#like a fucking spectre of my sins

[slocumjoe]

I'm staying with my relatives rn and they have lots of photos on the wall right? And. And they have photos from when they were younger. And my uncle, apparently, when he was younger, looked fucking exactly like galoogamelady's famous and iconic Buttons. I can't exist in this house without seeing fucking Buttons on the walls macking on my aunt and I hate being so chronically online that I look at my white dude uncle and think holy shit just likes Buttons Fallout 3

#im struggling man #its fucking uncanny #same hair #same nose #eyes #face #ears #expressions #its 1 to 1 #toe to tip you could use my uncle as a reference to draw buttons and its making me ashamed that buttons is so strong a presence in my life #strong enough that i see him where he should not exist #like a fucking spectre of my sins

[radialarch]

i have read... so many kj charles so rapidly over the space of a week and a half, here's a ranking of my faves

charm of magpies (original trilogy): lucien vaudrey constantly does SO much to drive action and is SO fun about it, 10/10, more tattoos please

an unnatural vice (sins of the cities 2): justin and nathaniel abysmally failing not to fuck despite their better judgment, god. great dynamic, great shenanigans

spectred isle: saul and randolph constantly falling over each other suspiciously? extremely good. randolph being compelled to give saul a weird baptism for some reason? sir that is your dick talking.

the band sinister: tell me more about rookwood/corvin tbh, i'm haunted by that blowjob

any old diamonds (lilywhite boys 1): kjc write more dubcon

will darling adventures: i feel like kim's pov might have made me really feral about these

the ruin of gabriel ashleigh (society of gentlemen 0.5): KJC WRITE MORE DUBCON

#my kingdom for an entire novel of lucien's shanghai days #blogger yells at void

[harriertail]

start of year book thoughts

Revolutionary Road - the first half meanders a bit to build up to the ending which was... unexpected? I see why this is used in sixth form college english classes because it Says A Lot About SoSighEtTea but it did just feel like a bunch of chapters loosely linked together, April's sudden Part Three episode really came out of nowhere to me (maybe that's the point, but she had POV chapters and then just didnt at all really). Still I enjoyed it, loved the descriptions and writing style. I liked John.

Wise Blood - finally. Oh my god. Hazel Motes you are Insane. I didnt fully get what he was preaching ("i seek the truth and there is no truth?" There is no sin and no redemption? So hes a nihilist? Or smth?) I think he really is a religious man but can't cope in a world full of fake preachers and conmen and things, thus he does all That. fucking loved Enoch tho. What the fuck? The Sabbath stuff was.... questionable but also makes me think Haze probably has PTSD and no sense of who he is anymore and is trying to be someone else (someone mean and cruel) when hes really just an idiot. But where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it!

Djibouti - Leonard's dialogue is definitely modern, to the point, reads like someone is speaking. It's not my kind of reading tbh. I'm also sick of how every female protag i seem to read (by men) always has a mention of her body/how sexy/good looking she is randomly, when its not part of the plot, she can't just... be. DNF.

Go to the Widow-maker - gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous writing, what a beautiful tranquil sea, what beautiful wildlife, what a setting! Didn't care for the characters. A life goal of jacking off in a cave is nawt interesting. Oh everyone's cheating on each other? He's insecure about how he compares to other men? How novel. DNF.

Two Sherpas - maybe it was the translation but this was so... pretentious. It feels like he just wanted to write about Flavius and Marullus instead, and write about two sherpas, and combined them into one. I'm liking the characters and the use of "the old Sherpa" and "the young Sherpa" to differentiate them instead of names as it goes with the book, and ties them more to Flavius and Marullus- and some chapters (especially the historical stuff or the sherpas backgrounds) were incredible- but it felt disjointed. Each chapter was super short as well sometimes just a paragraph and it was very jumpy. I can tell what he was trying to do, but it just didn't work. We get it, the loud thundering of the wind over the side of Everest can hardly be considered silence. DNF

TBR; the spectre of alexander wolf, a special kind of providence, when we were two, the power and the glory

#not a brilliant start to the year but #we move and we continue #branching into modern lit is not.... going well #reading roundup

[dvar-trek]

Romance Roundup: Part 2

the full list:

loved | liked | okay | didn't like

 ●Captive Prince Trilogy by C.S. Pacat     ○Captive Prince     ○Prince's Gambit     ○Kings Rising     ○The Summer Palace  ●Whyborne and Griffin Series by Jordan L. Hawk (there are like 11 of these in total, but this is as far as i got. this is not the only reason i stopped, but this series does contain a sex scene wherein sliding back the foreskin is described as "peeling". and i just. i simply don't think you should peel a dick. i don't think it's good for them.)     ○Widdershins     ○Eidolon     ○Threshold  ●Sweet Disorder by Rose Lerner  ●Sailor's Delight by Rose Lerner  ●Something Human by A.J. Demas  ●Doomsday Books by KJ Charles     ○The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen     ○A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel

 ●Old Bridge Inn Series by Annick Trent     ○Beck and Call     ○The Oak and the Ash  ●10 Things That Never Happened by Alexis Hall  ●Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall (okay, listen, the first chapter hits you with a high concentration of cringe, and is therefore difficult to read. but the cringe concentration lessens considerably as you go along, and this ended up being one of my faves.)  ●Husband Material by Alexis Hall (again with the cringe, but it's not a strong enough book otherwise to make up for it, imo. the first book stands up great without having to bother with the sequel)  ●The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn  ●Bridgerton Series by Julia Quinn     ○The Duke and I     ○The Viscount Who Loved Me (there are six more of these, but i simply couldn't go on)

 ●The Mystery of Nevermore by C.S. Poe  ●Turner Series by Cat Sebastian     ○The Soldier's Scoundrel     ○The Lawrence Browne Affair     ○The Ruin of a Rake     ○A Little Light Mischief  ●The Last Binding by Freya Marske (these are kissing books, but i didn't like the actual romances so much as the. like. plot.)     ○A Marvellous Light     ○A Restless Truth     ○A Power Unbound  ●Lucky Lovers of London by Jess Everlee     ○The Gentleman's Book of Vices     ○A Rulebook for Restless Rogues  ●A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland  ●His Heart's Obsession by Alex Beecroft  ●Seducing the Sedgwicks by Cat Sebastian     ○It Takes Two to Tumble     ○A Gentleman Never Keeps Score     ○Two Rogues Make a Right  ●Hard Sell by Hudson Lin  ●Green Men World by KJ Charles     ○The Secret Casebook of Simon Feximal (can be read as a stand-alone. is also not really a romance, per-se, although they sure do fuck. more like if shelock holmes had been a ghost-hunter, and watson had told us about all the sex they were having)     ○Spectred Isle (n.b. this was meant to be the first book in a series that is on hold indefinitely, though i enjoyed it plenty on its own)

 ●Winterbourne series by Joanna Chambers (there's one more novella in this series but none of my libraries has it)     ○Introducing Mr. Winterbourne     ○Mr. Winterbourne's Christmas     ○The First Snow of Winter  ●The Vicar and the Rake by Annabelle Greene  ●The Gentleman and the Spy by Neil S. Plakcy  ●The Lord and the Frenchman by Neil S. Plakcy  ●Unfit to Print by KJ Charles  ●Brook Street by Ava March  ●Enlightenment Trilogy by Joanna Chambers     ○Provoked     ○Beguiled     ○Enlightened     ○The Bequest (epilogue novella)  ●Unnatural by Joanna Chambers  ●Restored by Joanna Chambers  ●Society of Gentlemen by KJ Charles (another one where the whole series is worthwhile for the story, even if i didn't love all of the romances. the characters are endearing and there's an excellent little series epilogue availble on the author's website)     ○The Ruin of Gabriel Ashleigh (prequel novella)     ○A Fashionable Indulgence     ○A Seditious Affair     ○A Gentleman's Position

 ●Something Fabulous by Alexis Hall  ●Hither, Page by Cat Sebastian  ●The Missing Page by Cat Sebastian  ●Sins of the Cities by KJ Charles     ○An Unseen Attraction     ○An Unnatural Vice     ○An Unsuitable Heir  ●Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston  ●Bright Falls series by Ashley Herring Blake (I'm still on a waitlist for the third book, which just came out)     ○Delilah Green Doesn't Care     ○Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail  ●Fake it 'til You Make Out by Isla Olsen  ●The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite  ●The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows by Olivia Waite  ●The Lilywhite Boys by KJ Charles     ○The Rat-Catcher's Daugher (prequel novella)     ○Any Old Diamonds     ○Guilded Cage     ○Masters in this Hall (sequel novella)  ●England World by KJ Charles     ○Proper English     ○Think of England  ●Will Darling Adventures by KJ Charles     ○Slippery Creatures     ○The Sugared Game     ○Subtle Blood

 ●The Lady's Secret by Joanna Chambers  ●A Charm of Magpies series by KJ Charles     ○The Magpie Lord     ○A Case of Possession     ○Flight of Magpies  ●Other KJ Charles book linked to the Magpies world     ○A Queer Trade     ○Rag and Bone     ○Jackdaw  ●Wanted, A Gentleman by KJ Charles  ●The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by KJ Charles  ●A Thief in the Night by KJ Charles (novella linked to Gentle Art)  ●Band Sinister by KJ Charles  ●Unmasked by the Marquess by Cat Sebastian  ●A Duke in Disguise by Cat Sebastian

romance roundup part 1

#if the random paragraph breaks don't work to make tumblr process this post. i have one more idea to try but it sucks. #wip wednesday #romance roundup #look at my opinions boy

[myriad-miscellaneous]

vignette dump

i’ve got all these brain worms that i want to share but will probably never be finished own full-fledged stories. the first one of these is already at 3.2k words and it doesnt feel remotely finished omg

i'm never going to get past my mental hurdle to actually write smut, am i?

"If a demon can achieve godhood like you, then tell me," he growls. "Is there a chance that, demon and monster that I am, could I be like you? Can I find purification in the wake of your vaunted flames, Professor? Will I find salvation if I were to follow your lead — as I so blindly did a lifetime before?"

  A sliver of his heart still capable of hope prays that her cold, soft-spoken voice tells him that he can, that he is deserving, that all his sins could be forgiven and swept away as easily as the clouds before the breeze. But, as always, his prayer is a useless gesture — a testament to his ineptitude that he dares to hope at all. She does not tell him any of those things. She does not tell him anything at all at first, meeting his plea with only silence.

  "...Dimitri," she says finally, as if that is her answer, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from shouting that the fool who once went by that name is dead.

  Her sea green hair rustles with a sad shake of her head, and she crouches down to meet him, searching for a gaze that turns fearfully away from hers. "I am neither, Dimitri," she whispers, and the sound is too loud, nearly deafening against the vast emptiness of the cathedral. Hearing her voice rattles him like thunder, shakes him like a Thoron cast through his racing heart.

  "I am and I have only ever been human," Byleth tells the walls behind him, averting her eyes to avoid spooking him any further. "I was your professor for a time, but now not even that. Now, I suppose, I am no one at all…"

  "Ha!" he barks. "Do you claim to be a ghost, then? Do not be so delusional, Professor." He spits the title like a swear, the title that he used to exclaim with such joy, such excitement, such — don't-say-it-don't-fucking-say-it-you-wretch — love — fuck — once upon a time. His voice grows harder, harsher, from his self-directed fury. "As long as that heart of yours beats, pumps blood within your whole, hale skin and bone, you cannot contend to be one of the many spectres that haunt me. You have said the same yourself."

  "Then take it."

  He lifts his aching head to behold the piercing glow of green in her eyes, searing with hurt and something that does not look like wrath, which would be what he rightfully deserves. Behind her beautiful, haunting visage is a blend of resignation and determination, and it bores into his soul more powerfully than even the memory of her bewitching smile.

  He is mesmerized all over again when she pledges herself, heart, body, and soul to him, as if he is the god and she, the believer.

  "If you need a heart, Dimitri, then I will give you my heart," she says. "If you need a sword, then I will be your sword. And when you need someone to show you the way, then I will become that person to guide you back. Ghosts and gods should not dictate the paths of the living."

  And he laughs, oh, how he laughs, cackling like the madman that he is — not from the sheer blasphemy of her words, though she would likely be put to the stake had she told anyone actually devout, but from the idiotic notion that she believes he deserves her help or anything at all. He is a man steeped in sin.

  …He is a man steeped in sin, he realizes, and the flash of greed that flickers to life in his mind seems like a mere speck against his mountains of misdeeds.

  "If—" And he stumbles over the words; he's indignant, outraged, in disbelief at what he's about to say, but that is Dimitri feeling all of those human foibles, and he is a savage beast.

  "I-if your words ring true, then kneel. Offer your body to your king."

  She leaves him.

  That is — she should be leaving him; that's what she's supposed to do, but, oh goddess, she's not; she's staying; she's kneeling, and what in the eternal flames was he expecting when he explicitly ordered her to do that?

  He curses himself, but the thought is drowned in the cacophony of screeches from his dearly departed. His step-mother hangs her head in despair, even as it hangs by a flap of skin to her neck. His father is all outrage, assaulting him with a flurry of questions: What do you think you're doing? Will doing this bring you any closer to our murderer's head? How could I raise this as my son? 

  Glenn clicks his tongue in disgust and doesn't even face him. I can't believe that I died just for you to get your dick wet.

  Glenn's comment stings most of all, and Dimitri prepares himself to send her away — tell her that it was just a tasteless joke, just like his joking not-joke at the Goddess tower.

  But then Byleth, obeying the spirit of his law but not the letter of it, begins to strip, and the words disappear with all his ability to think.

Bits of metal clang against the stone floor, and he swears that he can hear the goddess laughing cruelly at him through the echoes. Illuminated in the moonlight pouring down from the broken rooftop, her vessel looks every inch divine, soft curves and sinuous muscle, and he is helpless, pathetic, weak. He is a mortal, a man, and (he tells himself that) instinct possesses him the moment that she casts off her shirt. With only inches in between them, the hem of her clothing grazes against his gauntlet.

The new archbishop had brushed away the dust coating the headstone, plopped her bum onto the grass, and spoken aloud to the frigid air. In hindsight, a living confidant might have been better, but sharing the news with her parents first just seemed right.

  So she told them, or what she had left of them, about the proposal. About how her betrothed made her really, truly, happy, despite having every possible reason to languish in abject misery for eternity. About how he was the same, charming man who originally taught her what happiness was supposed to look and was supposed to feel like, a short lifetime ago. And about how he was to be crowned king of the United Kingdom of Fodlan in just a few hours' time.

  And only after she finished her impromptu briefing — for just a fleeting moment — Byleth had heard her father's gravelly chuckle, stretching all the way down from his space in the heavens.

  It is a preposterous thought, to be fair. Jeralt would've laughed and laughed and then drank himself into a stupor to cope once he realized that she was serious.

  After all, the lifelong mercenary Byleth Eisner AKA the life-shortening Ashen Demon doesn't know a damn thing about nobles and noble etiquette, much less royal etiquette. The daughter of the Blade Breaker grew up using knives as forks and her hands as spoons and only bothered learning otherwise after a scandalized Lorenz blockaded the door to her quarters with etiquette textbooks.

  Reading his disciplinary book report had been more punishment for her than it had been for him, come to think of it.

"Well, what are you waiting for, my king?" his beloved asked, cupping her breasts in a way that just barely — inadequately — protected her modesty. "Come and conquer me."

  Dimitri awoke with a start, falling off his bed in his panic. "Professor!"

  Sylvain awoke to the sound of a violent thump.

"It's not just revenge that I'm fighting for, Dimitri. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I choose to fight for what I believe in."

  He scoffs. "And what might that be?"

  Her lips quirk in what resembles a rueful smile, but it can't be counted as a smile — not with the crushing, despondent pain that wells up behind her eyes. "It's for a wish that I made long ago. Our wish."

  He hasn't the patience for these games of vague words and masked intentions, but perhaps once upon a time he did, when he was still playing prince atop a stage of pretty words and ugly ambition. 

  "It's clear that you don't remember," she says, too quickly. "Maybe another time, then."

"I fight to create a world where no one will be unjustly taken from us again. That is my wish — to see yours brought to life."

"Even if you didn't remember it anymore; even if you didn't believe in it anymore — this has been the path that I've chosen for myself, Dimitri."

#dimileth #fe3h #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri x byleth #byleth fire emblem #fire emblem: three houses

[aeide-thea]

(i’m only doing dracula secondhand rn, although i have read it ever, and i’m delighted that everyone’s having fun but i gotta say, the inevitable way in which the usual tumblr discourse is starting to creep in around the edges as people belatedly discover that the text is, gasp, Problematic is—a lil exhausting 2 me? like. of course the text is Problematic. maybe tumblr book club can do wilkie collins next and really have fits. like. what kinds of things did you expect a victorian-era brit* to position as scary??

and like. not fair of me, probably. people don’t know shit and it’s good they’re learning and it’s always good to contemplate and analyze things! but at the same time it just feels a little like—are you going anywhere with these announcements of Orientalist Spectres Haunting Europe, etc? or are you just having fits abt having made contact with something Impure, and trying to expiate yr sins by squawking about it?

like. idk. i love analysis! but some of the posts i’ve seen starting to float around just feel like. halfway between Baby’s First High School English Essay (That Doesn’t Really Have a Thesis, Just Descriptions of What’s Happening in the Text) and, like, scrupulosity? like. tell me something about all the fucked-up fears stoker is leveraging here! make an argument! just announcing that these things exist in the text feels like. no shit. so glad we could crowdsource a second sparknotes (now with more guilt!) right here on tumblr dot edu, so we don’t have to look anything up.

idk, i’m having trouble articulating exactly what’s alienating me about this, and i do realize i’m probably being excessively irritable! really i think it’s just like, i desperately want a mode of reaction to media—to the world, really—that’s more complex than either ‘shhh, i’m averting my eyes from anything troubling abt this bc Capitalism Has Worn Me Down and now i’m too depressed and exhausted to engage with anything in a way that isn’t purely escapist,’ or else ‘i’m going to enumerate all the -isms that Taint this narrative, in a way that strongly suggests i’d prefer some kind of ahistorically, implausibly sanitized version of it so i was spared the necessity of confronting anything real or difficult, and could revert back to the aforementioned eyes-averted escapist mode without being Tainted by Associating With Problematic Narratives I Failed to Denounce As Is Proper…’

that’s a lot of words and not a lot of clarity, but basically: there has to be a more generative mode of engagement somewhere, somehow, that isn’t just this facile binary in which we either spit something out immediately, like reactive children, or else swallow it whole! i want to chew on stuff, and build muscle.)

⸻ * it has been pointed out in the comments, and i agree, that this is an oversimplifying elision—stoker was, yes, british, but more specifically irish (which i did know, but didn’t say), and while really this phrasing was an attempt to gesture at the way in which brit-ish orientalist anxieties are activated in the text, not compress stoker into an uncomplicatedly imperialist boogeyman, it’s still a reductive description! like. ‘colonized artist leans into colonizer anxieties, aligns self as sympathetic narrator with Correct Worldview at expense of more-othered Foreigners’ is still not an especially innovative analysis, but it does at least immediately bump the complexity of our model from binary to trinary—a complication devoutly to be wished, under the circs!

#bookblogging #(i guess) #metatumbling #my eternal cry: why is tumblr not actually a humanities grad program. #it comes so close sometimes! and then other times is just. so far. #unfortunately i’m too brainfucked to get into one so i’m just. here. mourning.

[augustheart]

re jsa fistfight vs. retire post- Challenge of ranking: who needs to be Immediately Beaten the Fuck Out to Time-Out Corner. why? because I am seeking violence and I suspect the old guard are near the top. (also bonus points: top two jsaers who need to retire for their own health.)

assorted jsa members ranked by how badly i want to fistfight them:

alan. don't even think i could win i just need to attack him with vicious intent.

hawkman. fuck you hawkman you know what you did

rex tyler may be the world's first transmasc absent father but i'm about to become the world's first transmasc to beat up the world's first transmasc absent father

ted knight. yes i understand that the point of him is that he changes his ways and relearns how to be a father to jack. i don't care anytime i reread early starman '94 i want to kick his knees in

the spectre for what he represents and also for making me endure day of vengeance

power girl :( i'm sorry karen i know you would not do this if it weren't for geoff johns' sinful hand but i do think you should be punched for most of early jsa '07.

jay as a sign of the warrior's respect and also because he deserves to be punched in the face sometimes

ted grant as a sign of warrior's respect and also because he deserves to be punched in the face sometimes 2

hector gets dug up and i kill him again for the crime of being the most annoying bore in existence.

libby chambers ranks here because i give deadbeat moms a pass sometimes

slap al in the face for lilah sturges writing reasons

ma hunkel. i cannot win and i do not intend to i just think it'd be a good way to show affection to her. ranked so low because she's done nothing wrong and would break every single one of my bones

sand because i feel bad for leaving him out

mr. terrific but again, i would Lose, and then i would get his autograph and frame it

people who are generally spared: i have zero beef with charles and pieter, it's like the warrior's respect seen above but instead it's the falconer's respect. todd and jennie are safe because i like them. i could never hurt ty he is like a brother to me. al pratt is my short king representation so i have to give him a pass. and of course my best friend loves hawkgirl so i cannot lift a hand against her.

collective baby tier: grant, tom, maxine, courtney, jakeem, billy, i guess technically jen was on the team so her too. ranked below the spares because i would never hurt them whereas i could be convinced to fight the people above. minus ty <3

don't assume i forgot anyone for this list i either don't even feel the need to specify that i'm sparing them (dinah, kent nelson, so on) or hardly remember their existence in the first place (magog, so on).

top two people in line for retirement:

nate heywood. no further statement necessary.

rick tyler quit your Fucking superheroism career become an elementary school art teacher. while i legitimately think it would've been interesting if he'd actually quit circa infinity inc calgary murder moment and then never gone back, i don't think i want that to have happened. realistically i wish he'd quit in the mid 2000s and become a full time wifeguy. [insert that panel of rick telling roy that he's stopped taking pills and has instead begun injecting the substance he is addicted to directly into his veins and roy being like "ok. well. i will still be your sponsor" here.]

bonus: grant but not permanently. i think he needs to re-examine what heroism means to him, however at the end of the day i think he not only truly wants to be a superhero but finds meaning in using powers that literally mean self-destruction to help others. this could've happened offpage while he was staying with roy's family however it apparently didn't because then we got jsa '07.

#YES. KILL. #extended post #ask to tag #scarabaebutch

[delusion-of-negation]

Thank you for inspiring me to think about how overvalued and overglorified romantic relationship and feelings are... They're just different way of bonding that's similar and not even exclusive to friendship, and also just positive emotions people experience. They aren't virtuous in any way.

mhmm, I think the idea of seeing some ways of loving as virtue, others as sin, is dangerous. when I think about banging the guy who's stupid perfect face haunts my brain, it's not a negative or malicious thought, I'm just horny - it's easier to deal with than a romantic feeling because I can't jack off my heart, but it's just a feeling still. if I see one as bad and beat myself up for it, that will eventually become a drain on me, and prevent me from the way more logical reaction of... just jack off. I'm at home in bed, that's perfectly fine. meanwhile, if I view love as this virtuous, perfect, untouchable feeling, the same happens. instead of "text him the stupid video you saw earlier, he says oh fuck that reminds me of something, you talk, everybody wins", which is fine too. idolising romance actually prevents us from saying "what is it that I really actually want to do right now?" it mystifies it as much as having demonising views of sexual love mystifies that. maybe I just will listen to a soppy song, maybe I need to talk to my friend, maybe actually I'm just horny again (it's often this one ngl lmao), but it's definitely not going to become clearer if I'm like "love, profound, perfect, pure, alas she eludes me", like?? no?? it's a problem with incels too- half the time they need a hug, they need a friend that they're able to confide in and who makes them feel valued, they probably need a blowjob ngl but so do most people. thing is, it's become this hazy spectre in their brains - it's a tornado of needs nobody can unravel or question, and thus nobody can meet, like literally even the most perfect robot tradwife in the world would completely flounder in the face of such fuzzy and all-consuming expectations, and they'll be let down. anger does the same. that probably is easier to acknowledge from the outside, that when a person makes you lose your temper it's a spinny mass that you'd need to disassemble to address, but in the moment you see red. however when I say that about love people go "no it is magic!" it actually isn't. it just isn't. it's a web of feelings and if you take the stance that it's not then you mystify it such that it's just useless. which is why those feelings can absolutely mesh with horror, it's simply a matter of being a skilled enough writer to convey more unfamiliar territory for a lot of people - I think happy sugar life is incredible at breaking down love and yet showing it as love. that deconstruction of mystified feelings is something I truly enjoy. I additionally don't think any feelings or categories of feelings are completely wholly distinct and immutable, it's more nuanced, it shouldn't be so stuffed into binary boxes and oversimplified tbh.

re (I think, but I've talked about ace and aro stuff a lot lately)

[redorich]

A favorite trope of mine has always been- getting to see another person’s past. Is it some kind of judgment thing by a higher power? Something like Freeze Day from SCTFOE? Person trapped in a nightmare and their nightmare is being projected? Who knows. All that’s important is after months of healing, some of the Hermits get to see exactly what Tommy went through. It shows short clips of him before being happy, the rise and fall of Manburg, Wilbur going insane, the festival, the withers, all of it. Just short clips of these things though. The last clip of the SMP is just Dream’s mask outlined by his green hood saying, “you’ll stay here alone with just me until you learn to be quite and respectful and not fight those who are in power over you. Even if you have to stay out here *forever*.”

This turned into a whole drabble smh xD

((btw @give-grian-rights helped me so thank you))

-------

The remaining hermits aren’t sure what happened. They have no way of knowing. There was a witch involved, Cub thinks, but what their fallen friends must have done to piss her off to the point of getting cursed is beyond their ken. Among those laid out are Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Tommy.

Scar and Cub work their Vex magic together to figure out that their friends are trapped in their worst memories. (Etho calls it a Demonic Hell Viewing Illusion, and False smacks him upside the head for the Naruto reference.) Holding hands with a victim pulls you in, but that’s what they’re counting on. Joe’s already wading through Cleo’s nightmare before anyone gets the chance to ask, and Impulse and Tango aren’t far behind doing the same for Zedaph. However, it doesn’t work for Grian, Xisuma, and Tommy; they were found already holding hands. They must have figured something out about the curse before they succumbed to it. All the hermits can do for them, for the time being, is hope.

Tommy, Grian, and Xisuma wake to the smell of sulphur and smoke. The ground is orange and littered with bullets. Grian grabs Tommy’s hand, and Xisuma grabs a discarded rifle. Tommy points his finger up at the top of a mound of scrap metal and dead bodies. There’s a nether portal, except the obsidian is whiter than quartz. That's where they have to go to get out of here.

All around them, demons lurch and shriek and hiss and all sorts of unholy behavior, bodily flinging themselves at the trio as though they know none of them can take the men on their own, and that just by dogpiling them all one of them will get lucky. Xisuma instantly snaps into a professional mode, the way he sometimes does when he's killing zombies but they keep social spawning. He takes up the lead with machine gun fire and grenades, carving a path through the crowd. Grian takes up the rear with a handgun. Neither Xisuma nor Tommy ask why Grian is so comfortable with a gun. They've got more pressing issues.

An imp gets lucky. It's just enough to crack the visor of Xisuma's helmet, and the imp instantly gets mowed down.

"I can't see," Xisuma rasps through gritted teeth.

"Then take the helmet off," Tommy says, cleaving through an enemy with a sharp piece of scrap metal. Grian breathes in sharply. As far as Grian's aware, Xisuma always wears his helmet.

Xisuma goes quiet for a second. "I suppose you've got a point."

The helmet gets dropped to the ground and demon limbs shuffle it away. They don't have time to look at Xisuma's wild brown hair, his purple eyes, the burn scars on his jaw.

They make it to the portal all in one piece. Xisuma takes one last wistful look at the Martian hellscape, then takes his friends' hands. They step through the portal together.

----

They step out of the portal into the foyer of a high school. Grian's eyes shutter.

"We'll be headed toward the roof, I believe," he says, staring dully through the spectre of a broken, bloody man holding a rope.

Tommy latches onto Grian's clammy hand to ground him as the three ascend stairs and traverse the dark, winding hallways. The ghost follows them. It isn't like Ghostbur-- it's, well, not vengeful, but it's not kind. The man named Gareth keens about Grian's sins, about a boy named Taurtis who Gareth hates, about mafia and yakuza, about his poor wife Jane.

On the last set of stairs, Gareth makes a wailing remark that causes Grian to bodily flinch. Tommy doesn't even know what the ghost said (he wasn't listening).

"Fuck off," Tommy says, "you're the shittest ghost I've ever met. Even my brother could..."

He trails off. This is not the way to fix things for Grian. On a hunch, he reaches into his pocket. Of course the object he's looking for is in there; it's his brother's coat.

He holds the object out to the ghost. "Have some blue."

Gareth warily takes it, dropping his rope. It floods periwinkle, then cyan, then dark royal blue. A weight seems lifted from the ghost's shoulders as he clutches the blue, mutters something about Jane, and leaves.

Tommy takes Grian's hand, then Xisuma's, and they go through the door to the school's rooftop together. They halt as one. The portal is there. Standing between them is a boy maybe Tommy's age, with a corpse at his feet.

"Sam," Grian whispers. "Taurtis."

The standing boy smiles, eyes obscured by a purple mask with a rectangular symbol on it, and flexes bloody wings. The corpse on the ground has blood all over its back, where wings once were, and broken headphones around his neck.

"Man, Grian, you really held out on me," Sam says. "This Watcher power really is something else--"

Sam topples over backward. His body hits the ground in front of the portal. Xisuma lowers his gun.

"He looked like bad news," Xisuma says.

Grian grimaces. "He was. Come on, let's go."

They once again step into the portal.

----

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?” Technoblade roars, “Then die like one!”

Their paltry little group of three gets no chance to take in their surroundings, to see what’s going on and where they need to go. All they can process is the legendary PvP champion, acolyte of the Blood God, Technoblade, unleashing Withers upon what once might have been a town.

Tommy yanks them into cover. “I don’t know where the portal is,” he hisses.

Grian squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

Explosions rain hellfire down upon them from all angles-- not just the Withers, but TNT buried in the ground. They’re so close, they can see the man who set it off. And he must have, because he’s yelling about it, yelling about his L’Manberg and his unfinished symphony and begging his father to kill him. He’s wearing Tommy’s coat--

Bile rises in the back of Grian’s throat. Tommy wears his brother’s coat.

Tommy’s eyes are glued to the gleaming diamond sword that Wilbur gives to his father. He watches his brother die all over again, and he knows where he must go. He turns his back on his broken family and breathes.

“We need to go to the Nether,” he says. They nod.

The black portal is across the battlefield. They come across corpses more than once on their way, but ignore them. They can’t afford not to.

In the Nether, there is a rickety, dangerous pathway with no rails, made of cobblestone and obsidian and oak logs. Manic-depressive ravings on signs proclaim the path as the road to Logstedshire. Piglins try to knock them off to no avail, and ghasts blow up the bridge behind them as they run. On the other side of the Logstedshire portal is... actually not a hellscape, as Grian and Xisuma have come to expect, but a little village encampment. Nothing is blown up, nothing is amiss, except Tommy himself. And, of course, the figure they spot after they catch Tommy staring at it.

It’s Dream. The up-and-coming famous speedrunner who Grian faintly recalls killing once in MCC, which was apparently a big deal. The man approaches, and Grian realizes where he recognizes the mask from. It’s the same one that Tommy wears.

“Tommy,” Dream says conversationally, “items in the pit.”

Tommy’s hand wavers, reaches up to unclasp his chestplate, but Xisuma’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No,” Tommy says.

“No?” Dream parrots incredulously. “You know the rules. It’s for your own good. Armor in the pit. Tools in the pit. Friends in the pit.”

They all gasp, though for different reasons. Tommy’s eyes narrow. “Friends in the pit? You’ve never said that one before.”

Dream’s head twitches. “Friends in the pit. Friends. In the pit.”

The man’s voice is deeper than Tommy remembers. Something seems to resolve within Dream’s behavior, yet he keeps twitching. “You’re in exile, Tommy, you don’t need. Friends. I’m all you need. You were doing so good. I thought you learned to behave. I’m all you need. You don’t need friends.”

What happened to the eloquent poison that used to drip from Dream’s tongue like honey? He sounds like a broken record. All at once, Tommy staggers under the weight of the realization that this isn’t Dream. Somewhere underneath that horrible man that abused him is the real Dream, trapped in his own body and watching the dreamon that possessed him hurt his friends.

Xisuma’s gun makes an appearance again, but Tommy holds up a hand in a silent request for the admin to hold his fire. Tommy grabs Dream by the shoulders, removes Dream’s mask and then his own so that he can look the man in the eyes. “I know you’re in there, Dream. When I get out of this nightmare, I’ll save you. I swear it on my discs.”

Dream’s face twitches erratically. The movement spreads to his whole head, neck jerking. He raises straight up into the air, higher and higher, then explodes into a shower of items and no body. A white portal shimmers into existence.

“What the hell was that?!” Grian demands.

Tommy grins, taking the man’s hand and leading him to the portal. “I’ve got a friend to save.”

Grian snarls. “Tommy, he abused you. He’s not your friend.”

“That wasn’t Dream. It was a--”

“Dreamon,” Xisuma breathes.

Tommy nods. They walk through the portal together, and when they wake, holding each other close, they know they’ve got a mission. They can do it.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #yandere high school #yhs #doom #cubfan135 #zombiecleo #grian #xisumavoid #zedaph #tommyinnit #hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommyinnit #goodtimeswithscar #ethoslab #joe hills #impulsesv #tango tek #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #dreamwastaken #me.txt

[brawltogethernow]

Sooooooooooooooooooo which DC characters get the "confusing aggressive flirtation" treatment from dear Pete

Booster Gold

Spectre (*)

Clayface

Apollo while Midnighter is standing right there

Swamp Thing

Wally West

Killer Croc

Arthur Curry (*)

Midnighter while he’s working solo

John Constantine (might flirt back)

Etrigan (but not Jason Blood) (*)

Jason Todd if Peter misjudges his age up by a chunk of years

Black Manta (*)

Animal Man

Roy Harper

Batman (but not Brucie Wayne)

Jericho

Oracle encountered only as a distorted voice

J’onn J'onzz (*)

Jon Stewart

“Brawl!” you ask. “Are you literally just listing people randomly with a vague intention to upset me?” I fucking wish! Men Peter flirt with sort into four categories:

1. THE JOHNNY STORM ZONE: Twinks, himbos, and blonds. Peter is a massive face-con, but simultaneously finds pretty men threatening.

2. THE STOP BATTING YOUR EYES AT THE PUNISHER QUADRANT: Scruffy, older than him, functional disasters, murder hobos. Built but not OVERbuilt because I stan a protagonist who is both shallow and boring, for my sins.

3. THE DOC OCK ALLEY: Monster dudes, humanesque objects, and badly dressed middle-aged men all go in one category, however much I wish they didn’t. The most genuinely insincere variant. Peter uses his face-con sensibilities for evil. He acts like a monsterfucker for laffs, but isn’t actually that interesting.

4. THE LAMONT SPECIAL: Distinguished gents, silver foxes. Rare.

^Presumes Peter is in the original Titans lineup’s generation. Conclusion: Put him down.

#a sampler bc the dcu is bigge #peter parker #biderman #DCU #spidey #marvel #phoenixyfriend #asks answered #yeah i'll tag it but i'll also post it at midnight

[queenlua]

Last week you mentioned GPG has really serious problems. Could you tell me more about them? I can't find much of anything online.

first, thanks for your patience with this appallingly late reply! september hit me like a truck :P

second: huh, wow, okay, a cursory google search really failed to turn up much stuff, huh. depressing!

i'm-a talk about the summer 2019 keyserver attack, not because that's the only issue / security vuln / fuck-up the project has ever had, but because it's (1) a hilariously bad fuck-up, and (2) generally reflective of how the project deals with security concerns, and thus demonstrates that the project is fundamentally pretty unserious

so.

this gist, by one of GnuPG's maintainers, does an okay job of summarizing the problem. a brief summary:

* one of the putative purposes of OpenPGP is to provide a "web of trust" via keyservers. i know Jane Doe, i meet her in person, i verify she is who she says she is, and i sign her key; that signature gets reflected in some keyserver, which acts like a big phone book. now, in the future, if you can't personally go verify Jane Doe's trustworthiness, but you do trust me, you can trust communications from Jane Doe, and you looked all this info up in the keyserver

* "what if a malicious actor tried to overload the keyserver?!?!" e.g. what if i spam ~150k signatures on some dude's key just to fuck with the network

* the answer, in the case of GnuPG, is, "this software is shitty and bad and can't deal with that volume so it just grinds to a fucking halt"

* ...and also most the keyservers try to copy their data from each other so you can have a ~web of trust~ throughout the network, which means, these malicious keys quickly perpetuate through the entire nnetwork

* which means anyone who receives the Forbidden Key Data TM, in practical terms, has broken their fucking GnuPG install, and that whole ~web of trust~ thing we built up is now unusable

technically speaking, this is not a security lapse per se! no cryptography has been broken; no secret data has been leaked. it is, however, a fairly straightforward denial of service attack, and is probably kind of disappointing if you wanted your security software to, you know, do software things

and look, anyone can be bitten by a nasty bug. you'll never see me being like "WOW WHAT DUMBFUCKS, HOW COULD ANYONE WRITE SUCH A STUPID BUG," because, y'know, there but for the grace of god i go, and all that. if anyone tells you they're smart enough to never write a bug, they're a fucking liar.  (my full-time job for a while was literally proving those people liars, and i never fucking failed, not because i am brilliant, but because all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of god. [sorry for all the god stuff; my long-abandoned southern baptist heritage comes through when i'm talking security for some reason])

however! the manner in which you respond to such a vulnerability matters:

* let's say i had discovered this bug in GnuPG. the industry standard, if i'm kind and polite, is: i disclose the bug privately to the maintainers, and they have a 90-day window during which to fix it. if they still haven't fixed the problem at the end of the 90 days, that's fine, that's their prerogative, but *i* also get to announce to the world "hey there's this bad bug, here's how i found it, and here's how to exploit it."

this is done to keep The World In General TM safer. see, i'm just some rando. if *i'm* able to find a bug in your shitty software, then it's guaranteed the NSA or Unit 8200 or some-other-super-secret-government-agency absolutely has the resources and wherewithal to find the same bug. and also, some slimy just-in-it-for-the-money hacker gang probably also has the resources to find it. by telling the company "hey, i will go public with this in 90 days," i'm lighting a fire under their ass to actually fix the problem, rather than just letting them pretend security by obscurity will save them, and if they don't fix it by then, then at least users have a prayer of finding out, hey, these dudes do not take security problems seriously, and making informed choices based on that.

there is some wiggle room in this. for instance, the fuck are cloud vendors supposed to do about something like Spectre/Meltdown? there were some shitty, not-100%-effective mitigations that could be done in software, but fundamentally the only real fix was getting new hardware, and tragically, we cannot redesign, manufacture, and ship brand new CPUs to everybody who might be affected within a 90-day timeframe. ergo, Google Project Zero pushed their disclosure deadline way out on that. but, crucially: they still went public at some point, and Intel did not cry "wah" or "no fair" or anything like that. they worked with researchers as best as they could, and once the cat was out of the bag, they offered public resources to help developers understand how their software might be affected. that's the rules of the game.

compare this to, uh, GnuPG's outrageously shitty response (from the previously-linked gist), which can basically be summarized as:

* "wah ocaml is complicated and we don't know how to maintain our own fucking software wah"

* "ten years [?!?!?!] wasn't enough time for us to fix the problem wah"

* "whoever did this attack is a hater :((((("

which. what. what the actual fuck. those are not actual reasons to not fix your sofwtare.

also, the way in which you present your software matters:

* i've thrown up shitty hobby projects on github before. if someone came to me all earnest with a CVE against them, i'd laugh, append the README to say "yo i threw this together on a weekend while i was buzzed, you should absolutely not be relying on this for anything that matters, xoxo lua." that is 100% fine! advertising THIS SOFTWARE IS NOT NECESSARILY SECURE and thus electing not to give a shit about security problems is fine.

* i've been a part of things that are... somewhere between a hobby project and Real Software TM. e.g., research prototypes that you're hoping will be widely used so you can get a better sense of desired use cases and unexpected constraints, but which you hope will be used primarily by "power users" or others who are interested in that project's specific goals.

such a project may not be able to offer the same kinds of security guarantees as Fancy Corporate Software, and that's fine, so long as they're open and honest about stuff like: what the goals of the project are, what we're sure of and what we're less sure of, how we're vetting our stuff, what our policies are when someone does report a security issue, stuff like that. there's plenty of stuff maintained on a volunteer basis that i'd generally trust because, i expect they'll notify me if there is a serious security concern to be worried about, or they have a long track record of excellence in a narrowly-tailored space, etc. that's all good.

* what you cannot, cannot, cannot do, is: claim to offer some kind of robust security solution to people in actually-precarious situations, and then not actually act like a steward of those person's interests. if you're, oh, telling Venezeulan dissidents "our [shitty hobby] software [with gaping, well-known vulnerabilities that haven't been exploited yet ONLY because no major nation-state entity has felt threatened by our code yet, but if they were so threatened, they could trivially wreck the entire project using a well-documented years-old vulnerability we can't be assed to fix because ocaml is hard i guess] is safe and reliable to use!"

...if you're telling political dissidents that? and then you get over-the-top pissed off at someone pointing out the fucking problem you refuse to fix? and somehow make it all about mememe? then fuck you, sincerely. the threat those dissidents face is not someone breaking the fucking key network. the threat is you, you personally, because you are fucking lying to them about what your software is able to do.

GOD. sorry, just. i reread that link and got so pissed again. fuck that attitude entirely. if you let people down, fucking just sit with that for a bit, okay?  sit and think and do better next time.  christ.

anyway.

this is a particularly gratuitous example of GnuPG maintainers being little shits, but in general they've been lackadaisical and dismissive some other times in the past when people have brought them real security problems, and then act all pissy if, y'know, people go public with said security problems. i haven't kept up with their work lately (i think maybe the community got kind of annihilated by this keyserver thing?) & i have other bones to pick with any project of that type (it's kind of taking the wrong tack entirely imho), but like, yeah, in general if a software community's response to security bugs is "oh gosh that's hard maybe we'll get to it someday," you should not be trusting that software lol

#filthy hacker shit #LONG post #honestly it took me like three times to keep this from spiraling into a fucking novel so #here's the shortest version i could manage. #hit me up for pissy computer security rants: if you really want to know #also this tone is like... probably more pissy than necessary sorry #there is some more nuance that could be had here but i just get kinda miffed when people claim to do A Security and then do the opposite

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings:  comfort/ injury /SMUT (super explicit I’m not kidding I have sinned)/ This is just straight up pornography tbh

      * Summary: uh, sex. They bang.

      * Word Count: 2631

*So I’ve never written such naughty, naughty things in my life….I thought I’d have a hard time but oops I guess I’m a whore. To prepare me for the ensuing sacrilege I read and then re-read the exquisite smutty work of @absurdthirst, @yespolkadotkitty, and @di-kut. Many thanks to these amazing writers for continuing to inspire me.

Part One        Part Two        Part Three

PART FOUR

    Time moved unlike a straight line from one point to another, but rather like the ripples in a stream when a pebble was tossed in. The pebble was the day you were attacked. Ezra was the stream, and he flowed around you and outward and rode time like it was a beast he could tame.

    You were surprised he let you use the refresher by yourself after that day. He was always hovering, a shadow ensuring you could not trip up, you could not wander and lose yourself.

Two weeks since the incident in the field, your bruises were finally faded to a sickly yellow. You were fortunate, incredibly so, to have not sustained more serious injury. Kevva had looked out for you, and now so did Ezra.

    You noticed that he had become a bit quieter, more contemplative. When he spoke to you he seemed to weigh his words. He checked in with you often- were you okay, were you thirsty, were you having bad dreams? Ezra had his share of nightmares, he was unafraid to tell you in the darkness of night that there was no weakness in confessing such things. He no longer hid how he looked at you, and you often held his gaze until you could bear no more and turned away burning. You noticed that he touched you often, a hand on your shoulder or against the small of your back. You remembered the day he had absentmindedly reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, as if he’d done it many multitudes of times before. It had made you feel like both a  treasure and an exposed nerve.

    Ezra’s cot stayed where it was moved that first night, sidled up with yours. You’d first held onto one another’s hands each night as part of a new ritual between soft words and sighs. You’d drifted slowly closer in cover of darkness, eventually tucked against him when you awoke in the morning. It began to be like this more often than not.

    You’d refrained from trying to broach anything more physical from him for the time being as you healed from your injuries. As you slowly came back to yourself, your desire for him returned. One night, instead of latching onto his hand, you’d beckoned his arms around you and aligned your back with his chest. His breath bloomed sweetly against the back of your neck as you ran a warm palm slowly up and then down the arm around your waist. Your skin felt electric against him. Slowly he responded to your languid touches with his own, rounding his own burning palms over the curve of your hip. A sense of fullness began to build between your legs, and pressure was cresting to an aching burn as some hidden part of you roared awake. You were dimly aware of your breaths becoming heavier, more explosive.

    The string snapped. Without warning Ezra ground his hips into yours and attached his hot mouth to your neck. You could not stop the moan that escaped your mouth, it surprised you in its volume. Ezra moaned in answer to you and placed his lips to the shell of your ear.

    “Is this real? Is this really happening?” His voice was impossibly low, husking and landing in plosives against your ear. The feeling of the low force of his words were like an electric shock that arched straight to your cunt.

    Your eyes were squeezed shut, you were convinced that at any second he might evaporate. You gasped and arched your back involuntarily when you felt the tip of his hot, wet tongue against your lobe. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you felt as if you would explode. He strained forward to meet the cleft of your ass and you felt him, impossibly hot and hard. Your voice left you strangled.

    “Ha...oh...fuck Ezra…pleasepleaseplease touch me. I’ll die if you don’t touch me…”

    His lips still held to your ear, he murmured to you as his own breath gasped and hitched.

    “Dove, you have to know that this cannot be a one-time encounter. I intend on ruining you for anyone else.” His teeth nipped at your neck, you gasped and shuddered. You were going to cum just like this, his breath and his words and his length pressed against you and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

    You actually sobbed when his hand finally connected with you, you had expected his fingers to go first to your breasts like the well-established patterns of foreplay the men before him ascribed to, but instead his hand had curved down the swell of your ass and had slid between your legs to cup your weeping core. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you keened out into the darkness and ground yourself desperately against the heel of his hand. 

He pressed against you and your cunt was volcanically hot through the thin fabric of your thermal pants.

    “How are you so hot?” he whispered, as if almost to himself. “How is this divine sex so ready for me?” His voice was impossibly closer. “Answer me, angel.”

    You craned your head backward to seek his mouth. His words were molten, you felt like you were flying apart.

    “Ezra, please…..”

    Before you could blink, Ezra was ripping your pants down your legs, barely pausing to unhook them from your ankles, tossing them violently to the side.

   Getting back on the cot he rolled you onto your back before plunging his hand back between your legs. His fingers slid through your slick, and the groan that ripped itself from his mouth was filthy.

    “FUCK.” He was panting against your mouth, his lips hovering, not touching, just beyond your grasp. You inhaled as he exhaled desperately, gasping him into you the way you needed him inside you elsewhere.

    “Kevva wept, I have never felt a cunt like this, if this is what I am doing to you I’m as good as deified.” You gasped when he removed his hand and brought it up to your face. Your slick was coating each digit like a perverse film, webbing in strands between his fingers.

You should have shook with embarrassment, you thought, but your eyes widened in fascination as he brought his sodden fingers to your mouth and slowly painted your lips with your own arousal. You flicked your tongue out to taste yourself. 

    “Oh my God,” you whined.

    It was then that Ezra finally kissed you, dipping his own tongue into the cavern of your mouth before following with his feral lips. His hand shot back down between your legs and he pressed his first two fingers to either side of your aching clit.

    He moved his mouth against yours with a growl as he pressed down and slid his fingers up and down aside your erect bud, the noises from your soaked core reverberating through the tent. 

    Without warning your orgasm slammed into you like an intergalactic freighter, and you vaguely realized you may be screaming. Your entire body seized and shook, your back arching you off the mattress, and it was nothing like anything you’d ever experienced, you could not control the movements of your limbs and you could feel your cunt squeezing and gushing and bearing down on nothing as Ezra seemed momentarily as surprised as you were.

    His eyes locked on your face, wide with wonder as he kept up a slow, steady pace.

    “My sweet, beautiful girl, I’ve never seen anything as erotic as the spectre of you falling apart beneath me…” His eyes, soulful and sincere, searched yours as his fingers moved lower to your twitching hole. He slid his mouth back to the cusp of your ear and pitched his voice low and the syrup that erupted from his tongue was soaked in sin.

    “Do it again.”

    He slid first one, then two fingers into your grasping channel. The way he moaned when he did so, it could have been his cock instead.

    “Sweet Kevva fuck, I may not survive you.”

    He angled his fingers and zeroed in on a textured, spongy portion of your leaking passage and pistoned his fingers in and out against it. You were immediately brought right back to the precipice as you felt another climax build within you. You were shocked, having never been brought so close so quickly before. In the past you’d had orgasms with women and men, but you were always left sated after one, if a bit overstimulated. You were wholly inexperienced when it came to the razor-sharp lust and hunger that Ezra was spiking in you.

    You were making sounds you’d thought yourself incapable of. You should have been mortified. You were consumed, you could not find it within yourself to care.

    Ezra slanted his mouth to yours and sank his teeth into your lower lip, pulling it outward as obscene wet noises continued unabated. The pressure between your legs was building and you didn’t know if you could handle it, didn’t know how to ride this wave but your legs were shaking, your head thrown back and mouth open.

    Ezra watched your face with his forehead resting against yours, tracking your frantic eyes roaming wide, blown black with lust. He whispered low, almost imperceptible.

    “.....yesyesyesyesyesyes…….”

    When your dam burst this time it was different, deeper. You could not cry, you could not scream. You convulsed, almost folding in half. You had no control over your movements. You were dimly aware that you’d soaked your mattress, you’d soaked Ezra’s fingers and he swore thickly as you clamped and squeezed and fluttered around his hand.

    “Look at you Dove, you’re doing so well for me. So tight, so perfect. I have dreamt of exactly this for endless nights. It has been an exquisite torture to lie mere feet from you and deprive myself of this gift, resplendent before me.”

    Your hands flew to the sides of his face, grabbing the hair that curled around his ears. You pulled his face down to yours and kissed him, groaning into his mouth as your tongue ran along his teeth. You tried to pour into it every ounce of emotion you felt, desire and abandon still flashing and sparking. You ran one hand down his chest, down the front of his pants and through the curls on the soft flesh of his groin. Ezra stilled, mouth open and gasping when you wrapped your hand around his cock. It was larger than you’d anticipated and you paused mid-stroke, stilling your hand on the weeping head. He was hot and leaking onto your hand.

    Ezra’s eyes were squeezed tight, panting rapidly against the side of your neck. He moaned softly as he moved his hand across the flesh of your breasts, pausing to pull and squeeze your nipples. You gasped at the pinching sensation shooting into you; your cunt clenched in response.

    “I want you in my mouth,” you husked out, lowering your hand further to cup his balls. Ezra hissed, his brow creasing.

    “I….I fear I won’t last long enough if that sinful mouth comes anywhere near to where I need you,” he whispered, and his voice was straining and desperate as he thrust into your slick palm. You craned your face upward, teeth scraping against his jaw.

    “Then fuck me, Ezra.”

    He swallowed thickly, then reached down with a trembling hand, rushing to free himself. You glanced down, eyes widening as he came into view, thick and curving up toward his stomach. He looked as big as he’d felt. You moved to help him remove his pants fully, but his hand quickly moved to still your wrist.

    “I meant what I said, it’s been quite a few stands since I’ve indulged in pleasures of the flesh. Next time, perhaps, I will properly show my affections for you, however at present moment I fear I will reach my end by the time I have properly disrobed.”

   Your hand cupped his cheek as you nodded, biting your lip as Ezra moved to settle between your spread legs. Your thighs moved to frame his hips as he positioned himself at your opening. He once again leaned his forehead against yours, locking eyes with you, and began to enter you.

    The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. You thought he may have hurt you, had you not been so primed. His mouth hung open, eyes trained on yours until he reached your end and rolled them backward. You were split open on his cock, you had never felt so full, the sensations an incredible ache of indescribable pleasure. You involuntarily twitched around him and Ezra groaned and panted, seemingly overwhelmed in his own right.

    “I have never…..in all my years. Felt something….as fucking heavenly…..” He drew back, the drag of him forcing your stretched lips to cling to him obscenely. The drag made you drunk on him, you growled and sank your teeth into his shoulder. The sound of him advancing on you once more, meeting your tight resistance and pushing through, was charging the air around you. Electric. He angled his hips downward and stars, he found that spot again, and you could tell he was losing control, he raked your shirt up around your neck and pawed desperately at your breasts and he leaned forward and sighed your name.

    His thumb notched between your lips as you gasped his name back at him.

    “....fuck…”

    He angled his hips back once more, and his next thrust was sudden and unexpected and hard , you cried out after gulping in air and he wasn’t stopping, he drove into you and into that spot over and over and over and you felt the tears streaming down your face. You were sobbing brokenly, you had never felt so powerless over the feel of him breaking you, tearing you apart in a way you never imagined existed. The world did not exist, pain and hurt and suffering did not exist, it was just you and Ezra in this universe, every thrust and gasp a prayer of thanks to whatever God existed that allowed this to happen, allowed you to feel like this. You had lost the power of speech, you could only cry and whimper and gasp, broken with pleasure. Ezra’s rhythm began to falter. He placed his hand around your neck and growled between clenched teeth.

    “Let the whole of the Green hear you, how I mark you deep enough to make you mine for the rest of your days. Let the world shake apart with the force of my love for you.”

    At that, his hips stilled as his orgasm hit. The very act of him coming seemed to trigger your own release, and once again you shook and arched, but you only had the strength to gasp and whimper and sob softly and your hips jerked upward and twitched of their own volition.

    He spilled into you, groaning loudly, biting at any exposed flesh he could find before collapsing onto you. You wound your arms around his neck. You remained dazed and overwhelmed by what had transpired. Your mind was blank, you were wrung out. Ezra slid to the side of you with a sigh and pressed his lips against your temple. His hand reached into your hair and he stroked his fingers in circles against your scalp. His breathing evened quickly, and for the first time since you’d landed on this cursed moon you fell into deep and dreamless sleep.

Tag list: @yespolkadotkitty, @rzrcrst, @ifimayhaveaword, @cyaredindjarin, @mstgsmy, @im-like-reallythirsty, @hellojustheretolookatmeemees, @mrpascals

#chews-erotically writes #ezra x reader #ezra prospect

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

His Dark Materials S2 Ep 6 - Rambling/Thoughts

I really cannot believe that we’re at the penultimate episode already, oh my gosh. It’s gone by so fast??

Again, because I’ve reread TSK in the last couple of weeks, the book is fresh in my mind but I’ve probably still missed stuff

Also last week was so intense and seeing the “previously on” section made me remember just how intense that was, so it’s a hard job to top that!

ANGELS AHH RIGHT AWAY IM GEEKING OUT

“The last time they were seen was to make war” - IT’S HAPPENING ASDFGHJKL

Ruta going off to see Asriel and me just remembering what exactly went down between them while she was there with him... heh

So Will’s hand looks AWFUL oh my god poor Will 😭

Pan is REALLY into his Red PAN-da form oh my goodness

So the other kids out for revenge terrified the living SHIT out of me, dear god I don’t think it could be any creepier than dozens of them appearing out of the shadows like that, like it’s genuinely terrifying

Serafina just dropped right in to rescue them and I was both relieved and a little disappointed? Because in the book the whole chase sequence is so much longer and more important, like it takes up most of an entire chapter I think, and here it’s like two minutes?

Serafina: What does this edge cut? // Lyra: Everything (Will at the same time: Nothing.) - 😂

I missed Lee and Jopari tbh so yay to seeing them once more! And they’ve crossed into the next world!

Oh hi again Mary!

^ I wasn’t expecting to see Mary again this series because in TSK book, her last appearance is going through the window (which was last episode), so I’m a little curious as to whether we’re going to get a TINY little peek into The Amber Spyglass here (it’s been years since I reread it, I apologize). Because last series they did a bit of TSK (namely introducing Will + him crossing into Cittagazze), so it would be interesting!

“Good, something I can understand for a change” - LOL Same

Serafina wants to take Lyra back to her world?? Really??

Not gonna lie, the two girls spying on Mary was kind of low-key creepy

Lyra mentioning that she crossed worlds to find out about Dust and mentioning Roger 😭

Also I’m so emotional over just how much she wants Will to be safe, like she would really do anything to keep him safe and I love it

Lyra asking the Alethiometer where Will’s dad is and “he’s in this world” - ahhh it’s going to happen!

Also I really hope that the BBC/whoever decides to sell replica Alethiometers because the design is so beautiful?! I would fork out serious dough for one, and it would go nicely with the one I have from the film

No but seriously, words don’t describe just how badly I want a replica

“I wanted to fly so I summoned you here, now I’m flying” - LOL OKAY THEN JOHN

Ooh damn, that outfit Marisa is wearing is FINE. I’m slightly gayer than I was before, ngl

I was like “nooo Mary don’t be nice to these kids, they’re awful”

But it’s very sweet that she offers them food?? Like she pulls a chocolate bar out and is like “it’s no good for you, it’s full of sugar”... I love her

The way that Mary was so happy and excited when they mentioned Lyra, only to tell the girls off for trying to kill her - more of a mum than Mrs Coulter tbh

“Miss, can I have a hug?” - AWWW OMG WHY AM I SAD

They asked Mary to stay and look after them omg 😭😭😭

“Come with me, I’ll bring you to your adults” - ooh okay this could go any number of ways... Either she actually reunites them with their families and all’s well, or she takes them up there and their parents/adults are all dead (for lack of a better word)? Or the Spectres attack after Mary leaves them with the adults??

Jopari talking about meeting his dæmon and also a little bit about trying to get back to his family :(

“Can you magic us up a fire?” “One moment” *presents a box of matches” - LMFAO

Wait did Serafina seriously just imply that she thought Will might hurt Lyra?!?

Serafina saying that if protecting Lyra means protecting Will as well... Yes, protect Will please! Protect BOTH of these children, I literally BEG you, they’ve gone through far too much

Ooh okay so the witch ritual/spell was kind of cool to see!

Lyra saying “please tell me he’ll be alright” 😭♥️

The fact that Lyra curled up close to Will and then Pan (in ermine form) curled up CLOSER to Will is so cute, they both love Will so much

Pan: “We feel safe her... don’t we?” / OOF OKAY THIS IS F I N E

I already know what Lyra’s “other name” is because I read the book but the hints are anything BUT subtle tbh. “Mother of us all, cause of all sin, tempted by the serpent”... I’m not even that religious but I think it’s pretty obvious.

Also, if Mary is playing the part of the “serpent” within Lyra’s destiny, does that mean that Mary has tempted Lyra? Or that she will?

Boreal being nervous about being in the city and Marisa is just so unimpressed by him... Mood

That smirk she had when going up to that Spectre victim was so chilling, we have to stan Ruth Wilson and her incredible acting

Also, fun fact, Ruth Wilson went to my sixth form college and is from Surrey (like me), and she grew up in Shepperton, which is where my Nan used to live when she was alive (my uncle and aunt live there still), so that’s super exciting!

“We could learn from this” - PLEASE DO NOT MA’AM

God I hate the Magisterium so fucking much, the patriarchy is so strong with them

Oh great, now they’re gunning to kill Lyra :/

Also, off topic, I’ve only just connected that Will Keen, who plays Father MacPhail, is Dafne Keen’s dad?!?

“She’s lost a lot for one so young” - AND SHE’S STILL GOING TO LOSE PEOPLE, WHY IS THIS FAIR PHILIP PULLMAN 😭

“She must be protected” - AGAIN, they BOTH need protecting PLEASE

The Spectre noises reminded me of the noises of the Smoke Monster from LOST, so that’s definitely trippy for me

Thanks, I hate it

I nearly shouted “WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING” out loud in front of both my parents, I seriously thought she had a damn death wish

I have never been so damn tense in my entire life as I am watching this show - and I KNOW what happens

HOW DID SHE DO THAT WITH THE SPECTRES SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN

Lee’s so worried about Lyra - 11/10, Father of the Year

The Magisterium airships... NO. FUCK. WE’RE AT THAT POINT ALREADY AND IM NOT OKAY BECAUSE I KNOW HOW AND WHERE THIS ENDS AND I HATE IT

I deadass thought Marisa and Carlo were about to kiss when he ran up to her and I actually said out loud “NO please don’t”

Look I must just be so dirty minded but when she said “let’s celebrate”, my immediate reaction was “NO NO NO NO EW EW EW NO” and “I hope she just means having a drink and not doing the frickety-frack”

I was so close to tearing up as Will was talking about his mum, her illness, and the boys who were mean to her because of it. His love for his mum is so beautifully written and the way Amir Wilson is playing Will is so wonderful

I was also close to tears when he was talking about his dad and how he used to imagine about his dad, so maybe I’m just emotional anyway

“Could go to school... have friends” - okay yeah no I’m definitely crying 😭

“I couldn’t trust anyone.” “Until you met me.” “Yeah.” - EXCUSE ME ♥️😭 my HEART

I love one (1) soft boy, and one (1) feral girl and her dæmon

The relief I felt when I saw Marisa and Carlo were literally just having drinks 😅

“They consume what makes us human, so I just suppressed that and hid it” + *cut to the monkey looking kinda sad/uncomfortable* - Umm fUCK OKAY THEN

Why am I feeling sorry for the monkey?!?

“You think we’re equal?” - LMFAO RIGHT

EWW THEY KISSED. No, just... nO

When I saw his snake dæmon moving towards her monkey, I thought one of two things was about to happen: 1) the monkey was going to pet and paw and the snake as Marisa seduced Boreal, or 3) the monkey was going to strange the snake and kill Boreal

OKAY THIS TOOK A SHARP BUT NOT UNWELCOMED TURN

“You’ve NEVER been my equal.” “You’d only hold me back.” - OH MY GOD YES THE SHADE

She’s not wrong though let’s be honest here

So she poisoned him I’m assuming? She poisoned his drink because the monkey didn’t actually touch the snake... damn.

Her just sitting there and continuing to drink with his dead body there is... damn.

“Into that valley” NO NO, please no

Jopari really just summoned a whole damn storm huh

Also the fact he fully trusts in Lee’s abilities to land them safely :3

Lee: “Can we trust him?” // Hester: “Do we have another choice?!!” - LMFAO I love them so much

THE WAY I NEARLY SCREAMED WHEN THAT WITCH GOT ATTACKED BY A SPECTRE OMFG AT LEAST WILL WAS THERE TO SAVE HER

Okay but did Marisa REALLY sit there for HOURS with Boreal’s corpse sitting opposite her?!?

Her burning her hand on the flame in front of the monkey, and the monkey clearly whimpering and in pain was so agonizing to watch, I can’t take this show

Also, you have to wonder just how many times she’s harmed herself (and him) for her to keep doing it with next to no problems (like separating from each other all the time)

I was so excited to see the birds attacking the zeppelins, like it was one of my favourite details in the book, and I worried that they wouldn’t have the budget for it but yay!

I do kind of wish that we’d had Sayan Kötor as the “eagle Queen” leading them though - she probably was but I wish we’d actually seen it or heard Jopari say it or whatever

THEY SHOT THE GAS CANNISTER OH SHIT THEY’RE GOING DOWN HARD AND FAST IN THAT BALLOON

HOLD ON BBC YOU CANNOT END THIS THERE?!? EXCUSE ME?!

The last episode is next week and on an hour earlier, so that’s exciting! I have no idea what I’ll do once this series ends, or when we’ll even get the third and final series because of COVID and filming delays, but I’m excited for it nonetheless and hoping it’s next November/December or something!

#his dark materials #hdm #lyra belacqua #lyra silvertongue #marisa coulter #mrs coulter #will parry #serafina pekkala #ruth wilson #dafne keen #amir wilson #pantalaimon #john parry #lee scoresby #hester

[lordoftermites]

The Fox & the Thornbush | Part 3

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye Rating: M for violence and bleedy bits Summary: This is it. The Undersea Attack. Maybe eventually I'll go back and do more with it but. This took... a lot to write and honestly I can't even write a summary for it. I'm sorry in advance.

part 1. // part 2.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

Kaye hadn’t believed him then—or, more despairingly, she had believed him, and was just far too willful to listen.

Even after the coronation in Elfhame, when Balekin had slaughtered near to every member of the royal family in a coup to usurp the throne, Kaye had persisted. She left her coffee shop, her dreams, abandoned her life in the light of the mortal world to live with him in the damp darkness of the Palace of Termites.

For her sake, Roiben had tried to convince himself that it would be a good change. That it was true—he had grown weary of having to steal away like some thief in the night to see her so sparingly, only to come back to a cold bed under a cold hill, alone.

After a while he began to believe that, perhaps, now that Kaye was at his side, within his reach at all times, that the frigid ache in his chest would abate—that he could finally be content.

Perhaps faeries couldn’t speak a lie with their own mouths, but Roiben had been telling himself untruths for longer than he could remember.

Kaye rolls over onto her side, burrowing farther beneath the coverlet. Her wild hair splays in lush, green tangles over the pillow. She sleeps soundly, verdant lips parted, once in a while letting out a small sigh here or near-inaudible word there. Roiben watches her from his place on the bed—their bed, he reminds himself—as though if he were to look away, she might very well disappear with one of those sighs.

He’s been awake for hours now, ripped from yet another nightmare, his chest heaving, his stomach threatening to upend the acrid bile in the back of his throat, while morbid death stares burned behind his eyes. They were the spectres of his sins, reminding him the blood on his hands has not, and shall not, wash away.

At least, this time, there had been no screaming.

A lock of deep green hair lies across Kaye’s face. It flutters slightly when she exhales, only to fall back against her lips. Her nose crinkles in her sleep, disturbed and perhaps dreaming of something else. Roiben reaches to brush it away but stops himself short, his fingers hovering mid-air. He ought to let her just sleep, he knows.

Yet, before he can convince himself not to, he’s leaning down, brushing the hair back with his mouth instead.

Kaye stirs and makes a light, disgruntled noise, until she seems to realize what’s happening. Then she’s lazily kissing him back, pressing her lips against his, parting just enough for him to sweep her mouth. One of her hands comes up to rest on the nape of his neck, her long fingers tangling in the hair there. Roiben sighs against her lips at the feeling; it’s light and comforting, warming that chill in his bones she alone has ever been able touch.

As often as he scorns himself for giving in to her decision to stay here permanently with him in Faerie, it’s selfish moments like this that he wouldn’t have her anywhere else. He can face the demons waiting in his nightmares—so long as she’s with him.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Kaye says drowsily, black eyes fluttering up to his, lidded with sleep and something else. Roiben hovers over her, grinning. “What was that for? I mean, not that I mind or anything.”

He shakes his head, still unused to the lightness of his newly-cropped hair. “A compulsion, I suppose,” he answers, and lowers himself again to bury his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deep the scents of moss and clover. He can’t quite bring himself to admit aloud that it was more to solidify her presence—to give himself physical reassurance that she isn’t part of a cruel trick his mind so often played on him.

Kaye strokes the back of his head gently, as if she already knows, as if perhaps she too needs the reminder that neither of them are made of phantoms and longing. Roiben kisses the column of her green neck, an arm curling under her, pulling her closer and yet still not close enough. She tilts her head with a soft hum of encouragement. “Whatever it is, I could get used to waking up like this.”

Her hands slide over his shoulders, down his bare arms, along his spine. Roiben shivers and shifts his weight, caging her body beneath him. His mouth drifts along the line of her clavicle to the base of her throat. One of his hands slips under the coverlet to the silklike flesh of her thigh, drawing it up to bracket his hip, while his lips brush against the flushed swell of her chest. Kaye’s hushed sighs as he arches against her spark a flame behind his navel, galvanizing him into urgent desire.

What he wouldn’t do to just simply stay here with her forever, to revel in her touch, her warmth, her love. Let the crowns decay. Let the duties and the demands and the courts crumble to nothing; let him be only a knight and a man again, to be content. Unburdened.

As if the fates decided he needed reminding of his reality, a light rapping at the door to his chambers breaks through their intimate solace.

Roiben ignores it at first, tells himself whatever it is will go away. Surely a herald, one of his knights, or even his chamberlain can handle it—not every small thing ought to be a king's concern, especially not when his council members are already far more inclined to do his duty for him. He doesn't cease his kisses, and instead channels into them the denial of obligations and the desires of his soul. His fingers grip Kaye's thigh tighter in desperation, attempting to tether himself to her and this moment alone. Leave us, his mind pleads. Find another doorway to darken.

But the knocking comes again, this time carrying a touch more confidence and urgency.

Suddenly furious, unfulfilled, and ultimately defeated, Roiben growls against Kaye's skin before pushing himself up. She watches him with heady eyes, seeming just as exasperated at the interruption as he. Her hand lingers on his arm. "Just tell them to fuck off," she suggests, though it's half-hearted. She knows as well as he does that it's very seldom anything he can simply wave or wish away.

"If we're fortunate," he sighs, bending down to give her one last kiss and then forcing himself to rise from the bed, "it will be nothing but our breakfast.” In a moment, he’s crossed the room and wrenched the heavy door open. Ruddles himself is there, hand raised as though he had just been about to give another, less-timid knock; he lowers the hand, and himself before Roiben, bowing low enough that his nose might brush the floor if given another half inch.

“My King,” the hob greets in his usual rasp before straightening. He seems to realize his king’s half-naked appearance and forced even breathing, but carries on. “I apologize for the disturbance at such an early hour, but I assumed you would want to be informed we’ve had a messenger come and go without our receiving him.”

Propping an arm against the door, Roiben barely suppresses a roll of his eyes. “It is not an uncommon thing for a courier to go missed.“ He knows his tone is clipped, but he doesn’t bother to correct it. “Why does this time require my chamberlain coming to my private rooms, when clearly whatever message left was not of enough import to be received in the first place?”

That seems to bristle the hob, who takes a rather deliberate, offended breath through his sharply-pointed nose. “Because, the message was left while the entire hill slept,” Ruddles answers gruffly. His brows are furrowed as if there really is something to be worried about, and his sovereign is, as usual, too unconcerned. “No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did they witness his departure.”

It’s Roiben’s turn to frown. That couldn’t be right: since the rebuilding of the Palace of Termites, they had sentries posted through dawn and dusk, and as many guards patrolling the hill. Surely someone ought to have seen this phantom envoy. Foreboding gnaws at his gut; he doesn’t like mystery, and he likes even less when that mystery involves his playing the part of the ignorant fool.

“What was this message? Did you bring it with you?”

Ruddles shakes his tawny head and wrings his hands. “It was a parcel, a large one, addressed to the Lord of the Court of Termites. We left it where it was found—” he pauses, the troubled expression on his face doing nothing to quell the rising uneasiness Roiben feels—”in the throne room… more pointedly, on your throne.”

A deliberate act, and a bold one. The thought of it sets Roiben’s teeth on edge. “I see,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, deliberating.

From behind him, Kaye yawns. Roiben turns back to look at her, where she’s stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, green hair falling over her shoulders. Just the sight of her, wrapped in his spider silk coverlet and little else, makes him ache with longing. It takes everything he can muster not to bolt the door in Ruddles' face.

She squints at him, as if attempting to focus her vision or read his thoughts, tilts her head in a question. Roiben tries a casual smile and holds up a finger, before turning back to his chamberlain. “Gather Dulcamara and Ellebere,” he instructs. “See if either of them know anything. I’ll meet the three of you in the throne room presently, and we’ll see just exactly what gift our shadow messenger has left us.”

The hob gives a shallow bow and backs away before turning on his heel and setting back off through the corridor. When Roiben closes the heavy wooden door, he leans against it momentarily, breathing a long sigh that does nothing to relieve any of the pressure in his chest.

How exhausted he is of intrigues and suspicions, of forging treaties that seem as stable as a thread stretched above a candle flame. Roiben himself feels like that thread—fraying at both ends while trying to hold his kingdom between his teeth, at any moment about to burn up with the burden of it all.

Take this from me, he had once thought, after his coronation as the Unseelie ruler. I do not want to be your king.

Now, he had two crowns, each heavy as a boulder on their own. Together, they are a mountain, and may very well crush him beneath their weight.

“What was that about?” Kaye’s voice calls from the bed. Roiben moves from the door and crosses the room to sit beside her. When he goes to kiss her cheek, he takes a selfish moment to breathe in the smell of her again, something to take with him. “I’m not entirely sure,” he replies, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I expect nothing but trouble, as usual. But I won’t be gone a moment—” he leans in again, grazing his lips against her neck with a promise—”and when I return, we can forget them all again.”

Before he can lose himself, Roiben pushes off of the bed. He pulls on a fresh set of clothing—a simple black tunic with trousers to match, and a pair of boots. From the chair beside his bed, he takes up his curved sword and straps it to his waist. Its weight is one he is used to, cold and secure at his hip.

With an apologetic glance back at Kaye, who shoos him with a small wave before shuffling back under the coverlet, he slips through the door.

Dulcamara is perched on the dais when he arrives in the throne room, clad in her beetle-black armor, polishing a dagger while her pink glare remains fixed on the throne. She stands when Roiben enters, however, and gives him a small bow of her head; as reverent a gesture as he likes, if he must be revered at all. “The hob is off searching for Ellebere,” she tells him in her gravel-scraping voice. “Must we wait for our curiosities to be sated?” Her head bobs in the direction of the throne.

As proficient a knight as Dulcamara is, her impatience often wills out, even when it comes to the one she serves.

Roiben shakes his head with a snort. “I suppose it isn’t a requirement,” he admits, stepping up onto the dais. “Though I doubt Ruddles will be much pleased when we solve the mystery without him.” Even so, eyeing the parcel, Roiben finds himself every bit as curious as he is wary.

As Ruddles said, what’s been placed on his throne is no small thing: it covers nearly half the seat itself, dome-shaped and wrapped in a cloth of deep blue velvet, tied together at the top with golden string. It certainly looks like a gift. Yet, as Roiben reaches out to take the small slip of folded parchment resting beside it, his title addressed in a dark blue flourish across the front, an icy dread seeps into his bones. When he opens the letter, he has to clutch the arm of the throne as the dais pitches up to meet him.

From behind him, Dulcamara’s voice seems distant, distorted. “What does it say?” Without turning, Roiben holds the note out to her, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow—or tear his gaze from the parcel. His hand trembles as he reaches to undo the string, to look upon what he already knows lies inside the elaborate wrapping.

“‘Let us see how easily you unwind the wire of your own cage’,” Dulcamara reads. “What sort of riddle—”

“It is no riddle.” He's clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt. His hand goes to grip the blade at his hip. “It is a threat.”

Unwrapped and glinting in the candlelight, just as he remembers, is the gilded birdcage that once held his friend and subject, Lutie-Loo—the very one he freed her from in Balekin’s office less than a year ago. Roiben had made a fool of the would-be king then, promising fealty when he’d already sworn to Prince Dain. Now it would seem his trickery is finally being repaid.

“Dulcamara,” Roiben starts, whirling around, “we need—”

An eruption of sound outside the throne room cuts off whatever order might have given. Before either of them have time to move, Ellebere barrels into the hall, sword in one hand, the other covering his side. Blood and dirt streak his pale face, only adding to the intensity of his frantic expression. “The Undersea,” the knight stammers, “they’re here. They’ve been here.”

Ruddles’ words echo dully in Roiben’s mind. No one saw the messenger arrive, nor did anyone witness his departure.

As Ellebere clambers up onto the dais, Roiben is reminded with a turning in his stomach of the last time he saw the knight in such a state, when Silarial made her move on the court. They had nearly been destroyed because of his underestimating and overconfidence. Has he once again brought ruin to his people? To…

“Kaye.”

The brugh swirls around him. His breath is trapped in his lungs.

As a swarm of bodies pours into the hall, the sharp clashing of metal against metal resounding through the hollow hill, Roiben can see none of it; only Kaye’s face, bloodied and lifeless.

Dead, because of him.

Something solid shoves into him, nearly knocking him to the ground before his legs catch him. Jolted back to the present, he jerks his head up just as Dulcamara brings her blade down in an arc across the front of an advancing selkie; the faerie crumples at her feet, black blood spilling onto the already gore-stained floor of the dais. It had gotten that close, and Roiben hadn’t even seen it. Dulcamara whips around to look at him, pink glare ablaze. Before she can scold him, he shakes his head and grips the sword he can’t remember drawing.

“I have to get to Kaye,” he shouts above the skirmish, already retreating down the other side of the dais, cutting through another Undersea soldier as it hurtles toward him. He is already charging down the hall before she can protest or follow, fear propelling his steps and his blade.

The battle seems to be more focused on the throne room, thankfully; Roiben is stalled only once, by a selkie warrior wielding a longsword of shark bone. Though he takes a slash to the thigh, the other faerie is not nearly as fortunate. He falls to his knees, clutching the gaping hole in his chest when Roiben withdraws his blade.

Biting through the searing pain in his leg, Roiben pushes on, repeating silent pleas that he not be too late.

As he comes to the door of his chambers, a fresh wave of glacial panic seizes him; the door has been thrown wide open and is hanging from the hinges. From the other side he can hear crashing, breaking. A struggle, and then a scream.

Kaye is screaming.

Roiben never feels himself move. He sees nothing but the flash of his sword, slicing through the gray-blue neck of an Undersea knight; hears nothing but his own cry of wild rage, his own deafening heartbeat in his ears. In less than breath, both Kaye and her attacker lie on the floor in a pool of mingling black and crimson.

It has happened, yet Roiben cannot shake the fog of unreality that strangles his breathing, weakens his legs, clouds his vision. His sword falls from his hand, and he collapses to his knees beside Kaye. He stares down in horror at the deep red gash from her throat to her sternum. Someone is sobbing. Blood streams from the wound—too much. There is too much blood.

He pulls her into his lap, holds her gently, covers what he can with a trembling hand. Dark, ruby warmth spills through his fingers and over his wrist. “Kaye,” he chokes, reaching to touch her cheek. His fingers are wet with blood and he has to brace against the sick twisting of his stomach.

Her black eyes are wild and unfocused, but she finds him. Grasps his arm desperately, gasping. She opens her mouth to speak, the beginning of his name on her ashen lips, but it comes out a fearful, small sound, and she doesn’t finish. Roiben strokes her hair and hushes her softly, bringing a kiss to her cool, damp forehead. When he pulls back, the unhinged terror in her eyes burrows like a dagger into his heart. “It’s...“

It’s going to be alright, he tries to tell her. The words will not form.

He cannot force back the sob at realizing why he can't say it. It could be a lie, and Kaye might die right here, in his room. In his arms. Dead before their life together had barely begun. Dead because he hadn't been fast enough. Because he had allowed it—because he had caused it.

Roiben can console himself no more than he can console her.

Faerie is a deadly place, he had told her once.

#like i can't even edit anymore it hurts #so if anything's fucked - well i mean it's all fucked honestly #but if typos or whatever oh well #we get what we get and we don't throw a fit #tf&ttb #the fox & the thornbush #also should i start a tag list #alsO i made that graphic and i'll fuckin choke a bitch if i see it reposted as some thranduil shit #he's just the closest thing to live action roiben as i'm gonna get so #;felix does a write #tfota #tmft #modern faerie tales #the folk of the air #the wicked king #twk #rath roiben rye #kaye fierch #kaye x roiben #roiben x kaye #yknow what fuck it i'm giving them my own ship name #koiben #that's cute as fuck fite me on it #holly black #tfota fic

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

Little bit sick, little bit sleep deprived, but above all desperately in sudden need of a Corpse Bride au, but with polyamory like the original SHOULD have ended.

Like say the Argents are the old money family, whose money has actually run out after Gerard dumped all of it into hunting. It’s left Chris with nothing to give his daughter.

The Stilinskis are nouveau riche, and good people. John offers to help out Chris, possibly lend him money for stable investments that might help. Chris is embarrassed but grateful. Victoria is ashamed and suspicious.

She insists that the deal can only go through with a marriage of their children to ensure that the fates of their families are intertwined. John won’t be able to pull the money out from under them without it effecting his own son negatively.

Chris is 100% against it, ready to say absolutely not, but Allison steps in. She knows what their financial sitation is. Their house is falling apart around them. She’s willing to do whatever has to be done to save them.

John, for his part, is shocked by the request. He offered his help, and now they’re asking for his son? He’s ready to say no, to condemn Victoria’s interference, but Stiles, like Allison, steps in.

The Argents need help. Stiles is under no illusions as to how most marriages work. His parents’ was one of the very few that began for love rather than economic reasons. He’s never met Allison, but has heard enough about her from their social circles to think they’ll make passable partners. There’s really no reason to say no, especially not if it will save her family from poverty.

The arrangement is made, and they meet. It goes better than anyone could have hoped, honestly. Stiles is happy to find Allison clever and engaging, and Allison is relieved to find that Stiles seems to be very encouraging of her sportsmanship. It certainly doesn’t hurt that they make a gorgeous pair.

It’s not love at first sight, but it could easily grow into something beautiful.

The ceremony is rushed, what with a rather immediate need for money. The invitations are sent out to family and friends- the McCalls, the Hales, the Martins- but almost no one will be able to arrive until the day of the wedding. Luckily at least one family member is able to make it for the rehearsal dinner.

Allison always was a favorite of Aunt Kate.

Stiles is nervous, though. His ADHD doesn’t do memorization very well, and he cannot, for the fucking life of him, remember his vows. Despite quiet encouragement from Allison, the anxiety starts to overwhelm him and he has to step outside for a moment between courses.

He paces in the woods just out of sight for a bit, trying to remember the words.

“Your cup- this cup- ah fuck.”

He gives up and pulls the little sheet of paper out of the pocket, reciting the whole thing from beginning to end.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows

Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.

With this candle, I will light your way into darkness.

With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

A sudden howl of wind tears through the grove of trees he stands in. Dead leaves swirl around him, and the ground beneath his feet begins to move, rolling as if it were being pulled like the tide. Stiles falls on his back.

A figure appears before him, a half decayed body dressed in a tattered suit, the space between exposed ribs showing the starry sky behind him.

“I do, darling.”

Stiles wakes up in a bar in the underworld. Convenient, as he’s honestly never been more prepared for a drink in his life. It’s too bad all of the drinks are for a deader liver than his.

The handsome corpse- can a corpse be handsome? Stiles spends a moment on the question, and decides that finding a corpse handsome is probably the least of the things he should be worrying about right now.

The corpse, who is by at least some definition handsome, introduces himself as Peter, and then turns around and immediately starts introducing Stiles as his husband.

“Uh, sir? Excuse me sir?”

“Oh ‘sir’ is it?” Peter says with a sinful smile and a raised eyebrow. “I can work with that.”

“No- I mean maybe- Wait, no, I can’t be your husband! I’m about to be someone else’s husband!”

“But you’re already mine,” Peter points out. “You asked and I said yes.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was just-“ Stiles waves a vague hand, “-talking.”

Peter frowns a little.

“But I said yes. We’re married now.” He shrugs a little, as if it’s no consequence. “I suppose if you’re really attached to them, they can be our husband too.”

“Wife,” Stiles corrects, wondering how a dead man is steering this conversation so successfully when he doesn’t even have all of his finger bones.

“Oh a wife! I’m not picky. It’s good to have variety.”

Meanwhile, above ground, Allison knows something must have happened to Stiles. Her mother is convinced that this is just the Stilinski’s trying to ruin their family name, and Chris is desperately trying to keep the peace between her on the warpath and John freaking out over his missing son. Allison tries to slip out with her bow to track him, but Kate catches her.

“You should stay here,” she says, guiding Allison back to her room. “Who knows what your mother will think if you disappear too?”

Allison argues, tries to reason with her, but before long she’s back in her room, listening to the lock of the door click behind her.

Frankly she’s shocked that Kate would take such an attitude about this. She’s always been supportive of Allison’s archery and tracking. Maybe even too supportive, because Kate’s attempts to stop Allison have zero affect on her. It’s just ten minutes later that Allison disappears into the woods after climbing out her window and down the side of the house.

Kate, meanwhile, is just thrilled that she doesn’t have to come up with her own diversion. The chaos of the missing fiancé will provide the perfect cover for her to intercept the Hales before they arrive, and finish killing them off.

Underground, Stiles discovers that if he listens closely, Peter reveals a lot in the spaces between words. Eventually Peter admits that he has to have a True Love Up Top in order to visit the living. And he has one very, very important visit to make.

“She promised to elope with your nephew, and then tried to murder him?” Stiles whispers, shocked.

“Wolfsbane,” Peter answers grimly, and to be honest, werewolves have been the most acceptable surprise Stiles has suffered today. “He got away. I didn’t.”

“Shit.”

They’re both silent for a minute.

The Stiles says, “Alright, well what are we waiting for? Let’s go kill her.”

Peter falls a little bit in actual love then.

When they get to Elder Gutknecht, Peter proudly lifts up his hand, showing off the ring rattling around the bone there, and says, “Gotta pop up for a bit and visit the in-laws!”

Elder Gutknecht peers closely at Stiles (who is trying not to think too hard about the purpose of glasses for a skeleton) and says, “What the hell have you done now, Peter.”

“You said I had to have a True Love who was still alive!” Peter says, stubborn. “This is my True Love, Stiles. The truest love. We’re married, even. That’s how in True Love we are. And he’s alive. Send us up, Gutknecht.” There’s more than a touch of threat to his tone by the end.

Elder Gutknecht, who was not prepared for this in seminary and honestly thought there would be more clouds and wings in his afterlife, says, “Fuck it. Drink this. You have 12 hours.”

Moments later, they’re standing in the grove where Stiles recited his vows on accident. Allison immediately drops down from a tree, bow pointed directly at Peter.

“Step away from my fiancé,” she growls, sounding utterly threatening and wolf-like in her own right.

“Oh, is this our wife?” Peter asks, delighted.

“Ally, where’s your Aunt Kate?” Stiles rushes to ask, stepping between them.

Allison lowers her bow, confused.

“She’s back at the house,” she says slowly. “At least I think so. She locked me in my room and I had to sneak out.”

Peter’s lost his sense of smell with the degrading of his body, but he still has other senses to rely on.

He hears coaches and horses.

Familiar coaches and horses.

His family is arriving.

Peter takes off running through the woods, Allison hot on his heels, not at all convinced that she doesn’t need to shoot him. Stiles falls behind, but manages to keep them in his sight.

Up ahead, Kate is lying in wait with wolfsbane smoke bombs, ready to disrupt the coaches and massacre the beasts within. Or she was ready, before her brother discovered her.

“Kate, you can’t do this,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s murder. This is how our father destroyed our family.”

“It’s not murder to kill a wild animal,” she says, neither listening nor caring. The coaches appear. She throws a smoke bomb and opens fire. Peter hears everything from the tree line as he barrels toward them, and Allison sees what her Aunt has done.

Chris tries to tackle her but only succeeds in knocking her aim astray. The Hales are stumbling out of their coaches now, coughing and choking. Talia is trying to gather her betas, trying to asses the danger, but suddenly she sees the image of her dead brother and wonders if maybe they’ve already lost to whatever attacked them.

Then her brother leaps at a woman on the side of the road and rips her throat out.

Maybe not a ghostly spectre after all.

It’s all a bit of a Business™ after that.

Explanations are had, both past and present. Peter rushes things along a bit, because he only has like 11 hours left now and it’s going to take at least 9 to do the necromantic ritual that will bring him back to life, suck on that Elder Gutknecht.

Chris explains to Allison about their family’s hunting history. The Hales explain to Chris exactly what Kate had done. Stiles explains how he accidentally got married. Peter explains again that he really has to get moving now.

In the end, Stiles and Allison still get married. Peter is in attendance with the rest of the Hales, and at the reception somehow manages to get the second dance with both the bride and the groom.

He doesn’t give the ring back. He manages to get a third matching one in time for the ceremony though.

#long post #lmao I feel way sicker now #probably because I wrote this instead of sleeping #steter #stallison #stetallison #? #that’s it right? #whatever #does peter/allison even have a ship name #this blog needs a tag for my bullshit #sorry I can’t put this under a cut I wrote the whole thing on my phone while laying on my side with one arm pinned under me #so we’re all suffering together #corpse bride au #tumblr fic and kinda fic

[hei-ranapologist]

i would LOVE to know how the horny man got punished by god, if you want to share <3

Ooooh boy this is going to be long! First: if you are able to read or watch the play, I would highly recommend it! It’s one of the few old play I think still work well by todays standard. Second : I’m not going to mention every little outrageous thing Dom Juan does, because it would take waaaay too long, so I’ll focus on the most important parts of it.

The play focus on two big things : Dom Juan horrible attitude and his upcoming doom. A list of the (most) outrageous thing he has done, in chronological order (roughly, it has been a while since I’ve last read the play) :

-He’s dating multiple woman at the same time, he maries some of them and then abandon them when he gets bored. Leaving them without honor and being forced to be sent to a convent (recurring theme in french play, you’ll find that the threat of being sent to a convent is quite common)

-tells a beggar that he will give him money, only if he swears using god’s name (a big no no at the time!) when the beggar refuses, he gets mad.

- He and his servant Sganarelle stumble across the statue of one person he has killed in a duel, the “Commander”. He then asks Sganarelle to invite the statue for dinner (another big no no, he’s basically making fun of the dead, and of someone he has killed nonetheless). Sganarelle does as he’s asked, but not without fear and to their surprise, the statue NOD! Sganarelle starts to get scared while Dom Juan brush it of as the light playing tricks on their vision.

-When his father comes to see him and basically scold him, telling him that he's bringing dishonor to their family, Dom Juan tells him to fuck off (An EVEN bigger offence! This 17th century France! We haven’t cut off the king’s head yet! You absolutly do NOT talk to your father like that!)

-Later on, Dom Juan tell his father that he’s going to FINALLY convert! Houra! BUT! He tells Sganarelle that he’s just pretending. Yes he’s going to keep the face of a religious man but he’s still going to do all of those outrageous things. (out of everything he has done THIS IS THE WORST! you do NOT pretend to be religious! ever! this the biggest blasphemy possible!)

Now this is roughly everything he has done, I didn’t talk about a few scenes because they were not very interesting (like the opening scene with Sganarelle calling his master a horrible person). Onto the Finale!

-You remember the statue I talked about earlier? The commander? well guess what? IT FUCKING SHOWS UP! (I’m going to copy paste wikipedia’s explanation of the scene cause i don’t know if I’ll be able to explain it well enough with my own words) : The spectre of a veiled woman appears to offer Dom Juan a final opportunity to repent his sins. Dom Juan draws and brandishes his sword at the spectral woman, and refuses to repent. The statue of the Commander enters, proclaiming: "The wages of sin is death". At that moment, Dom Juan cries out that he is burning that he is afire. Next, thunder and lightning sound and flash, and the earth breaks open to swallow Dom Juan, whose fall is followed by flames. Seeing that his master is gone, the lonely valet Sganarelle bewails the loss of his wages.

So In short: Dom Juan lived in so much sin and dishonor that God himself had to step in. To understand why I love it so much you need a bit of context : This is a comedy (doesn’t soud like it but it is!) written by Molière, and up to this point, most of the Molière’s play we read in class followed the pattern of “Oh no! My father/uncle/master don’t want me to marry the love of my life because of his (insert negative character traits)! Let’s ask my witty servant to help us!” But here, it’s none of that! I actually watched a recording of the play during my French class and I was actually really invested. It really felt like a plot twist I did not see coming ! And Dom Juan graduals descent in sin is so fascinating to see in action!

Also anecdote : The play was actually censored by the church and the state! Indeed, religious at the time thought it was an apology of debauchery (which shows that religious nutcracks attacking a piece of media because their misunderstood its meaning is not something new!) They will make Molière cut certain scenes out of the original and its not until 1884  that the uncensored version was finally played again.

@tomnooklesbian and @whoreforhei-ran hope this satisfy you!