have to learn?!"

Ford prayed, if Bill drowned, that he was a mortal, and that he wasn't the kind of drowner who dragged other people down with him. "Cross your ankles as tightly as you can, cross your arms over your chest, land feet first in the water—better to break your legs than your neck—do not tilt your head, eyes on the horizon—" And that was as much emergency survival advice as he could give before gravity returned in full force.

This wasn't the first time Ford had plummeted into a deep liquid from an irresponsible height over the past thirty years. The hit was softer than he expected—the turbulent lake hadn't settled back down into its normal water pressure—but he also sank far deeper than he expected. Streams of bubbles raced past his vision; maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but he could have sworn they looked like transparent axolotls.

As soon as he had his wits about him, he threw off his coat, tugged off his boots, and kicked his way toward the surface.

Bill didn't.

This actually wasn't so bad, he thought, with a calmness that definitely came from being such a rational level-headed fellow and not from being in shock. Sure, all the air had been forced out of his lungs and his body was screaming in airless panic, but he wasn't his body, was he? This felt just like floating. He would miss floating again.

What was he supposed to do now.

He'd seen humans swim. He tried kicking his legs. He felt stupid. But, he decided—again, with a calmness that definitely was not from shock—that looking kinda stupid was probably preferable to drowning. Although he was curious what drowning felt like. Had he ever drowned a puppet before? He couldn't remember. Didn't seem bad so far.

He surfaced.

Ford was already on shore, on hands and knees, desperately coughing out water, his lungs burning. He collapsed in the sand. It took a couple minutes for him to reach the point where he was breathing more than he was coughing, and another minute of heavy breathing before he had the energy to look at the lake again. Bill was floating on his back about fifty feet away, very still.

Ford croaked, "Bill," coughed again, and tried a little louder. "Bill?"

Without otherwise moving, Bill raised one arm and gave him a thumbs-up.

Ford dug into what energy reserves he still had, shuffled back into the water, and swam over to Bill. "Are you all right?"

Bill gave him a dazed look, opened his mouth, and exhaled a cup of water. Then he started coughing. 

Ford grimaced. "Let's... get to shore." He took Bill's arm to tug him toward dry land.

Bill flailed upright and shoved him off. "Don't—" Hack. "M'fine. I l—" Cough. "I like floating." He lay on his back, shut his eyes, and said shakily, "Don't touch me."

Ford treaded water for a moment, considering that. Bill looked like he'd got the hang of floating enough that he wasn't an immediate drown risk, so Ford said, "I'll... be on land."

"'Kay."

Ford swam to shore and sat cross-legged in the wet sand to wait, staring down at his hands. The Handwitch's ring was a bright indigo blue again, no traces of darkness within the cabochon, as though the lake water had washed it clean.

Should he go do something useful? There weren't many places Bill could go, except to shore; it wasn't like he was at risk of escaping. But then if Bill did make it to land while Ford was distracted, he had a chance to make a run for it without the bracelet—

Ford stood up. "Bill! Where's Dipper?!"

Bill raised one arm and pointed up.

Ford looked at Gravity Peak. A small speck high above, Dipper was looking down over the cliff's edge. Ford waved to him. Dipper waved back. Well. That was inconvenient. Maybe Ford could restrain Bill with the infinity belt's cable in the meantime. (He reeled the cable in while he was thinking about it. He was fortunate it hadn't tangled on anything while he was underwater.)

"We have to rendezvous with Dipper. Get over here."

"Just leave me."

"Not an option."

Bill let out a pitiable whine, but, after a moment, managed to figure out a way to slowly paddle-kick his way toward land.

When his heels hit sand, he rolled over, crawled onto land, and lay down. "Gravity," he groaned. "I hate gravity."

"I'm not too fond of it myself right now." Ford's limbs felt like lead. Some combination of spending a day and a half in steadily reduced gravity, the exhaustion following a near death experience, and waterlogged clothes. "Where are the enchanted bracelets?"

Bill lifted one hand from the elbow and pointed toward the cliff again.

That'd be just Ford's luck. All the same, he said, "Really?" Bill would hide them if they were on him.

"Yes, really. Whaddaya want, a strip search?" He gestured vaguely toward his body without lifting his head. "Go ahead. 'M not moving to help." His arm flopped back down.

Ford decided that was a bluff he did not want to call. "Fine. We'll put them back on when we rendezvous with Dipper." If Bill tried to escape, Ford wasn't sure he was in any condition to chase; but then Bill didn't seem to be in any condition to run, either.

"Surprised you wanna wear matching bracelets with me. If I'd known, I woulda made you a friendship bracelet." Under his breath, Bill muttered at the sand, "But m'sure it'd've been a waste of thread."

Ford decided it was more prudent to hold his tongue. "Can you walk?"

"If I have to." For as difficult as Bill made getting to his feet look, one would think he was being subjected to the gravity of Jupiter. Ford offered his hand; Bill smacked it aside.

"Well. My raft is still in the cave behind Trembley Falls, so we'll have to borrow a boat." Ford pointed toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle at the far end of the lake. "Think you can make it that far?"

Bill—barefoot, soggy, and slumped like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders—gave Ford the most pathetic look he'd ever seen Bill wear. Ford empathized completely. But Bill only sighed and said, "Let's get going."

####

Tate lowered his magazine to give Ford a critical look. "Dr. Pines," he said. "You get caught out on the lake when the gravity came back?"

"Something like that."

He shook his head. "Shoulda listened to the news."

"The news?"

"Dad's been making public warnings since yesterday. 'Stay anchored and keep your head down.' Reckon you must've missed it."

"We've... been camping." He'd have to ask Fiddleford about that later. "Listen—do you have a boat we could borrow? It's an emergency. We were separated from Dipper and we have to get across the lake."

Tate raised his hat just enough to give Ford a look that told him exactly what he thought of his merit as a guardian—Ford figured he deserved that—but then stood with a sigh. "All right, I'll see what we've got."

He paused, then gestured behind Ford with his chin. "Who's the lady?"

Ford turned. The shop's door was propped open and Bill was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed tight, staring blankly out across the lake. "Er—Goldie. She's... staying in the shack a few weeks."

"Hm." Tate raised his voice. "Ma'am?"

Bill didn't budge.

"Ma'am—Miss Goldie?"

That time he turned to give Tate a faraway look. "Me?"

"Yes, uh—you're soaked to the bone. Would you like to borrow some dry clothes?"

"Oh." Bill considered the question for a little longer than necessary. "If you want."

Ford explained, "She inhaled a lot of water."

Tate nodded. "Think we've got some out-of-season stock in the back, there might be something big enough for..." He caught himself before insinuating something about a lady's weight, and mumbled, "Well, it'll do." He headed to a door behind the counter, paused, looked Ford over, and reluctantly said, "I s'pose you can get something too."

####

Tate had a motorboat in good working order, so he let them borrow it, with a stern request to have it back by the end of the day. And so they set out—Ford in waders that went up to his chest, a bandana he really hoped was keeping his embarrassing neck tattoo hidden, and a t-shirt that said "The worst day of fishing is better than the best day of court-ordered anger management classes"; and Bill in a makeshift skirt Tate had apologetically improvised out of a beach towel, a sweater depicting a pine tree constructed out of fish that said "MERRY FISHMAS", and a pair of novelty slippers shaped like rainbow trout.

"I'm never giving these shoes back," Bill informed Ford as they crossed the lake. "I don't care whether we buy them or steal them. They're hilarious." It was the nearest thing to personality Bill had demonstrated since landing in the lake.

Ford supposed he was in no position to tell Bill he couldn't keep them, considering that Bill had... well.

Well.

Ford should say something about that. He didn't know what. He didn't know where to start. (Bill's question came back to him: if Ford didn't believe anything Bill said, why did he keep trying to pry information out of him?)

(Because, he realized—beneath thirty years of every nerve in his body screaming "DON'T TRUST HIM"—part of him was still hoping Bill would say something he could believe.)

Ford cleared his throat. "It's... impressive that you didn't panic while you were underwater," he said awkwardly. "That must have taken remarkable self control."

"Oh. Eh." Bill spread his hands vaguely. "I wasn't really paying attention to what was happening. I was thinking about other stuff."

Ford blinked. "While you were drowning?"

"It wasn't a very severe drowning."

Ford huffed.

This was probably a conversation he should have later—Bill's brain only appeared to be half on—but, if they had it later, Ford wasn't sure he'd get anything but yet another polished lie. 

And so he steeled his nerves and asked, "Why did you save me."

Bill didn't answer. He stared silently at his rainbow trout slippers.

"Bill—?"

"Hold on," he said. "I don't know, just—give me a minute to make something up."

It was the first time in a month and a half—the first time in years—that Ford was absolutely certain Bill had just told him the truth.

And not just about his intentions to lie to Ford—but about not knowing why he'd saved him.

It meant there was no secret master plan, no manipulative ulterior motives, no cunning illusions. It meant Bill had endangered himself just to save Ford.

There was a universe where Ford then said, "I didn't think you meant it all those times you said you wanted to be my friend again," and where Bill lied—both to Ford and to himself—"I didn't think I meant it either." It wasn't this universe, because neither one of them wanted those words out in the world. Yet they still hovered around them, unspoken.

It didn't make Ford trust Bill. It didn't make Ford like Bill. Bill was still everything he'd ever been—liar, conman, tyrant, torturer—and Ford still hated him for all of it.

But. It meant that for the first time in a month in a half, a muscle between Ford's shoulder blades that had been knotted tight with fear could finally loosen and relax.

Ford was safe.

####

(I first had the idea for this chapter nearly a year ago and I've been dying waiting to post it. I hope you enjoyed, and I can't wait to hear what y'all think! And to those of you in the path of totality, happy solar eclipse this Monday! I totally planned it this way. I did not.)

[catskets]

A more in-depth guide for creating visual novels, especially in the horror, horror-romance, etc circles

Some of you have seen my previous, smaller post on crafting visual novels, especially in this little space of Tumblr that a lot of us have found themselves in. Since that post took off, I've wanted to create a longer guide to help touch on some points I've thought about for the past few months.

In case you've never heard of me, I'm Kat, also known as catsket. I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Game Design. I've been making games for nearly 5 years, and I've been doing visual novels more "professionally" for 2. You may know me for Art Without Blood, 10:16, God is in the Radio, or Fatal Focus. I'm here to help you make your first visual novel.

Please note that my advice does not fit everyone, and you may disagree with what I say. That's okay! It doesn't work for all. That's why there's thousands of resources out there.

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE NEVER MADE A GAME

So, you have an idea for a huge visual novel. Horror, a shady and obsessive love interest, a little bit of woo-hooing. 100k words. Maybe a million. What is this, the 07th Expansion?

I notice a lot of people getting into visual novels are artists first. That's okay! I wanted to do art for games before I realized how much I enjoyed writing. And even less of you have probably touched Visual Studio. Again, perfectly okay. We all start somewhere.

My number one piece of advice? Make shitty games.

What does that mean?! My recommendation to those who have never done games is to make a bunch of shitty ones. Think of a theme, or hell, even join a game jam, where you make a game that fits a theme in a short amount of time. Spend about a week on your game. Focus on making something polished. Polish your mechanics. Polish your output.

I recommend, if you can, to make at least 4-6, if not more, kind of shitty games before hopping into longer projects. Making a game is a skill, just like art, just like writing. And game development is combining ALL of these together into one big soup being stirred by a skeleton hand puppet. You'll get into the rhythm and see what works for you.

It also helps you learn, perhaps, the second most important thing here: do you even like making games? There are cases out there where people have created video games (not saying visual novels) just for clout. That's no fun for you, that's no fun for your players. And you might go through this process and find that you don't like making games. That's completely okay! It's not for everyone.

Also, you can use these shittier games to gather an audience. I've built my audience because, for the past few years, I've been releasing games that slowly give me growing fields of eyes every day. A success story overnight is a rare one. It takes time. It's like building a brand, but you aren't a brand, you're an artist.

REV UP YOUR ENGINES!

Ren'py is the number one engine you will be recommended. It is very beginner-friendly, with lots of tutorials, assets on itch.io to use and download, and support. The engine comes with a few tutorials in the form of games, whose code you can freely browse. This is the engine I use most often. Most visual novels you see are made in this engine.

Twine is a text-based engine that most people use for interactive fiction. You can add images and audio, though, if you don't mind messing with HTML. I use Twine for text games and for outlining for my larger games. Ever played Degrees of Lewdity? Yeah, I know you have. Don't ask why. That game was made in Twine.

RPG Maker has multiple versions and has been used for exclusively VNs if you don't mind fucking around with plugins. It can definitely give your game a super unique feel. I recommend RPG Maker MV, since it has the most resources. This line of engines usually costs money, but it often goes on sale for under $5-$15.

People will recommend TyranoBuilder, but as a user and player, the lack of options and the format the games often come in is just...not fun to navigate. It advertises itself as little to no code, but it's often evident in the final results. Some good games have been made in it, though, so if you want to use it for prototyping/practice, you can. I'm not a fan, but that doesn't mean that fans don't exist! This engine costs money.

Not an engine, but check out Ink! Super useful scripting language that's used for more professional projects.

DEMOS, DEMOS, DEMOS

You've got an idea for a long-term project, and now you want to show it to the world! But wait, wait, don't do that yet!

When should I start advertising my game? This is a personal opinion, but I say that you should not start advertising your game until 50-60% of your demo is complete. Why? As I've discussed with some fans of indie VNs, they can name quite a few projects that have been in the "working on the demo" age for 1-2+ years. I've been in the Kickstarter MMO circles. If you, making a single-player experience with little mechanics to balance and polish (aka a visual novel), are taking that long on a demo, I am going to assume the game is not coming out. There are some games I have seen out here that have been in "working on the demo" phase where I haven't seen a single ounce of what the project will look like.

What should I put in my demo? The purpose of a demo is to showcase the mechanics and the vibes and the mechanics of your game. It's a demonstration. In my last post, I pointed to the Dead Space 2 demo that was showcased at E3 (RIP), that takes place about 2 hours into the story and shows how enemies are defeated, some animations, bits of the story, etc. Usually, because it's less about mechanics and more about vibes, visual novel demos showcase a certain percentage of the full thing (5-10%.) Can you showcase the vibe of the game here and what players should expect? If not, show off another portion.

How long should I work on my demo? Before, I said 3-4 months. That can be true, that can also not be true. Think about how long the demo takes you in proportion to how long the actual game should take you. Don't put too much effort. The demo is to showcase the vibe. It's to see how much the public and fans may enjoy the game.

My game is 18+, what should I do? Make a splash screen when the game is downloaded to let players know your game is 18+. If it's going to contain sexual content, you can hide it with itch.io's adult content filter. Write it on the page itself that your game is for adults only. Don't put your demo behind a paywall. This is genuinely ridiculous. The purpose of a demo is to showcase what a game is like before a player purchases it. That defeats the point of a demo. I've seen this happen, and it discourages players from approaching, especially because most demos never make it past the demo phase. So...I'm paying you $10 for 2-3k words of a game that may never come out?

Should I make a social media for my game? YES! Go for it. These anchors are how people will find your game. Make a Tumblr and open that ask box. Make a Twitter. Go to BluSky. Advertising is not bad. Some YouTubers even take e-mail suggestions from developers. Feel free to shoot your shot. The worst they can do is not respond.

HOW TO SET UP YOUR ITCH.IO PAGE:

Getting your itch.io to a presentable state can be very challenging! There's many ways to do it. I highly recommend using this page image guide for learning how to size your images to make your page pop!

Itch.io themselves has suggested to not publish a page until the game or demo is released. You can make the page and keep it as a draft, but do not publish it until you're ready!

Your cover image is the image that will appear in the search of the website, on any front pages, in collections, and on your profile. What have I seen that works? Key art of one of the characters up close and the title of the game! If you can make it a .GIF, do it! Bitches love .GIFs!

Itch.io recommends 3-5 screenshots on your page. I recommend 1 of these 5 be a .GIF that shows how gameplay feels. This is effective, even for visual novels!

Write a 3-5 sentence summary about your game for the description. What is your story about? What is the draw?

DO NOT BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO IS GOING TO SAY "This is not like other visual novels. It doesn't have that cheesy this or that or-" No one cares. Genuinely. You're putting down other games in your genre and elevating yourself to the pompous level.

TAG YOUR GAME! itch.io gives you a list of tags to choose from when you go to tag. DON'T USE THIS! Try to go for more specific tags. Arimia has a very good guide on how to use itch.io's tagging system to your advantage.

GENERAL GAME MAKING ADVICE

SCOPE KNIFE IS SUPER USEFUL! Everyone makes games that are way over their workload. It's okay to cut out features and add them later. Prioritize making a finished game before hitting those stretch goals.

PLAN, PLAN, PLAN! Writing outlines is super helpful. I use Twine for my outlines, because you can connect your passages together and make really well-thought webs.

IT'S OKAY TO ASK FOR HELP! Whether it's from friends, professionals, or anything in-between. They can help with assets, editing, etc.

HONE YOUR SKILLS OUTSIDE OF GAMES! Write some poetry. Do some sketches everyday. Improve on your craft to improve your games

MUSIC IS HARD. THERE ARE RESOURCES. Most of us aren't musicians. That's okay. Make sure the music you get for your game is allowed to be used. You can use anything non-commercial if your game will not cost money or donations. I try to do songs in the public domain or free to use overall with credit if I don't have a musician. Consult the Creative Commons website if you're unsure how you're supposed to use a certain piece of music. If you don't use the right stuff, not only can it put you in legal trouble, but it can put streamers in hot water if they play your game and they can't upload the video because music is copyrighted.

PLEASE, DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR UI. Wanna know an easy way to get your game to look more professional? Edit the damn UI for your game. Make a new textbox, even if it's just a black box. Change the font. Eventually, players recognize the defaults and patterns of games made in certain engines and may attribute a lack of UI changes to a developer being lazy. It doesn't take very long to change the colors around and move text! Please do it to add a little pop to your game.

DEADLINES ARE AWESOME. Not everyone works well under pressure, but if you give yourself an infinite amount of time to make something, it'll never get done. Set goals for yourself for how much you can work on something.

IF YOU HAVE TO GIVE UP, GIVE UP. Making things is hard, especially long-term. Emergencies happen, jobs happen, life happens. Let your fans know that a project isn't happening anymore. Don't leave them in the dark. You don't need to tell strangers your medical history or anything, but transparency + honesty are really hot traits. You should use those in your creative work. This is one reason why I advocate for not publishing or advertising things until you know it's stable.

SHOWCASING YOUR CONTENT

People love to see WIPs for games! This is what the devlog is good for! A devlog is a post where a developer talks about and showcases some things happening in the game? What can you add to your dev log?

PERCENTAGES! How much of the artwork is done? How much of this character's route is done?

SNEAK PEEKS AT ARTWORK AND SPRITES!

GIFS! GIRLS LOVE GIFS!

Anything else to showcase your game's content! Posting consistent updates retains and even gains a fan's attention for your work.

RUNNING YOUR TUMBLR

You've joined us, and you've made a Tumblr for your blog! Link it on the itch.io page, so people can come find you after playing your awesome demo!

Do I have to respond to every ask? No. It's your blog. Delete whatever asks you want.

I got a hate comment! What do I do? Delete it and move on. I have a more detailed section on hate below.

I want to interact with [blog]! How do I do that? Reach out to the devs for silly little collabs. If you come onto a developer slightly headstrong, they might feel you are being abrasive or using them for content.

If people make fan content, interact with it! Encourage it! Reblog it. Show your love.

OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS

PROFESSIONALISM IS KEY. These may be pet projects, but you want to appear some level of professional on your actual itch.io page.

Being dismissive of player and fan complaints or criticisms will make you appear childish.

If your game is broken, fix it. I have been told by some amateur developers to ignore game-breaking bugs. It does not make me, a player, want to engage with your content. It seems messy and unfinished.

With the above point, it's 100% okay to have bugs and errors upon release. Every developer and their brood mother has. To decrease these issues, get playtesters. Friends can play your games, spot any errors, and help you point out things that can be improved upon. I recommend having playtesters at every stage of development.

Make sure your game runs before you publish it. Please.

You can still be silly and giddy! There's no reason to not be, especially when you get positive comments! The point of this is to not be outright rude to potential players and fans.

IGNORE HATE COMMENTS. In this case, a hate comment is a statement that contains no constructive criticism and are only here to be insulting or malicious. People are going to leave you with actual piles of dog shit in your ask box. They are trying to provoke you. Giving hate comments any attention, even if you're there to "clap back" proves that they got to you, even if you don't take the hate to heart. They will continue to pester you. Delete any hate comments and ignore them completely. Laugh about them with friends in a private setting, sure.

THINK BEFORE YOU REFERENCE! I know one big thing in this community is adding references to other games in yours, such as plushies of other characters or putting them on posters. The best thing you can do it ask the developer before adding this. How would you feel if some random person you've never met put your character in a video game? Most of us would feel weird and potentially violated. Open communication with devs is awesome. I am usually okay with it as long as someone asks for permission.

As a complete aside, I prefer more tasteful references to other games as opposed to 523482346 plushies and posters. These have been slightly overdone. Why not theme a candy after another game's character? Maybe your characters know each other.

OTHER RESOURCES I RECOMMEND

Devtalk is a server dedicated to independent visual novel creators. You can find jobs, resources, advice, talks, and, like, everything there! Devtalk is super useful. Everyone in there is so cool. They have a really great and comprehensive list of resources that I could not even begin to cover.

Visual Novel Design is a great YouTuber. No other words, check the guy out!

Ren'py and whatever other engine you're using has documentation that's super useful to follow.

Arimia not only has amazing VN resources, especially for marketing, but she also just has? Amazing games that you should check out?

And for a shameless self plug, I'm the lead of Sacred Veins, a collective of devs creating narrative games, whether it be horror, humor, romance, or everything in-between. Come hang out with us!

[techramonic]

A Comprehensive Analysis on Eric Harris, 3.

Disclaimer: This analysis/psychoanalysis is limited only to analysis as a means to reflect and understand the people involved. It is strictly informative. Just like all of my posts, I am detached from the media I write about and solely focus on the people to understand their psychology, for others to gain insight. There is no room for me to romanticize or glorify anything I write because I am only here to explain. I understand and research, but I do not condone. Thank you.

note: This is all solely based on independent research. If I may be wrong with the medical aspects of this post, please correct me. I would appreciate it a lot.

Fluvoxamine Maleate

Just a few days before the shooting, Eric was promptly rejected from his application to serve in the marines. Despite his desirable qualities, he was rejected for the sole reason of being tested positive for consuming a prescripted drug after rejecting that he was off any medication. With a trace of Luvox in his system, theories speculate that the drug's side effects played a role on the events that have transpired. Luvox is a medication prescription drug that is used to treat mental illnesses such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), anxiety, depression, and others. While there are positive effects, the downside are heightened sensations of dread, irritation, depression, and arising violent behaviors. It also has a chance to increase manic symptoms, especially if taken in particularly large doses.

Anti-depressant usage, effects of overdose, and detoxification

When taken over the prescribed dosage, Luvox can lead to increased agression and suicidal ideation and tendencies. Eric was in anger management therapy after being on probation alongside Dylan for attempting to steal a vehicle containing thousands worth of valuable electronics and tools. After getting caught, Eric openly expressed his difficulties in managing his anxiety and explosive anger issues that his counselor said, "he frequently blew up and often cried." Revealing that this influences his homicidal and suicidal thoughts, so he was prescribed Fluvoxamine, which is a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRIs). These drugs increase the capacity of the brain to receive serotonin.

According to an interview with Eric's friends, they speculate that Eric was off his medication completely for sometime. Abruptly stopping medication can lead to the development of a more violent response. For some people, drugs are able to fix their chemical imbalances, but it can also lead to withdrawal symptoms of taken for over the duration of 6 weeks. Abruptly discontinuing anti-depressants can lead ro rebound depression or relapse. Symptoms may return stronger than before. Furthermore, SSRI's such as Luvox and Prozac take about 5 days to linger in one's system before subsequently washing off.

In a period of 11 months, Eric and Dylan have been under a juvenile detention program at Jefferson County district — this was in 1998, just a year before the shooting. They were allowed to leave the program by early February 1999. After finishing, Eric wrote a letter contained in his juvenile diversion program file. He states, "I learned that thousands of suggestions are worthless if you still believe in violence."

After public demands for stricter regulations on SSRIs after the tragic shooting, Luvox was temporarily banned in 2002. By 2008, drug manufacturers had reformulated Luvox to a controlled-release version specifically designed to treat OCD, excluding indications for depression or anxiety. Subsequently, the FDA approved Luvox CR for the treatment of OCD. The label does not explicitly prohibit prescribing it to the pediatric population, it notes that the smallest dose "may not be appropriate" for children, without providing further explanation.

Eric was about 17 at the time of taking the medication, which means he is part of the pediatric population. Though it's still unclear if he was taking normal doses for a long period of time or taken more than what was prescribed, it is clear that there was negligence with prescribing a child a SSRI that has the posibility of worsening their already apparent symptoms.

Columbine was really a case that opened the public's eyes into the dysfunctional aspects of society and institutions, transcending even to the medical field.

[daycourtofficial]

Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 7.2k | warnings: depictions of violence, poison, death, blood, slight gore

Summary: Eris tells his mate to stay with his mother, the Lady of Autumn, while he sets plans into motion to become the new High Lord.

Note: this is apart of my gingerfucker series and is a companion piece to ‘Cold was the steel of my axe to grind’.

Author’s note: happy day 3 of @erisweekofficial - it’s the best day of the year!

A cold chill racked through your body, something tugging in your chest causing you to wake up. The scent of burnt cedar and apple cider filled your nose. Wide eyes investigated the room around you as you stayed still, the brown walls unfamiliar to you. The spike of anxiety was quickly soothed as you spotted a redhead a few feet from you, the bright hair calling to you like a flame.

You softly pulled yourself from bed, silently observing him as he moved about the room, his steps quiet as he thought you slumbered. The bond in your chest hummed at seeing him, so happy to be so close to him. You stood with the blanket around your shoulders, arms crossed waiting for him to notice you.

The minimal light that caused his torso to shine dulled your joy at seeing him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was hoarse from sleep, but it stopped him immediately, your mate frozen in place before he turned to face you. Warmth crept over you beneath his gaze, blocking out the cold air.

“Going for a stroll.”

Your eyes roamed his body, trying to convey without words how idiotic that excuse was. Did he think that excuse would actually work? He moved closer, his steps deceptively quiet with all that he wore. He placed whatever items he was carrying on the bed behind you before he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his mouth opening and closing as if he were unsure where to start. You waited, not pressing for more detail, knowing he’d open up to you.

“Please.”

It was all that came from him, despite the look in his eyes. Depths lay within them, a single word conveying so little and so much at the same time. Your mate was layers and layers of complexities, several centuries of a life you only saw tangentially. You knew Eris - your mate, the one whose song echoes through your ribcage whenever you woke every morning, the one you spent centuries to earn his trust. But you had never seen this version of him in person before - the one who held his side of the bond on a tense lockdown, a fortress not allowing any feeling in or out. The one who does what he has to to survive. You can know something about someone and never have to see it.

He was imperceptibly different. His hair tousled as he had been pulling and tugging at it. The purple and blues beneath his eyes, the wild energy he had about him. 

Everywhere he went, Eris carried an air about him that screamed I know how this ends. The air often contorted around him, as if it blew in his favor. But now he stood with an air of unease around him, no breeze to stroke his ego as he moved.

Every other part of his body was honed and trained for this. Muscles taxed and well-defined from years of use, a determination in his jaw that he would see this through to the end. 

But his eyes always gave him away.

Mor had once described his eyes as a pit of despair, a never ending labyrinth of pain and suffering. She was right, but she had the wrong intentions. She thought he was the beast within the maze, searching for his next meal, the darkness pushing him forward. But Eris played both parts to that story: the beast and whoever was unlucky enough to be trapped within. He had been stuck in a labyrinth of suffering and his eyes shone with light from the exit.

You watched as his fingers trailed over the features of your face, his touch leaving a trail of heat on your skin. Your gaze took in everything about him - his sunken shoulders, the fire simmering in his eyes, the thousands of freckles you once spent an entire evening comparing to the constellations.

“My mate.”

You never thought belonging to someone would feel so freeing. Your parents were mates -  growing up you watched your father always sling that phrase around as if your mother was merely an accessory to him. She wasn’t yours or Rhys’s mother, nor was she her own person, but rather a vessel for your father to use whenever he found it appropriate. 

Eris made the words sound decadent, a place of honor, the greatest title one could receive. As if it were a second name that had been etched into your soul and only he could discern the engraving.

“Stay with my mother. Please.”

An argument laid on the tip of your tongue, staying there as you took in how he looked at you, his eyes betraying him only to you. His shoulders straightened as he looked at you. Holding his gaze, your mind swirled with thoughts to go with him, to be with him. You were a pair, bounded by fate through this life and the next. 

His eyes were pleading to stay, as if you could make out the word in smoke reflected through his irises. Your mouth closed before you nodded, your decision finalized as he gripped your jaw lightly. 

Eris kept all of his plans close to his chest, a quality you admired but also loathed about him. You weren’t sure if he got lucky or was incredibly clever. A mixture of both, perhaps. Maybe that mixture is what has brought Eris here, what has led him to this moment, this opportunity. He’s outlived two brothers, survived centuries of horrific events he only just recently began opening up about, two wars, and being held captive underneath Amarantha. 

Eris was cunning and intelligent. Despite his sharp tongue, he does care about the people of Autumn and his brothers and mother. 

But you would be lying if it didn’t keep you up at night when the luck would end, when Beron would find out about some hidden scheme and go too far to punish Eris.

You had taken your step forward to that fate, Rhysand discovering your secret mateship and being so furious at your refusal to step down that he banished you from his court. You had made your move and now he had to make his. This was Eris’s fight. This was Eris’s father. A male so awful in public to the point you wondered constantly how far his cruelties extended to in the privacy of the Forest House - his servants, his family, courtiers. Perhaps his cruelty contained no bounds, opting to injure anyone if it meant progress or amusement for him.

Eris clutched your face, this brief moment of time extending into a small eternity. The fate of the day was unknown. His arms wrapped around you, clutching you to his chest as you wrapped your arms around his back, fingers gripping the armor, searching for something to grasp onto. The string that tied the two of you together pulled taut, begging for there to be no space between your bodies as you clutched each other.

The last moment of vulnerability before a coup.

He pulled away just enough to cup your jaw, his warm lips meeting your own. Your hands moved up into his hair, clinging desperately to him, giving everything you have to him, wanting him to tuck it away somewhere and give him some form of protection.

Eris was the first one to pull away, his thumb swiping your cheek as he slowly pulled his head back before moving up to give one final kiss on the top of your head. He pulled away, your heart leaping at your rib cage, reaching for him as he collected his things from the bed and departed without looking back.

You stood in the quiet room, not moving from the spot he had left you in, watching the sun rise through the light streaking in across the door. It brushed across your skin, the warmth an echo of Eris’s heat. The hustle and bustle of servants on the other side of the door finally jolted you from your ruminations, your mind pulling from your heart’s desire to lay in his bed, inhaling his scent until he returned. 

You were in the dark about Eris’s plans, stuck to wait until Marigold found you. You were ill-equipped for front line fighting in Autumn: you had no armor and little experience fighting fire wielders, and while you were skilled enough in hand to hand combat, it was nearly impossible for you to know who was friend or foe to Eris. An entire court made of sly foxes, several of them who would salivate at the knowledge the Princess of the Night Court was in their midst. You had a handful of names of those you could trust, but no faces to match them to. So you waited for the one person Eris has always said you could trust no matter the circumstances. 

Eris had slipped out into the darkness, off to set plans into motion you were certain nobody knew the full extent of, everyone involved getting their own sliver of orders and nothing more.

It was morning now and you had cracked open his window, offering prayers to the stars, the moon, the Mother, the cauldron, ancient war gods whose names had been lost to time. All beings who existed outside of your sight at the moment, but you hoped they could hear you nonetheless. You even sent some words to your own mother, hoping wherever she was, she too would watch over your mate.

Wait for my mother.

It was all you clung to as you waited until your voice had grown hoarse with spoken prayer, one task you could accomplish, no matter how impossible it felt. You turned your attention toward Eris’s desk - a neat and tidy thing that you were sure contained several hidden compartments, many nights spent staring at various parchments, writing letters to you. You wondered briefly if he kept your letters somewhere, a hidden stash bundled together, any hint of your scent having been removed from repeated reading and rereading.

That had been your downfall. But you were a much more sentimental creature than Eris was. The letters would be a trail, a link between the two of you. A link one couldn’t afford. Your chest panged in agony at the notion that Rhys likely hard burned your letters, the ones you could recite from memory now. The ones that would have been the only physical proof of your bond if things don’t go well today. 

You shook your head, needing it clear as you grabbed parchment and a pen, writing quickly with only slight hesitation. It was early - the sun was barely risen, and you were certain if he were out he would be in shortly. You didn’t even bother creating a seal - it didn’t need one, and matches weren’t something Eris likely kept around.

You sent the letter off before you could second guess yourself, hoping he would understand and come anyway. You didn’t know what the day would yield, but something in your gut churned at the thought of him not being here. You had pleaded in your letter that things were in motion you couldn’t stop and there was potential for loss of life - from both you and the servants and children who occupied the Forest House. 

You prayed his need to protect and help would override the immense anger he was feeling. Your mate would be livid if he found out, but he would get over it. You both were making choices today, and any choice that furthered your safety isn’t one Eris could be too upset about. 

A knock on the door pulled you from your ruminations, turning to find a young female opening the door but not entering. Her light brown hair was wrapped around her head in an elaborate braid, a simple smock covering the brown, high neck dress that covered her body.

She bowed to you, a slight curtsy as she dropped, “morning, miss. My Lady wishes to see you.”

You looked her over, noticing no weapons from what outlines the clothes afforded her. She stood out with how plain she looked - maybe the Vanserras stood out with how ornately they dressed.

“No.” Her brown eyes widened, her mouth opening to argue, but you continued. “If she wishes to see me, she will come here.”

Eris gave you three warnings: stay safe, stay with Marigold, and if you feel the bond die, get the Hel out of Autumn. 

Two of those were implied, but you knew him well enough to know what he would want. You weren’t certain about the last two points, but the first you could comply with. This room was warded - only those who shared Eris’s maternal line or a mate could enter, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to use what Eris had given you to your advantage.

The servant bowed unceremoniously before shuffling off, closing the door before her quick footsteps moved down the hall. A few moments later a soft knock caused you to turn before the Lady of Autumn herself entered the room, her long red hair making her both enchanting and comforting to look at. Eris’s brothers all carried elements of Marigold in their faces, Cormac even carried the soft edges of her voice with him.

But Eris was his mother’s son. 

It had been years since you last saw her - the last High Lord’s meeting when Feyre had lost control. She had looked so downtrodden then, as if pain didn’t faze her, a reality of everyday life. The sight had nearly made you nauseous, dreams littered for the next few months of a similar fate for you should Beron discover your mateship.

The female that stood before you today looked resolute and determined. She was practically glowing with excitement, but her eyes held the same look that Eris’s did whenever his mind was overflowing with possibilities.

“How lovely it is to properly meet my son’s mate.”

Her voice reminded you of your own mother, some maternal charm laced her words. A five minute conversation was likely all she needed before fae decided they trusted her completely, despite the personas her sons and husband wore to the public.

You bowed to her, offering a greeting fitting as visiting royalty. Visiting banished royalty, you supposed.

“Good morning, Lady Marigold.”

She curtsied deeply before rising. “Good morning, dear. I presume based on your presence here that your High Lord knows now.”

Her eyes were striking as they took you in - so lifeless the past few years, but now so bright and full of hope.

No one loves a boy quite like his mother does.

“You would be correct. I’m uncertain if he knows of my exact location, but he is less than thrilled about this Cauldron-made match and is in need of time to adjust.”

You could be diplomatic. Eris was off somewhere, Mother knew where, doing Mother knows what. But you had to be careful. Every step you took today had to be carefully placed - either for the outcome of your becoming Lady of Autumn or for becoming whatever Eris’s death will make of you.

She nodded her head as if she understood Rhysand’s feelings perfectly. “It was quite a shock to learn of. I had a hard time with it myself.”

You tried to keep the surprise off your face, not knowing that Eris ever told his mother about the two of you.

“It wasn’t Eris who told me.” 

You were worse at hiding your shock at that statement. Speaking to Marigold felt like she could hear the truth pouring out of you, as if your truths were whispered on the wind and straight to her ears. 

“It was that night all those years ago when the new High Lord of Spring brought you here.”

Memories dumped over you like a bucket of ice, that night only a few flashes and blurs of images, all red hair and blood. You never knew that she had been there that night.

“I didn’t know that things between you and my son had progressed. I knew you were mates, but Eris has always been a startling private person.”

She stood with such poise it was impossible to compare her with the shell she was the last time you had seen her.

“It was my youngest who told me the two of you were still involved.”

Lucien, you thought. Slimy little devil.

Lucien was the only one who knew - he had found out a few months prior having caught the scent of his brother lingering on one of your cloaks. You had been so furious with yourself - a century of hiding meant nothing when a little brother became invested.

“He was quite thrilled at the match, actually.”

That surprised you. Lucien had been quite short with you when he found out, that mechanical eye whirring and clicking at you as if it were admonishing you in a tongue you didn’t understand.

“He was hopeful for you to become a part of this family. Hopeful that perhaps a new addition may help us recognize how awful things have become.” 

She walked about the room, looking at the walls you were certain she had seen for centuries as if for the first time, her leisurely stroll giving no indication of the time crunch you were all in.

“My family is… not what I expected when I was young and full of dreams.” Her voice was just as sweet, but lost in the haze of centuries of time. “I had dreamt of a loving husband. I knew children were expected of me, but I could never imagine the direction my life would take.”

Her voice soured, that honey glazed warmth of nostalgia was replaced with something close to a reprimand.

“I will not pretend as if I know you or your motivations with my son, but I know Lucien. He is the most like me. At least, a long forgotten version of myself.” She took a staggering breath before continuing, her stride uninterrupted as she paced around you. “I know my sons. And while I don’t want to believe Eris could be fooled, mating bonds are tricky, overpowering things. One could fool Eris or Lucien, but not both of them.”

She fixed her eyes on you, looking for something you couldn’t see. It felt like being beneath the gaze of Lucien’s mechanical eye with a lack of clicking to accompany the scrutiny.

“Do not take their trust lightly.”

You nodded, swallowing harshly. She was very maternal, but there was something lurking beneath the surface you couldn’t pinpoint. It felt full of resentment, as if her perfumey smell was an attempt to cover up some rotten part of her long forgotten.

“Yes, Lady.”

“For today, you may call me Marigold.”

“And tomorrow?”

“If there is a tomorrow for the both of us, we shall figure that out.”

-

You had just a moment to yourself in Marigold’s chambers, opting to use it to send an additional letter, letting him know that if he didn’t come now, it’d be next to impossible to find you again.

Other than Eris, there was no one you trusted more. You fiddled with your bodice, ensuring it was in place as you waited, your hands straightening the front of your skirt, itching to tug at the collar of your dress. It felt suffocating, like you couldn’t take a proper breath.

A cool breeze came through the room before he materialized in the shadows of the room behind you. You turned to meet his hazel eyes full of anger as they looked up and down your form, taking in the plain servants clothes you wore. You quickly moved to turn on the faucet, blasting the water as harshly as it would go.

“Hi Az.” You waved a hand slightly, attempting to dispel his cold anger that flooded the room.

He didn’t move, hardly a corporeal form as only his face was tangible through the shadows.

“I need your help. Please.”

Anger swam in his eyes, undeterred by the pleading in your voice. He stood silently, the shadowy blob staying in place and it was then you realized he was waiting for more information.

“I need you to just follow me. In the shadows. I don’t know what the day will entail,” your voice was hushed, trying not to be heard over the running faucet, “but I wanted you nearby in case anyone got hurt.”

His eyes still burned with fury, but one of his wings twitched ever so slightly before his body melted into a pool of shadow that swam around your feet. You decided that was the best outcome to receive from him before you looked once more in the mirror, using a glamour to hide your violet eyes before you left the bathroom.

You followed Marigold out of her chambers, the glamour over your eyes making your vision slightly murky. Violet eyes would give you away, but light brown eyes caused you to blend in with the other staff of the Forest House.

The two of you had a mission - starting from the top and trickling through all of Beron’s more trusted advisors. This was always her initial plan to help Eris, but it felt good to assist her as she had meetings with each and every one of them throughout the day. She had been ruthless this morning before retrieving you, practically bullying these males into seeing her for a cup of tea at some point during the day. 

She developed a routine with each one, as if she were in a performance that she had been doing nightly for years. You would follow in behind her as she sat with whoever it was, the males much too worried about Beron to deny his wife anything. They had an air of annoyance about the disruption, but Marigold never stayed long enough to let it fester beyond that. 

It was perfectly choreographed - her insistence that they try this new delightful tea she had been working, your bow before pouring it for them. You used your own powers of charm to aid Marigold’s, manipulating the emotions of the unsuspecting advisors to feel fully at ease, enticing them to drink the tea.

It was genius, truly. She told you she had been doing this for years, spending her free time experimenting with different tea flavors, noting who liked what flavors to better entice them when the time came. Ultimately she had four different flavors, most every advisor drinking from the cup readily.

Each time you listened for them to slump from their desk as you walked through the halls, quickly locking the door behind you to keep them from being disturbed before bustling after Marigold’s retreating form. 

It was lucky the males didn’t look too closely at the new servant girl with a dark shadow trailing her figure.

-

It had taken hours, but you and Marigold had made it through your list of adversaries to take out. The only ones you weren’t able to take down were those that were scattered throughout Autumn, too far to reach, but Marigold assured you Eris had them taken care of in one way or another. 

The Forest House was calm as you slipped into Eris’s chambers, Azriel barred at the door. The shadow remained on the floor as you chuckled, agitation clear at the shadows movement on the ground. You waited as he moved across the hall, searching the room before returning, a silent request to follow. You quickly obliged, shutting the door behind yourself before the shadowy blob on the floor took more of an Illyrian look as he towered over you, his wings tight in agitation.

“I know you’re mad but-“

“Mad? I’m furious. I- him? Him? I’ve been following you around all day to ensure you didn’t die.”

You understood where he was coming from - you did little to help Eris’s reputation amongst the Inner Circle over the years, but the bond inside of you still yearned to claw at Azriel’s face for how he was speaking about your mate. A hand ran over your face, a deep breath to soothe the bond within you.

“Yes, well, the night is far from over, Azriel. I need your help to ensure the children and servants are safe. I don’t know how this will play out-”

“Oh, you don’t know how this will play out?” His eyes were wide with rage, his words clipped as he interrupted you. “You mean your “mate” didn’t tell you the details of his plan?”

His fingers went up in air quotes around the word ‘mate’ and it made you see red as you slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Azriel. I don’t know the specifics of this plan-”

He laughed through your hand, pushing it off of him. “Of course you don’t - he’s fooled you! He’s using you to-”

“To what, Azriel? Protect the defenseless fae inside the Forest House? Oh no, he’s so terrible.”

Your tone was mocking. The shadowsinger began tugging at his hair, looking away from you. 

“How long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters.” He was quick to whirl around, his eyes wild in fury. “You have been lying to your family, to me, for gods know how long!”

It was silent between the two of you, the only sound was his heavy breathing. You toed the ground slightly, knowing exactly how this conversation will go.

“Do you remember the night my wings were cut off?”

The words sent Azriel spiraling, the scent of copper and fear tinging his nose. It was always there, lurking in the back of his mind. His wings branched out, urging him to grab you and fly far, far away from here.

“No.”

It had never made sense before. His one word was full of disbelief, his face slacken with shock.

“Az, Tamlin found me and-“

Azriel used his hands to block his ears, “no, you have to be kidding me. This is a joke.”

Irritation rose in you at how childish he was being, the large Illyrian before you looking absurd as he paced the room. “This is all some stupid joke that you’re pulling because you and Cassian thought it would be funny.”

You shook your head, shaking his shoulders slightly to get him to look at you.

“No because that- I always knew something was off I-“

He was spiraling, his thoughts a whirlwind of realizations and things he overlooked. Several moments passed before he finally looked down at you, eyes full of understanding. “I have spent centuries trying to figure out that night. How I found you in a clearing not far from the site.”

Your silence was enough for him to determine your guilt, the final piece clicking into place.

“You lured me away. You manipulated me into feeling calm and not looking at what I knew made no sense!”

You bit your tongue. It was the one loose thread that could unravel your careful secret. It was the one thing you felt awful about over these centuries.

Any mention of that night immediately caused you to gauge Azriel’s emotions, never allowing them past sadness or grief over the events. 

Rhys and Cassian were too full of happiness that you had survived, never looking at the details. But Azriel thought over every last detail of events, even centuries down the line.

You felt the anger seep through the shield you kept up, allowing his emotions to swirl inside you.

Betrayal. Anger. Devastation.

His nails dug into the skin of his palm, and guilt washed over you. 

“It’s why you couldn’t find me until the next morning. Tamlin had brought me here because I kept asking for Eris.”

Azriel growled at the mention of your mate and you snapped your teeth back at him, the action surprising him, his shadows skittering in fear.

“He and Marigold healed me and the bond snapped for him but it didn’t snap for me until later. He is my mate and while the choices I made hurt you, I did it for him.”

He stepped back as if your words had physically wounded him, but you kept advancing forward, the truth finally spilling from your lips.

“You have every right to be upset with me and the choices I made. You are my family, Az. I hated lying to you. But he is my mate and anyone knowing would jeopardize our lives.”

He scoffed, standing his ground, but you could see understanding in his eyes.

“If anyone knew and it somehow had gotten back to Beron-“

His harsh tone cut you off. “Don’t try to convince me you did this for anything other than selfish reasons.”

“Okay fine, I was selfish! If Beron knew, he would have demanded that I be in Autumn. I spent years trying to figure something out. Everything would have ended up with Beron using me to keep Eris in line.”

His cheeks were red, from anger or being out of breath you couldn’t tell. “You could have told me. I would have helped. I’m a spymaster for cauldron’s sake! My job is full of secrets.”

“And maybe I wanted to keep you unburdened,” you snapped.

“You’re excusing your lies by not wanting to burden me? You’re unbelievable!” He threw his hands up in the air, anger seeping from his pores. Angry at the betrayal and maybe a little at his own shortcoming for not figuring it out.

“What I did was wrong, Az, but would you not have done the same?”

Azriel would think about this fight, many years later, his own mate wrapped in his arms. How resolute you had been in doing whatever you thought was necessary to protect your mate, even from the scrutiny of your own family. Time would soften his anger, offering a new perspective on your actions that can only come with shared experience. 

For now, he was so overcome with his anger it felt nearly impossible to even think about understanding your viewpoint.

“Even if tonight is a disaster, and Eris dies,” the thought has you catching your breath, the string connecting him to you almost cutting off your circulation, “it will all have been worth it for the chance to be with him.”

Azriel’s icy resolve met the determined look in your eye, his demeanor changing very little. Your argument was halted by screams in the hall, the unmistaken sound of  swords clashing with each other. His eyes shifted to the hallway the same time his hand moved toward Truth-teller strapped to his hip. His other hand moved to the dagger strapped to his chest, unsheathing it before handing it to you. His eyes didn’t move back down, still unable to look at you. But the dagger was a bridge. It was full of hope. You took it. It was also the preferred weapon of the Autumn Court, a fact you can’t decide if Azriel was thinking of when he picked it for you.

Azriel moved to the door, sending shadows beneath it to get a better grasp of what was going on outside of it. You heard distant barking and the sounds of fighting, swords clashing against one another in combat. Screams of pain and fear, none of them sounding like Eris.

“You and I will round up anyone not involved in this and we’ll bring them back here. Some of my shadows will stay behind, barring anyone from entering the room without our say so.”

He looked at you, his face hard and ready to move on your word. Azriel could hold a grudge so tightly it caused him to lose any sense of self, any sense of rationale. His anger often became an untamed thing - wild, free-roaming.

But he came. He came because you asked, certainly defying any orders from Rhysand about your punishment. You were sure your brother had told everyone not to engage with you - to not even speak your name until you came crawling back, begging for forgiveness. But there was one thing Azriel would always put above his court - his family.You took a deep breath before nodding, the sounds of life and death getting louder as Azriel opened the door. 

“I’ll go left, you go right.”

You turned to move, but Azriel grabbed your elbow, unwilling to let go. “We move together or we don’t move at all.”

His gaze was unflinching and you knew the two of you didn’t have long at all until the winds of chaos picked the two of you up and whirled you into its orbit. You nodded and he followed as you went to the right, trying to find Marigold’s chambers once more. 

The two of you moved further from the clanging and screams, but the sounds were following you slowly as you moved down the hall, checking each room as you went. Some of Azriel’s shadows moved ahead of you, searching each room up and down as you went. 

A few doors down, a shadow wrapped around your wrist, tugging you to a door on the left. You softly padded in, looking around the empty bedroom, calling out a soft hello to whoever was in here. The shadow swirled past you, moving toward the wardrobe that stood in the room. You felt someone in it, felt their nerves speak through you as you sent soothing strokes to them, calming their heart rate as you spoke.

“We’re here to help. We can get you to safety.” The anxiety spiked in the person once more, your powers working to soothe them again. “Really, we are. We just want to move you to another room that we have protected.”

Azriel remained quiet, tucking his wings into his back to appear much smaller. The person in the wardrobe shifted, the creak in the wood giving their spot away. Your voice was a soothing balm, a siren-like quality to the way it called out, “please, we won’t hurt you.”

The wardrobe door swung open, a small boy of probably ten crouched inside, hiding behind several long forgotten coats. You held out a hand, which he gladly took as you helped him from the wardrobe.

“We’ve secured a room for anyone we find. Can we take you there?”

He nodded, flinching at a loud sound from the other side of the door. You continued your grip on his hand as you led him down the hall to the room, the shadows moving to allow the three of you entry.

“What’s your name?”

He sniffled, fidgeting with his jacket, looking around the dark room. “Jasper.”

“Jasper, we have to go find others who may be hurt. But we need you to stay here. You’ll be safe.”

He looked up at you, bright golden eyes pleading for you to stay. 

“It’ll be scary, but we have to try to save as many fae as possible. Do you understand?”

He nodded, his eyes looking all over the place. His cheeks were red and stress oozed out of him with every inhalation.

“Jasper, we will be back. We’ll come back with others.”

Azriel grabbed your elbow, pulling you away from the boy. Jasper nodded, his dirty blonde hair shaking with the action. Your chest caved a little at leaving him, but Azriel was right to pull you away. Back outside the door, once the shadows reappeared as a barrier, you blinked away the tears before looking back at the shadowsinger.

The two of you continued moving, dodging the sounds of chaos as you moved through the enormous house, finding servants and whatever bystanders you could. The fighting lasted for hours, yours and Azriel’s hunt for innocent fae lasting as long as possible. The two of you even had to secure a second room on the opposite end of the house because the first became so overcrowded.

The halls were in a state of chaos - furniture was everywhere, broken bits of wood littered the floors. The two of you tried to keep pathways clear, moving broken bits out of the way for safer passage. The two of you were bringing someone back to your safe room - a young female - when a harsh tug on your chest brought tears to your eyes, the bond feeling so strong since it was quieted. You turned to Azriel, words getting lost as a tear fell down your cheek. Your chest whirled with emotions, a constant tugging calling you away.

“Thank you.”

For coming, for his eternal friendship, for his loyalty, for everything. 

He nodded, still too mad to accept any gratitude for his presence. “Are you going to tell him about what you got up to tonight?”

You couldn’t even say his name, still so incredibly pissed off at him and how he handled everything. How the past 24 hours have seen a complete change in not only yourself or your mate, but an entire court, all of Prythian forever changed.

“He knows very little of how I spend my nights, and he made his feelings about you very clear yesterday.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you as if seeing you truly for the first time. Despite his anger at you, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, squeezing him tightly to you. He folded around you, his shadows swirling around you as he deepened the hug. 

“Please, never wear brown again. Red and orange suit you much better.”

It was a peace offering. You didn’t know how long he’d stay mad at you, and everything in you wanted to hold him close to you until he forgave you. But this was centuries of lies, half-truths, and emotional manipulation. Things you knew Azriel had to work through. You could practically see him in his study, late at night hunched over journals going through the past century in hopes of untangling your lies.

Tonight proved two impossibles: Azriel helping Eris ascend the throne, even in such a minor way, and Eris finally defeating Beron.

You squeezed him one last time, muttering more thanks into his chest.

“I have to- to go find Eris.”

His arms slackened as you pushed off of his chest, sprinting through the halls, not watching Azriel disappear back into the shadows, looking forward and following where the tug kept pulling you. Turning corners, jumping over overthrown chairs, ignoring fae until you came to grand doors to what you assumed was the throne room. The doors were slightly ajar and you pushed them open with reckless abandon, running in before quickly halting.

The scene before you was startling. Six heads of red hair, one on the ground not moving, one curled into someone’s lap, breathing heavily.

You nearly collapsed at the sight, your brain trying to parse out what you were seeing, but someone was quick to hold you up. Lucien’s dark chest blocked your view, and you quickly pushed at him, your feet carrying you until you saw Eris’s face downturned to the body in his arms.

“Eris.”

He didn’t act like he could hear you. He kept shushing his brother, holding him tight in his arms. The room was coated in grief, the smell of blood so pungent your head began spinning. You looked to Beron’s body, finding a gruesome scene of a decapitation, his head nowhere to be found. The room was quiet, not even the sound of feet shuffling in anticipation could be heard.

Marigold appeared from behind you, rushing as she moved to the male in Eris’s arms.

“Flint,” Marigold cooed. You couldn’t see her well, your knees had sunk to the floor behind Eris. You rested your head against his back, the armor so cold against your skin. You listened to Eris’s breaths, letting them calm the surge of emotion inside of you.

Alive, alive, alive.

“Come on, wake up. You have to tell her.”

Eris jostled beneath you, attempting to move his brother you were sure.

“I did it for you, Mother.” The voice was weak - Flint, most likely. He sounded so small, his heart aching with so much pain it made your throat close up. Big emotions coated the air in the room, forming a haze of grief, longing, and regret. So much regret. 

“I know, sweetheart.”

He coughed, his entire being so full of pain. You hated being around the dying. It was nearly impossible as an empath - the feelings of death were so powerful it was impossible to block them out. 

“It was all for you.”

He moved fully into Marigold’s lap now, but you remained fixed behind Eris. His armor began warming or perhaps it was getting accustomed to your temperature.

“I know, I know.”

You placed a hand on Eris’s back, rubbing softly as he gently cried into his brother’s head. Blood was pouring from his brother, covering Eris’s armor. Your fingers tangled in his hair, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood.

His eyes stayed on his brother, his chest moving slower and slower.

Lucien moved toward Beron, picking up the crown that had fallen from his head. It looked like an endless supply of berries and twigs, so enticing like you could pop one into your mouth. He moved toward Eris, his steps loud to ensure he was heard. He placed the crown on Eris’s head, reaching over you to do so. 

When Lucien pulled back, he gave you a pained smile. His own armor was covered in blood, but none of his movements looked painful. He looked so worn down, but the Autumn armor he adorned looked perfectly molded to him.

A true son of Autumn back even if for a short moment.

Flint stopped breathing in her grasp and once she knew he was gone, she began sobbing into his head. Your chest filled with emotions, nearly impossible to assign sources to. Every feeling spiderwebbed from your chest, pulling you to multiple fae at once, but you only focused on Eris, his breathing even save for the occasional shudders.

Marigold’s cries filled the room, none of the other brothers dry eyed. A song was being carried on the breeze, mixing with the Lady of Autumn’s cries to produce a haunting melody. As her cries softened, the song became louder. Your ears twitched in recognition, a tune that carried you off to sleep each night.

The song that tied your souls together was a duet and what played on the wind was Eris’s portion. It was deep and quick, a song that took many turns, carrying the listener on a journey. You looked toward Lucien, his raised eyebrows enough for you to know he heard it too.

It was a beautiful song. It sounded like when you were first mates - conversations that often led nowhere, the both of you too worried to be truthful. It sounded of midnight meetings, stolen glances, moments the two of you had tucked away so deep you weren’t sure where memory and dream bled together.

The song would carry you through your life. You had heard it through the worst moments imaginable. As your wings were cut through your body, the knife uncaring as it shredded through bone and skin. And it was one you would hear years from now, the song being carried on the wind, coming in through the open window the lull your babe to sleep. It was a bridge from the vastly different lives the two of you had led. 

The song would carry you everywhere you needed to go, the changing chords so familiar to you they would follow you in death. And yet every time you heard it, your heart filled with curiosity, wanting to know where the song would go next.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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[dusterbishop]

have you come here to rescue me (all of this can be broken)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 2.7k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. thank you for all the kind comments and likes! i'm happy i could share this with such a talented fandom.

part one. || part two.

You and Gambit meet before, eh?

Many times

Mais, pleasure’s mine, chér. Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman

You draw your next card at random, and find yourself flat on your back, the back of your head still slick with the blood that pools beneath you. The hit from behind splintered your skull, but this body merely festers with a fading migraine. It is the closest you could get to avoiding death without skipping from this reality entirely. The pain has to keep you anchored, because you can’t count on Gambit to know what to do to keep you here.

Gambit, for his part, stares down at you. He looks like your Remy, which seems like such a strange thought to have. Of course he looks like Remy LeBeau. That is who he is in every lifetime. And yet it makes perfect sense that you halt upon this revelation for the very same reason.

Every Gambit is Remy LeBeau, and yet this one looks like Remy. He has the same strong jawline, the same furrow of his brow, the same black-rimmed red irises. He towers over you, the line of his shoulders set back and perplexed, at least until he crouches down to be closer to your level. Every movement is fluid, graceful. No sign of pain or hesitation. No snarl of distrust or blank expression of disinterest.

Found ya’, chér.

You would laugh if the back of your skull wasn’t just recently smashed in, new body or not. The daze of death’s lingering touch keeps you still as you stare back up at him. He had promised you would meet again, hadn’t he? In another lifetime, at least, he had. You are not the same body that he had been in love with, and yet some part of you can still smell the smoke in the air and feel the buzzing of kinetic lightning across your skin.

He is not your Remy. Not even if he’s looking at you with that same curious intensity. Gamblers could never refuse the call of the cards, and you have a stacked deck.

“Watch it, Cajun,” you tell him. Your voice is scratchy, grating the back of your throat. That explains the weariness in your joints, then. This version of your body is sick in some way. “I know how to wave a stick.”

A knowing laugh escapes him. “Oui, saw ya’ wit’ it. Don’ threaten Gambit wit’ a good time.”

Right, the flirting. Of all the swamp-dwelling boys you could have ended up entangled with, you just had to choose the one with that damned silver tongue. This version of Gambit is no different than the thousands of others you have witnessed in terms of that, at least. Perhaps thousands was even a conservative estimate. How many times have you crossed lives only to find a stranger wearing the face of the man you love?

God, you’re tired of it all. You don’t think you can handle another Gambit right now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh. “I’m not staying long.”

“S’il vous plait, you should.” He’s smiling, but you know that look in his eyes. Your gaze falls to the inner folds of his coat. You can barely make out the stitched lining where he keeps his cards, but you know that its there. He always had a habit of stitching the pockets in the same spot. Your Remy liked to command full control of the kitchen table to spread out his coat and ensure straight stitching. The cats liked it, too. You would come home to find them all clustered at the table, Remy idly scratching Oliver’s chin while he assessed his work, the other two boys stretched out languidly with them.

Gambit notices your attention, and his smile goes flat. “Where’ve you been my life, eh?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back. The fatigue starts to settle deep in your bones. Maybe this body wasn’t sick when you borrowed it. Maybe this is just the effects of your time-skipping leeching over to another form. Your body feels like its burning a low-grade fever. “I don’t want to argue with you, Gambit.”

“Argue?” He looks almost offended at the mention of underlying tension. “Mon chér, you wound me. Dis is a civil conversation, non?”

“Don’t you get tired of talking?” You know he doesn’t. The two of you have spent so many hours sparring both in the danger room and verbally. He likes to make you take the backfoot in both fighting rings. At least, Remy did. This Gambit seems… off.

He almost seems familiar.

“Not when I’m talkin’ to you,” his smile edges with that coy charm. “Why don’ you tell Gambit about your travels?”

It feels like dunking your head beneath tumultuous ocean waves. Your gaze jolts to his eyes. His biggest tell had always been the way his pupils expand, consuming the ringed red of his irises. In some light, at some times, it almost looked as if he didn’t have irises at all. Just an all-consuming gaze of ink-black.

He looks that way, now, staring down at you. Black-eyed and smiling like a rogue, his elbows perched idly on the curve of his crouched knees, hands freely dangling between you. Unarmed, almost, if not for the weight of cards pressed against the cuff of his sleeves. That brand of stitching is new. Your Remy would have been absolutely delighted to see that sort of innovation as much as he would have groaned about not doing it himself.

“Ace up your sleeve,” you say instead. Your head is rattling with a desperate panic. How does he know that you can travel?

Gambit flicks his wrist, the air rushes, and a splayed set of cards stare back at you. Four of a kind. A handful of aces, in fact. Your Remy would be in absolute stitches over it.

“Some, oui,” he says. He looks just as pleased with himself. He always did like to be the smooth-talker. The air whirs with quiet trepidation, charging, turning metallic in the back of your mouth. One of his brows raises the same moment you half-raise your arm, reflecting the same suit of cards back to him. His fingers reluctantly slide closed on empty air.

“So do I,” you tell him. You hold steady when he goes to take them back from you and nearly yank your arm out of reach when his fingers close over your wrist instead. He’s wearing his gloves, but even the slight warmth of his skin pressed against yours makes your mouth go cotton-dry.

“Houdini,” he remarks.

“Not quite,” you whisper.

“Non,” he agrees. He studies your hand for a long moment. The cards are his, of course. You had shifted time just enough to reach across it and claim your prize. Nothing more than a parlor trick in the light of what you have done lately. What is a suit of cards in the face of endless, staggering realities? If you don’t like the way a restaurant cooks a dish, you can cross time until you find the same dish cooked to mind-numbing perfection. If you miss the city bus because it showed up three minutes early, you can change lifetimes to delay the driver by five minutes, the extra two minutes only for good measure.

If you lose one Remy LeBeau, why not venture out to find him again?

And again?

And again.

You know the answer, now. Maybe part of you always did, yes, but the answer is staring you in the face. You cannot ignore him any longer. You cannot skip timelines and pretend that there will never be a Remy like yours again. He was yours because he was not perfectly brought up as a child and ended up with some nine-to-five office job and a three-bedroom home with a white picket fence. That Remy does not have an interest in a strange paradox such as yourself. Neither does the Remy LeBeau that ends up being a schoolteacher, or a stay at home dad, or a volunteer at an animal shelter.

Your Remy was imperfect, and that was why he was the only version of himself that you could love.

This version of Remy LeBeau is still holding onto you. His grip is firm, but not bruising. He’s holding you fast to keep you with him, not to hurt you. You’re too tired to attempt to escape. Every muscle in your body feels leaden and overworked. That’s the other answer demanding your attention, but you let the revelation slip from its leash and ignore it.

“I know what you are, chér .” His grip doesn’t change, but there’s a dangerous riptide swelling in his tone. “What you do.”

“Wayfarer,” you say. It feels flimsy to say it like this, laying flat on your back, Gambit poised gracefully beside you. Remy had been rather nonplussed with the title when you first told him about it. Non, mon coeur, you are Wildcard. Not even Gambit knows your next move.  

“You travel, d’accord?” With the hand still holding you fast, he rubs the calloused pad of his thumb against the rapid flutter of your pulse. It’s nearly enough to make you flicker out of time itself, consequences be damned. His next words are a wistful purr. “You can leave.”

You aren’t sure why the surprise that lances through you hurts so much. Of course, he isn’t your Remy. You know this. He may smile and banter and touch you as kindly as Remy does — as he did, past tense, it’s all beyond your grasp now — but that does not make you something for him to cherish.

It does, however, make you something to use.

“I am always here,” you start, settling into this waltz slowly. This was the other part of your existence that used to confuse Remy. Some part of you hardly understood it, either. You don’t know how every part of a jet plane or automobile works either, though, so it doesn’t phase you much anymore. You had tried to explain it with the T.V. analogy, like your other versions were playing on different screens even if you aren’t tuned in, but that only served to confuse him more. He did enjoy your choice of explanation in some way, at least, by fully indulging in references from his favorite T.V. shows. The conversation had derailed into you hitting him with a pillow, and then you had both unraveled into a different sort of banter.

Not that Remy ever let you get the last word, though. Tuning the channel, he had said seriously, as you had writhed beneath his touch in a breathless rush. Smart-mouthed, smooth-talking swamp boy.

“Some part of me stays here. A variant,” you continue. Gambit waits, those slivered-red irises trained intently on your expressions. How strange to have him staring at you with such suspicion. You could never lie well to Remy LeBeau no matter the version you stumbled across. You could hold back, yes, but he would always know anyway. You have learned to stop hiding from him. It is inevitable that you will admit your life to him in some way, either by choice or by necessity.

“I am here,” you say. “Like I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Paris, reading the morning newspaper, playing the crossword. I can see the empty grid in my head. I know the clues.”

There’s a familiar furrow in Gambit’s brow. You’re suddenly glad he’s holding your hand before you end up surrendering to the urge to reach out and smooth it away. Not your Remy. A touch from you is not the sort he hungers for.

“Paris, eh?” He presses his thumb to your pulse. You wonder if he feels the leap in your heart beat at the touch. “Wha’s got you wandering da Void, then?”

“I didn’t choose to be here,” you admit. “I got… reset, I guess. My mind went to the next version of my body available.”

“Reset sounds awfully dire, I t’ink.” He gives you a pointed look. “Wha’s got you?”

For one long, awful moment, you almost tell him the terrible truth. You almost tell him that you went looking for a version of him that was familiar enough to soothe the gaping hole in your heart. That you found a Gambit that was witty and kind despite his shitty upbringing, one that liked to make you laugh and could keep up with the practice drills you still put yourself through. A Gambit that wasn’t afraid that you would one day vanish and be replaced by some version of yourself that he didn’t love.

You want to tell him that you found a Gambit that you had wanted to keep safe, and he was shot in the back trying to do the same for you. You tore yourself apart to take down the men that did it to him. You died with him and you still woke up within one breath and the next. You had to wake up and hear his voice, except this is not the Gambit that died because of you, this version does not know what he holds onto so tightly.

You want to tell him that three other versions of Remy LeBeau died just as terribly, and you just keep spinning the roulette wheel, and you just keep living.

“That version of me died,” you say. “Shot in the stomach.”

He’s looking at you as if he has never seen such a phenomenon. You suppose, technically, he hasn’t. He used to be one of the lucky ones that didn’t know you even existed. There goes that winner’s streak.

“Do’ya have t'die to… reset?”

You think about lying again. God, you wish you could. “Not always.”

He raises a brow at that, but you don’t offer to elaborate. Instead, you let the cards in your hand release from this reality with a soft whir of energy. Your head feels stuffed with cotton, or perhaps rocks. Maybe this is your mind finally burying itself alive in rebellion of your time-skipping antics.

“Tell ya what, chér.” His fingers loosen their grip on your wrist only to tangle with your own, intertwining your hands. Your breath catches. It’s the only split-second warning you have before he hauls you up to your feet, one hand entangled with yours, the other supporting the small of your back to keep you balanced. You have to shut your eyes against the vertigo that thunders in your head.

“Don’t die,” he continues. “Paris ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, hein? No reason to go dere.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” you grit out. You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Your free hand grips onto the lapel of Gambit’s coat hard enough for your fingers to grow stiff. His hand on your back is a solid, anchoring weight. It supports you more than you would like. Relying on him could be a dangerous game.

Still, your power is a raw, aching nerve burning through your veins. You couldn’t switch without tearing yourself apart, not as exhausted as you are. Considering that this Gambit hasn’t driven a knife into your back, either literal or figurative, it’s easier not to resist when he makes a soft hum and sweeps you into a bridal carry. You keep your eyes closed, and try to ignore the burn at the back of them. A part of you waits for his sound of pain, the impact of bullets thudding into his back. Another part wonders if he will be vaporized from existence by the TVA, just a second before your hands meet.

The third, quieter part of your mind just thinks: Remy.

Gambit, the fourth ace in your suit, doesn’t do any of those things. He adjusts your weight, testing to see if you will squirm out of his grasp, then he begins to walk. He’s strangely quiet. It’s almost a relief in the wake of your draining, familiar conversation. How many times will you have to reintroduce yourself to a Gambit? What could you possibly offer this fate-curious, battle-wary version of the man you love? It’s the sort of question that makes you reconsider your choice to stay.

Stay with a Gambit with ulterior motives, or move on to another life with no guarantee of who will meet you there? Well. When you put it like that, there’s no other option at all.

And, as if he can read your mind, Gambit begins to explain.

[notjustjavierpena]

Heat

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Many many moons ago (this might be an exaggeration), I wrote a direct message to @undercoverpena about one of her text posts that sent me into a horny spiral. I loved it. You can read the text post here. At lot happened since then, and I bet you all that she must have forgotten or thought I would not finish it, but alas I return from the dead.

Summary: Javier looks so delicious doing hard work under the sun. The kids aren’t home. Heat is not just what the sun gives, it can also be a state of your body.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, clit stim, piv sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, creampie, rough sex, javi p is sweaty and you are horny

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51636391

Heat

It’s a thousand degrees outside.

It’s the beginning of autumn and it’s boiling hot, so warm that one cannot fully enjoy the weather when it makes everything feel crispier. You’ll be damned if you are going to spend the sparse and sacred hours of being childfree inside your house with a pout though, because your father-in-law has the kids after a long period of him being unable to babysit.

One would think that now that your three children are in Abuelo Chucho’s hands, it would mean having a long-awaited, as well as well-deserved, date night with your husband, but Javier has decided to spend the day renovating the back porch in the heat. You haven’t rolled your eyes at him yet, but the urge has been there several times.

You sit on the porch swing, dangling your feet just above the wooden boards that are soon to be removed and replaced. There’s a glass of cold lemonade in your hand, a bee buzzing somewhere nearby. 

Javier is in the shed at the back of the garden. You can hear him move things around, occasionally letting out a swear word moments after something clatters to the floor with a loud bang. 

You sip your lemonade through its straw. The honey bee has found the bush of lavender, and you let your eyes close to listen to the sounds of late summer, the start of fall. The sun dances on your lids, sweat forms at the small of your back just above your shorts and right below your cropped t-shirt.

After a few minutes where you’ve leaned back into the backrest of the porch swing, and nearly fallen asleep, you hear Javier returning. Automatically, your eyes open at hearing him speak. 

“Hey, enjoying yourself?” He has come over to peck your lips. You allow it, holding up the glass of lemonade afterward to watch his lips close around the straw. He takes a long sip whilst his eyes are fixed on yours.

“Gotta stay hydrated if you want to work in this heat,” you note.

“Just gonna be all pretty sitting there and watching me?” He asks after swallowing, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his Adam's Apple bobs.

“Mh-hm,” you nod without saying much, knowing you’ll break if you try to get an actual sentence out.

“Alright,” he just replies, and you swear you catch some sort of undertone in his voice. He kisses you again, lingering a second too long for you to be indifferent towards it, and then stretches again. A less collected version of you wants to undo his belt right there, but you let him go instead. Not without regret though.

And then he starts working, dragging planks across the soon-naked porch deck, and you start sweating even more at the sight. Even moreso at the grunts he elicits during his labor.

Javier is beautiful underneath the burning sun, sweat-slicked chest hair peeking out from under his grayish shirt that he has unbuttoned at the top. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows because they cannot go up any further than that, tightening around the beginnings of his biceps and causing your head to swim when you think about those arms around you. 

You allow yourself to ogle him as he is lost in the task. The straw in your lemonade sits in your mouth, your tongue curling around it briefly before you sip to clench your thirst. There’s sweat collecting on Javier’s brow, threatening to drip down, and when it finally does slide down the side of his head, your eyes burn from refraining from blinking as you watch the beads roll down his neck and into the clavicle of it. You press your thighs together.

The gray shirt has darkened in color around his shoulders due to dampness. Whenever Javier turns his back to you, you can see the darker patch has reached his lower back too. Your tongue darts out to lick at nothing around your mouth, and you know that your husband would laugh at you if he saw it.

There’s something dirty about watching the way he brushes slick hair from his forehead. He has knelt down on the deck by now, occasionally on all fours when he reaches for something in front of himself, and when he gets really concentrated, straining his back muscles so much that the shirt starts fighting for its life, he pulls a face that nearly makes you fall off the porch swing. 

You bite your lip, choose your words but none seems to do the job so you settle for something more simple, “Javi.”

“Sí, mi amor?” Javier doesn’t look up. 

You remind yourself that he has talked about redoing the porch since his father agreed to take the kids. You won’t spoil it for him, and you know that a half-finished project with three kids is not an ideal situation for you, so you compose yourself.

“I think I need to get out of the sun for a bit, can I get you some water?” You ask instead of getting on your knees to beg - or more - and then you walk past him. 

“Sure,” he replies as you pass him, and it makes you unable to see the smirk on his face, “Water would be great. Thanks, honey.”

Inside the kitchen, you fill a glass with cold water from the refrigerator. You even get a few ice cubes from the tray in your freezer but instead of dumping them into your husband’s drink, you hold them against your chest with a sigh of relief. Something burns in the pit of your stomach, even more when you return to the porch and hand Javier the glass of water. He hasn’t gotten less enticing; shirt clinging to him, hair sticking to his forehead, a groan as he gets up from the floor.

“Should be done by tomorrow,” he says as he takes the glass from your hand, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot down your spine as your fingers brush. It’s ridiculous since both of you know that he is yours already. 

“Mm-hm,” you watch him gulp down nearly all of his drink. 

And then he does something that you might never recover from; he pours the remaining water over himself in an attempt to cool down. It wets his hair even more, and he runs his thick fingers through it to shake out the excess droplets. 

Time stands still. Your heart hammers in your chest, pulse traveling through your veins until you can feel the throbbing of each heartbeat between your legs. You press your thighs together and let out a whimper of breath. 

“Baby?” You say softly to earn a hm? It feels shameful to meet Javier’s eyes. However when you do, you notice his pupils have dilated in desire, gaze flickering down your body for the shortest time, and you choose to strike. 

You step into Javier’s personal space, hand reaching up to lie on his chest. The soft pads of your fingers rest on his skin where his buttons are undone, and you try to keep a doe-eyed look on your face as you rub his exposed skin gently.

“I was thinking,” you start, trail off.

“Yes?” He drags the word out. You can hear the smirk on his face but it feels too vulnerable to look him in the eye.

“Since we’re alone,” you continue, gaze fixated on the chest hair that is exposed in the heat, “And since there’s air conditioning inside, we could do something together.”

“Do what?” He says like someone who has figured you out. His strong hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, lifting your palm to his mouth. He kisses it. 

Your face burns with embarrassment at the fact that you can barely contain yourself in his presence. That and the fact that it is usually so easy, so why does it feel so difficult to ask for what you want? 

“You know what.”

“I need you to say it, need you to ask for it, mi vida,” he teases and places your hand on the side of his face. He releases a breath at your touch, eyes fluttering closed so you feel brave enough to look up at his face. He leans further into you and looks as ready as you to give in. 

“I need you to touch me,” your voice trembles. Javier just barely shudders at hearing your words, opening his eyes once more to reveal their darkened color. 

“Touch you where?” Javier continues his little game. He mirrors you, touches your face too, “Here?”

“No.”

His hand moves down to brush your neck, “Here then? It must be here.”

“No,” you shake your head, “Please, Javi.”

Javier’s hand slides down your front and settles on the exposed skin of your belly. It causes you to hold your breath. Then it goes down, slips past the elastic band of your shorts and into your damp underwear. You gasp as two of his fingers slide through the wetness between your legs, tips finding your pulsing clit immediately after. Thank God you have hedges around the back garden and thank God that they’re tall enough to keep prying eyes away from the scene that unfolds. 

“What about here? I hope it’s here because I don’t want to stop,” he rubs you off slowly until your legs start to shake underneath you. He works his fingers back and forth, from side to side, one on either side of your clit and something builds and builds and—

You come with a little cry and bury your face in Javier’s chest. Your hand on the side of his face falls down to his shoulder which you grip as you soak your underwear even more, thighs trapping his hand as they clamp together. As your head spins, Javier chuckles out a swear word above you. 

“Never gets old,” he adds and you start giggling. 

After a few seconds of letting you breathe, Javier cups your face and lifts your lips to his own in a kiss that tells you everything you need to know, where you’re heading, which direction. You kiss him back slowly and he licks the inside of your mouth, guides you toward the screen door that leads inside of the house. He has you, you want to say, body and soul. 

“Let me take my beautiful wife to bed,” he begs and you nod repeatedly, mumbling a soft plea. He peppers you with sweet kisses that turn more heated as you get closer to the bedroom door. He toes off his shoes on the way, leaving them forgotten in the hallway along with pieces of clothing that he sheds you and himself of. 

When you’re both naked, sticking together from the sweat that is already shining on your skin, he hoists you up and carries you to the bed effortlessly. You cling to him by wrapping your limbs around his body, and he kneels down on the bed and places you on your back - and then he doesn’t leave but instead melts into you.

“Te deseo mucho, mi amor,” he murmurs and crushes you so heavenly with his weight, connecting his lips to your throat and sucking a purple mark onto your skin. You’ll scold him for it later but right now, you simply whine. His voice vibrates against your neck, “You really thought all I was gonna do was redo the stupid porch? Not do you?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you bite back with no real hostility, first snorting at his choice of words and then letting out a sigh as he continues tasting your salty skin, “I was ready to go insane, so please fuck me.”

“Dramatic as ever,” he teases and then holds himself up with one arm so he can reach down between your bodies. You bend your legs and let your knees fall out to the sides, breath hitching until it becomes a whimper when the head of Javier’s cock slides through your folds. 

“Please,” you say, and have never been so willing. His cockhead catches on your clit, and your moan comes out a lot louder than intended. You are just about to cover your mouth with your hand when you realize you don’t have to; you can cry and whine and scream all you want to. It makes you yearn for him in a newfound sense and makes you want to scream already. 

“Paciencia, mi amor,” he tuts but still reads your mind. He enters you a moment later, pushing inside easily from the slick that’s already smearing your inner thighs. He groans as you take him, eyes intensely focused on yours whilst stretching your pussy open in a delicious sting. Your hands find his broad shoulders instead of their usual place clamped down on your mouth. You let yourself be noisy as you adjust.

“That’s it,” he slurs, “Be noisy all you want. Good girl.”

When he pulls out and eases back in, the two of you moan in unison. He does it again but follows it up with a breathless laugh when your noises already climb in pitch. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he says soothingly as if you’ve hurt yourself.

But then he shows no mercy and speeds up. His rhythm becomes something else entirely; hard and fast, sending the eyes in your head rolling backward into your skull with a f-fuck dripping from your lips.

Everything is so different. Usually, you breathe so deeply into each other’s bodies, connecting your lips whenever the other is about to give away what the two of you are doing to the rest of the house. Your noses will bump against each other as you are impossibly close to one another, an occasional h-ah escaping your mouth or a low grunt from Javier’s, and if not even a kiss can cover up the noises, Javier’s strong hand or your own will cover your mouth as you cry through the most intense orgasms a man has ever given you.

But now. Oh God. Javier is making you sing until the house is shaking, every noise bouncing off the walls to ricochet right back to your ears. You can hear yourself sound obscene as he makes you come a second time, wanton moans falling from your slack mouth. You tremble, thighs jiggling along his sides as he drives his cock into you to prolong your pleasure. 

“There you are, Christ, you are perfect,” he praises, continues to pound your oversensitive cunt, “Let it all out, baby.”

“More,” you beg, “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grunts. 

You reach down between your legs as best as you can, already thinking of a third orgasm now that your clit is untouched. If not only to shout yourself hoarse.

Javier traps you between his arms, propping himself up on his forearms and sliding his fingers into your hair. He tugs slightly as he rolls his hips, pain erupting from your sensitive follicles and adding to your third high that is building. 

You circle your clit fast, barely able to contain yourself as your cunt goes off into delicious spasm. You think you might actually start crying with how intense it feels, Javier’s cock twitching inside of you whilst he moans too. He buries his face in your shoulder.

“Don’t pull out,” you gasp up at the ceiling, nails creating little crescent marks on the muscles of his broad shoulder, “Javi, oh fuck, come in me. Don’t pull out. Pleasepleaseplease.”

The comment makes Javier pull back a little, raising himself on his elbow to look down at you. His fingers are still in your hair, an occasional moan tumbles out of his mouth as he continues reaching deep inside of you, and his eyes bore into yours. He furrows his brow from being so close, barely able to speak from how ragged his breathing is.

“What—?” He grunts. Any moment now.

“Not ovulating,” you moan back at him, tightening your legs around his waist to punctuate your want, your need. You try meeting his every thrust to encourage his own high, “Please, baby. Need you to come in me.”

“Mierda, estas una chica sucia,” his hips stutter, “You love getting filled to the brim, don’t you?” 

You nod frantically. 

“Just want me to keep knocking your sweet cunt up, huh?” He moans. 

“Yes. Whole fucking football team.”

“C’mere,” he catches your mouth in a heated kiss, nodding slightly, but it turns messy as soon as he gets to orgasm. He whimpers into your mouth when he is just on the brink, and then he gasps as the first rope of come starts to fill you. You let out a big sigh against his mouth for show, taking everything he has to give you whilst he shudders in your arms. 

It takes a moment to calm down. Your arms rest beside your head and your eyes close, trying to calm your heavy breathing. Above you, Javier hisses when he pulls out of you and you can immediately feel his come dripping out of you. 

Javier kisses your exposed chest. He slides his hands up your forearms to eventually hold each of your hands, flopping down onto you again. 

“Ice water,” you say after a while of laying together like this. 

“Hm?” He squeezes your hands.

“Go get some ice water, your wife is boiling.”

“Fine,” he groans. 

When he comes back, he has also brought a towel and you spend the rest of the afternoon trailing ice cubes across your warm skin after cleaning yourself up. It’ll be easier to work in the colder evening sun anyway.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[mimi-0007]

FATHER & SON: James Earl Jones with his Father Robert Earl Jones on Stage in the 1962 Production "Moon on a Rainbow Shawl."

Robert Earl Jones (February 3, 1910 – September 7, 2006), sometimes credited as Earl Jones, was an American actor and professional boxer. One of the first prominent Black film stars, Jones was a living link with the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 1930s, having worked with Langston Hughes early in his career.

Jones was best known for his leading roles in films such as Lying Lips (1939) and later in his career for supporting roles in films such as The Sting (1973), Trading Places (1983), The Cotton Club (1984), and Witness (1985).

Jones was born in northwestern Mississippi; the specific location is unclear as some sources indicate Senatobia, while others suggest nearby Coldwater. He left school at an early age to work as a sharecropper to help his family. He later became a prizefighter. Under the name "Battling Bill Stovall", he was a sparring partner of Joe Louis.

Jones became interested in theater after he moved to Chicago, as one of the thousands leaving the South in the Great Migration. He moved on to New York by the 1930s. He worked with young people in the Works Progress Administration, the largest New Deal agency, through which he met Langston Hughes, a young poet and playwright. Hughes cast him in his 1938 play, Don't You Want to Be Free?.

Jones also entered the film business, appearing in more than twenty films. His film career started with the leading role of a detective in the 1939 race film Lying Lips, written and directed by Oscar Micheaux, and Jones made his next screen appearance in Micheaux's The Notorious Elinor Lee (1940). Jones acted mostly in crime movies and dramas after that, with such highlights as Wild River (1960) and One Potato, Two Potato (1964). In the Oscar-winning 1973 film The Sting, he played Luther Coleman, an aging grifter whose con is requited with murder leading to the eponymous "sting". In the later 20th century, Jones appeared in several other noted films: Trading Places (1983) and Witness (1985).

Toward the end of his life, Jones was noted for his stage portrayal of Creon in The Gospel at Colonus (1988), a black musical version of the Oedipus legend. He also appeared in episodes of the long-running TV shows Lou Grant and Kojak. One of his last stage roles was in a 1991 Broadway production of Mule Bone by Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston, another important writer of the Harlem Renaissance. His last film was Rain Without Thunder (1993).

Although blacklisted by the House Un-American Activities Committee in the 1950s due to involvement with leftist groups, Jones was ultimately honored with a lifetime achievement award by the U.S. National Black Theatre Festival.

Jones was married three times. As a young man, he married Ruth Connolly (died 1986) in 1929; they had a son, James Earl Jones. Jones and Connolly separated before James was born in 1931, and the couple divorced in 1933. Jones did not come to know his son until the mid-1950s. He adopted a second son, Matthew Earl Jones. Jones died on September 7, 2006, in Englewood, New Jersey, from natural causes at age 96.

THEATRE

1945 The Hasty Heart (Blossom) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1945 Strange Fruit (Henry) McIntosh NY theater production

1948 Volpone (Commendatori) City Center

1948 Set My People Free (Ned Bennett) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1949 Caesar and Cleopatra (Nubian Slave) National Theatre, Broadway

1952 Fancy Meeting You Again (Second Nubian) Royale Theatre, Broadway

1956 Mister Johnson (Moma) Martin Beck Theater, Broadway

1962 Infidel Caesar (Soldier) Music Box Theater, Broadway

1962 The Moon Besieged (Shields Green) Lyceum Theatre, Broadway

1962 Moon on a Rainbow Shawl (Charlie Adams) East 11th Street Theatre, New York

1968 More Stately Mansions (Cato) Broadhurst Theatre, Broadway

1975 All God's Chillun Got Wings (Street Person) Circle in the Square Theatre, Broadway

1975 Death of a Salesman (Charley)

1977 Unexpected Guests (Man) Little Theatre, Broadway

1988 The Gospel at Colonus (Creon) Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, Broadway

1991 Mule Bone (Willie Lewis) Ethel Barrymore Theatre, Broadway

FILMS

1939 Lying Lips (Detective Wenzer )

1940 The Notorious Elinor Lee (Benny Blue)

1959 Odds Against Tomorrow (Club Employee uncredited)

1960 Wild River (Sam Johnson uncredited)

1960 The Secret of the Purple Reef (Tobias)

1964 Terror in the City (Farmer)

1964 One Potato, Two Potato (William Richards)

1968 Hang 'Em High

1971 Mississippi Summer (Performer)

1973 The Sting (Luther Coleman)

1974 Cockfighter (Buford)

1977 Proof of the Man (Wilshire Hayward )

1982 Cold River (The Trapper)

1983 Trading Places (Attendant)

1983 Sleepaway Camp (Ben)

1984 The Cotton Club (Stage Door Joe)

1984 Billions for Boris (Grandaddy)

1985 Witness (Custodian)

1988 Starlight: A Musical Movie (Joe)

1990 Maniac Cop 2 (Harry)

1993 Rain Without Thunder (Old Lawyer)

TELEVISION

1964 The Defenders (Joe Dean) Episode: The Brother Killers

1976 Kojak (Judge) Episode: Where to Go if you Have Nowhere to Go?

1977 The Displaced Person (Astor) Television movie

1978 Lou Grant (Earl Humphrey) Episode: Renewal

1979 Jennifer's Journey (Reuven )Television movie

1980 Oye Ollie (Performer) Television series

1981 The Sophisticated Gents (Big Ralph Joplin) 3 episodes

1982 One Life to Live

1985 Great Performances (Creon) Episode: The Gospel at Colonus

1990 True Blue (Performer) Episode: Blue Monday

[the-library-alcove]

In the midst of the current Hamas/Israel conflict, the Antizionist movement has gone from being generally ineffectual to a state of being actively harmful in regards to their stated cause of Palestinian liberation.

And from what I've seen there are three primary issues with the Antizionist movement, as it currently stands, that contribute to that harmfulness and also actively inhibit their ability to achieve any of their stated goals regarding Palestinian liberation.

1. Maximalist Stance Focused on Ideological Purity

To the apparent mainstream of the Antizionist movement, there is no other acceptable position than the destruction or dissolution of Israel, possibly featuring a replay/do-over of the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, and anyone who disagrees is treated as a heretic. Diplomacy? Mutual peace processes? Two state solutions? All of these are not only Wrong, but a cause for shunning the disbeliever.

And, as part of this, people who are actually affected by the issue are spoken over and ignored, if not actively ostracized and attacked. This goes for both Israelis and Palestinians; in particular, Palestinians who are not onboard with this stance are treated as sellouts and traitors deserving of punishment and death, which goes to show how little concern there is in the movement for actual Palestinians, as opposed to the idealized concept of "Free Palestine".

Also affected are Jews living in the Diaspora, who are harm indirectly by the threats to their fellow Jews in Israel, but also directly from the rampant antisemitism in a movement that demands complete ideological conformity in order not to be shunned and demonized. Since 90%+ of them do not conform with that ideological stance, they are essentially freely targeted by the movement.

2. Cargo Cult Activism

This is a problem across the board of the antizionist movement. On one end we have BDS, which is predicated on using the same tactics as worked on Apartheid South Africa against a target, Israel, which has a completely different economy, history, and ethnic structure. And on the other end, we have random protestors trying to "raise awareness" by engaging in truly random acts of protest, sabotage, and arguably terrorism. As part of that, there is a noted tendency of such activists inserting the I/P issue into every other activism issue out there and treating those other issues as subservient and secondary to the I/P issue, if not outright "distractions".

The problem is that these movements and individuals are imitating the feel of effective activism without first identifying why those pieces of activism were effective in the first place. As part of this, there is also an intense willingness to ignore reality that doesn't conform with the narrative they've adopted as part of their activism, because they tell themselves that they are right, and if they try hard enough, reality will conform with what they want it to be... and the planes with cargo will arrive.

3. Rampant Conspiratorial Antisemitism

For a variety of reasons, including the above two, the Antizionist movement is rapidly turning into a Leftist version of QAnon, full of recycled Jew-hating conspiracy theories from the last two thousand years. Blood libel, "Jewish control of the government/economy/media", "Jews killed Jesus" deicide, and more, are not only commonplace, but egregiously popular in ways that make it actively hostile for any but the most compliant or ignorant Jew to be a part of the movement.

This accomplishes nothing in terms of gaining sympathy (as per point 1), but feels good (point 2) and just makes the general Jewish population fearful, and shows that the movement is full of hypocrisy when it comes to anti-bigotry principles, and is thus untrustworthy to the vast majority of Jews in regards to their safety.

[windcarvedlyre]

Thinking about Venti's role as an archon and how he might be doing his job- as Celestia intended- better than we think.

Archons, in Gnosticism, rule over the material realm and prevent souls from leaving it. Barbatos, in the Ars Goetia, "reconciles disputes between friends and those who hold power".

Everything we know about Venti implies that he hates Celestia and opposes all forms of tyranny, but if their goal is to keep humanity from advancing, realising the truth of the world and taking actions that could threaten the status quo...

...isn't the best way to prevent rebellions and slow progress to make the people you rule content with what they have?

Venti is all about making his people's lives leisurely and seemingly free (I'll get to that in a second). It's in his gemstone quote, the thing which summarises his approach as an archon:

"Still, the winds change direction. "Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future… "Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward."

We see this reflected in Mondstadt's culture and economy. There are still hardworking individuals in the Knights of Favonius, the Church of Favonius and the Adventurer's Guild, but this attitude isn't universal even within those organisations and the rest of Mondstadt's people generally have a slow, relaxed approach to life relative to other nations. They haven't produced any internationally notable industries outside of alcohol, and why would they? They have everything they need, graciously provided by the anemo archon himself*, so why strive for more?

This has already left them vulnerable to the whims of more powerful nations, incapable of meaningfully opposing the Fatui without inviting consequences they can't handle.

*Also see Jean's story quest for a scaled-down version of this. Mondstadt's general population relies on her hard work a bit too much and she enables them.

We also see Mondstadt have a softening effect on outsiders multiple times in-game. There are at least three cases of people questioning their life choices because its people and/or scenery are that nice. Two are branches of hangout events, one is a soon-to-be-ex treasure hoarder chilling on Cider Lake's coast. I've joked that Mond is a lotus eater hotel scaled up to a nation based on this, but what if that's somewhat intentional?

But why would he do this?

It could be an unintended side effect of efforts to improve people's quality of life. He was allegedly naive enough not to forsee the aristocracy situation, after all. But at the same time... he's a god of freedom and hope in a world where his people have no hope of freedom.

-Harmost's Notes (II), Remuria.

He knows what happens to human civilisations that advance too far and attempt to rebel against this world. He likely knows a god much like him, themed around music and desperate to free his people from fate, tried and failed horribly. He lives in the shadow of a celestial needle. The Cataclysm would only reinforce this perceived futility of resistance. He still hopes for a brighter future, but he may be pinning all of his hopes on a descender taking pity on Teyvat's people and choosing to help them. To quote the description of Mondstadt Statues of the Seven:

A monumental stone statue that watches over Mondstadt. Legends say that it was sculpted in the image of the Anemo Archon. "Seeds brought by the wind will grow over time." The statue silently anticipates the arrival of a noble soul to arrive, while thousand winds of time will soon unfold a new story...

Apart from that, what else can he do besides be passive and complacent? Besides make his people comfortable and hope they don't rock the boat too much before liberation is actually possible?

And the thing about resolving disputes with those in power worries me. It could just translate into his pacifism, but it could also mean he's less willing to act against Celestia than we'd hope. Why did the Tsaritsa, the only archon named after a saint and willing to take a stand against Celestia, fall out with him? He has reasons to be pissed at her methods but I suspect that won't be the only factor.

All we can do is wait and see.