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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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How Goldman Sachs's "tax-loss harvesting" lets the ultra-rich rake in billions tax-free

Tomorrow (Apr 25) I’ll be in San Diego for the launch of my new novel, Red Team Blues, at 7PM at Mysterious Galaxy Books, hosted by Sarah Gailey. Please come and say hi!

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With the IRS Files, Propublica ripped away the veil of performative complexity disguising the scams that the ultra-rich use to amass billions and billions (and billions and billions) of dollars, paying next to no tax, or even no tax at all. Each scam is its own little shell game, a set of semantic and accounting tricks used to gussy up otherwise banal rip-offs.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

The finance sector has a cute name for this kind of complexity: MEGO, which stands for "my eyes glaze over." If you're trying to rip off a mark, you just pad out the prospectus, make it so thick they decide there must be something good in there, the same way that any pile of shit that's sufficiently large must have a pony under it...somewhere.

Propublica's writers haven't merely confirmed just how little America's oligarchs pay in tax - they've also de-MEGO-ized each of these scams, like the way that Peter Thiel used the Roth IRA - a tax-shelter for middle-class earners to help save a few thousand dollars for retirement - to make $5 billion without paying one cent in tax:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/26/wax-rothful/#thiels-gambit

One of my favorite IRS Files reports described how Steve Ballmer - the billionaire ex-CEO of Microsoft - laundered vast fortunes into a state of tax-free grace by creating hundreds of millions in "losses" from his basketball team, the LA Clippers. Ballmer paid 12% tax on the $656 million he took out of the Clippers - while the players whose labor generated that fortune paid 30-40% on their earnings:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine

That was Propublica's first Ballmer story, back in the summer of 2021. But they ran a followup last February that I missed (it came out while I was on a book tour in Australia), and it's wild: a tale of "loss harvesting," a form of fuckery involving Goldman Sachs that's depraved even by their own standards:

https://www.propublica.org/article/irs-files-taxes-wash-sales-goldman-sachs

Loss farming is a scam that was invented in the 1920s, whereupon it was promptly banned by Congress. But Goldman and other plutocrat Renfields have come up with tiny modern variations on this century-old con that the IRS is either unable or unwilling to address.

Here's how it works. Say you've got a stock portfolio where some of the stocks have gone up and others have gone down. You want to sell the high stocks and hang onto the low ones until they bounce back. But if you sell those stocks that have gone up, you have to "realize" the profit from them and pay 20% capital gains tax on them (capital gains tax is the tax you pay on money you get from owning things; it's much lower than income tax - the tax you pay for doing things).

But you pay tax on your net capital gains - the profits you've made minus the losses you've suffered. What if you sold those loser stocks at the same time? If you made a million on the good stocks and lost a million on the bad ones, your net income is zero - and so is your tax bill.

The problem is that selling stocks when they've gone down is a surefire way to go broke. Every investing book starts with this advice: you will be tempted to hold onto your stocks that are going up, because they might continue to go up. You'll be tempted to sell your stocks that are going down, because they may continue to go down. But if you do that, you'll only sell the stocks that have lost money, and never sell the stocks that have made money, and so you will lose everything.

Back when the pandemic started, your shares in movie theater chains were in the toilet, while your stock in tech companies shot through the roof. If you sold the tech stocks then and held onto your movie stocks and sold them now, you'd have cleaned up - today, tech stocks are down and movie theater stocks are up. But if you sold the cinema shares when they bottomed out, and held onto your tech stocks when they were peaking, you'd be busted today.

So selling your loser stocks to offset the gains from your winners is a bad idea. That's where loss-farming comes in: what if you sold your tech stocks at their peak, and sold your bottomed-out cinema stocks at the same time, but then bought the cinema stocks again, right away? That way you'd have the "loss" from selling the cinema stocks, but you'd still have the stocks.

That's called "wash trading," and Congress promptly banned it. If you've heard of wash-trading, it's probably something you picked up during the NFT bubble, which was a cesspit of illegal wash-trading. Remember all those eye-popping NFT sales? It was just grifters with multiple wallets, buying NFTs from themselves, making it seem like there was this huge, white-hot market for monkey JPEGs. Wash-trading.

Turns out that crypto really did democratize finance...fraud.

Wash-trading has been illegal for a century, but brokerages have invented modern variations on the theme that are legal-ish, and the most lucrative versions of these scams are only available to billionaires, through companies like Goldman Sachs.

There are a bunch of these variations, but they all boil down to this: there are lots of ways to sell an asset and buy it again, while making it look like you bought a different asset. Like, say you're invested in Chinese tech companies through an exchange-traded fund (ETF) that bundles together "all the Top Chinese tech stocks."

Maybe you bought this fund through Vanguard, the giant brokerage. Now, say Chinese stocks are way down, because the Chinese government is doing these waves of lockdowns on the factory cities. If you could sell those Chinese stocks now, you'd get a massive loss, enough to wipe out all the profits from all your good stocks.

But of course, China's going to figure out the lockdown situation eventually, so you don't want to actually get rid of those stocks right now, especially since they're worth so much less than you paid for them. So right after you sell your Vanguard Chinese tech ETF shares, you buy the same amount of Schwab's Chinese tech-stock ETF.

An ETF of "leading Chinese tech companies" is going to have basically the same companies' stock in it, no matter whether it's sold by Vanguard, State Street or Schwab. But as far as the IRS is concerned, this isn't a wash-trade, because you sold a thing called "Vanguard ETF" and bought a thing called "Schwab ETF" and these are different things (even if the main difference is the name on the wrapper, and not what's inside).

There's other ways to do this. For example, lots of companies have different "classes" of stock. Under Armour sells both Class A (voting) and Class C (nonvoting) stocks. Though voting stock is worth a little more than nonvoting stock, they both rise and fall together - if the Class A shares are up 10%, so are the Class C shares. So you can dump your Under Armour Class A's, buy Under Armour Class C's and own essentially the same amount of Under Armour stock - but as far as the IRS is concerned, you just sold your interest in one company and bought an interest in a different company, and you can take a big loss and write down your profits from other stock trades.

The IRS does prohibit wash-trading, but only in the narrowest sense. Brokerages are obliged to report trades in which a customer buys and sells exactly the same security, with the same unique ID (the CUSIP number), within 60 days. Beyond that, IRS guidance is extraordinarily wishy-washy, calling on filers to "consider all the facts and circumstances" of their transactions. Sure, that'll work.

Propublica found zero instances of the IRS targeting any of these trades, ever, for enforcement. That's especially true of the most egregious version of loss-harvesting, a special version that only the ultra-rich can take advantage of, called "direct indexing." You might know about "index funds," where a brokerage sells a single fund that tracks a broad index of stocks - for example, you can buy an S&P 500 index that goes up and down with the total value of the top 500 stocks in America.

Direct indexing is something that giant banks like Goldman Sachs offer to their very richest clients. The brokerage buys a mix of stocks that are likely to track the whole index, and puts those shares directly into the client's account. Rather than owning shares in a fund that owns the stocks, you own the stocks directly. That means that when you want to harvest some losses, you can sell just a few of the stocks in the index, rather than your shares in the whole fund.

Here's how that works. In 2017, the US index was up 20%; global indexes were up even more. Steve Ballmer made a bundle. But Goldman Sachs, acting on Ballmer's behalf, sold s few of the stocks in the portfolio and harvested a $100,000,000 loss, that Ballmer could use to trick the IRS into treating his massive profits as though he'd made very little taxable income.

Goldman uses a whole range of tricks to keep billionaires like Ballmer in a lower tax-bracket than the janitors who clean the floors after his team's games. They not only buy and sell different classes of stock in companies like Discovery and Fox; they also buy and sell the same company's stock in different countries. For example, they sold Ballmer's shares in Shell in one country, and then immediately bought the same amount of shares in another country. The IRS doesn't treat this as a wash-trade, despite the fact that the shares have the same value, and, indeed, companies like Shell routinely merge their overseas and domestic shares with no change in valuation.

Thanks to Goldman's ruses - and the IRS's willingness to accept them - Ballmer's wealth has swollen to grotesque proportions. He generated $579 million in losses from 2014-18, and as a result, got to keep at least $138m that he'd have otherwise had to pay to the IRS.

Goldman's not the only one in on this game: Iconiq Captial - a firm that also offers marriage partner scouting for its richest clients - has $13.2 billion under management on behalf of just 337 people. Among those high-rollers: Mark Zuckerberg, whose $88m in gains from Iconiq investments were offset by $34m in imaginary losses that the company manufactured with wash-trades.

In theory, the simplest form of wash-trading - selling your Vanguard China fund and buying a Schwab China fund - is available to any investor. Leaving aside the fact that the top 1% of Americans own most of the stock, this is still a deceptive proposition. This kind of wash-trading only benefits investors who hold their shares outside of a sheltered retirement account, which is a vanishing minority indeed.

Instead, the primary beneficiaries of this activity are the usual suspects: convicted monopolists like Ballmer, or useless scions of wealthy families, like the kids of Walmart founder Sam Walton, who emerged into this world through very lucky orifices and are thus effectively exempt from the need to work or pay tax for life.

Jim Walton is Sam Walton's youngest orifice-lottery-winner. Young Jim saw a $10 billion increase in his wealth from 2014-18, making him the tenth richest person in America. Thanks to wash-trading, he declared only $111 million of that $10 billion on his taxes, and paid $0.00 in tax on that $10 billion gains.

One way that the rich are especially well-situated to exploit loss-harvesting is in converting short-term gains - which are taxed at 40% - into long-term gains, which are taxed at 20%. For people who make a lot of money buying and selling shares as pure speculation, flipping them in less than a year, wash-trading can create the appearance of long-term holdings. Analyzing their trove of leaked IRS files, Propublica showed that Americans who report over $10 million in income almost never report short-term gains. Instead, two-thirds of the richest Americans report short-term losses.

One fascinating wrinkle is that rich people may not even know this is going on. Whatsapp co-founder Brian Acton, managed to "lose" $2.9 million when he sold $17 million in shares - the same day he bought $17 million in shares in nearly the same companies from another brokerage. Then, a few months later, he reversed those transactions, selling his new fund and buying the old one and harvesting another $600,000 in losses.

When Propublica asked Acton about this, he told them he was "not really aware of any events like that...Broadly my wealth is managed by a wealth management firm and they manage all the day to day transactions."

This is completely believable and consistent with the extraordinarily frank account of how elite money-management works that Abigail Disney described in 2021, where the ultra-rich are insulated from the scams, tricks and wheezes that lawyers and accountants dream up to keep their fortunes steadily mounting with no action needed on their part:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

Could the IRS block this kind of wash-trading? Yes, but they'd need action from Congress. The most effective way to do this would be to force shareholders to "mark to market" the value of their holdings, taxing them each year on the fluctuations in their portfolio.

Propublica notes that this is incredibly unlikely to happen, though. As an alternative, Congress could change the rule that blocks investors from claiming losses when they buy and sell "substantially identical" shares with a rule that applies to "substantially similar" stocks. This proposal comes from Columbia Law's David Schizer, who says the law "ought to be updated to reflect how people invest today instead of how they invested 100 years ago."

But for any of that to have an effect, the IRS would have to change its auditing and enforcement practices, which currently see low-income earners (who can't afford fancy tax-lawyers who'll tie up the IRS for months or years) being disproportionately targeted, while America's super-rich, ultra-rich, and stupid-rich are allowed to submit the most hilariously, obviously fictional returns and get away with it.

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Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in San Diego, Burbank, Mountain View, Berkeley, San Francisco, Portland, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

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[Image ID: A dilapidated shack. A sign reading 'Internal Revenue Service Building' stands next to it. From its eaves depends another sign, reading 'Internal Revenue Service' and bearing the IRS logo. From the window of the shack beams the grinning face of billionaire Steve Ballmer. Behind the shack is a DC avenue terminating in the Capitol Dome.]

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Image: Matthew Bisanz (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:NYC_IRS_office_by_Matthew_Bisanz.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

Ted Eytan (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2021.02.07_DC_Street,_Washington,_DC_USA_038_13205-Edit_%2850920473547%29.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

Bart Everson (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/editor/1287341637

Eric Garcetti (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Steve_Ballmer_2014.jpg

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#pluralistic #paper losses #direct indexing #tax-loss harvesting #steve ballmer #propublica #irs files #the rich are different from you and me #mego #wash trading #tax evasion #goldman sachs #vampire squid #mark zuckerberg

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enterprisewired · 5 months

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Maximizing Returns: How Typical Investors Can Benefit from Tax-Loss Harvesting Strategies?

Making prudent financial decisions and maximizing their tax effects are both essential components of savvy investing. One effective tactic that is sometimes disregarded is tax-loss harvesting. Experts in finance are not the only ones who may benefit from this complex strategy; regular investors can also use it to optimize their investment portfolios and possibly increase total results. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the concept of tax-loss harvesting, its mechanisms, and how typical investors can leverage this strategy to their advantage.

1. Understanding Tax-Loss Harvesting

Tax-loss harvesting is a strategic investment practice that involves selling investments at a loss to offset gains and reduce taxable income. While it may seem counterintuitive to sell assets at a loss, this approach can be a savvy way to optimize a portfolio’s tax efficiency. The process entails selling securities that have experienced a loss to offset capital gains, and, if necessary, using any remaining losses to reduce taxable income.

Example: Imagine you have an investment that has incurred a $5,000 loss. By selling this investment, you can use the loss to offset $5,000 in capital gains, reducing your overall taxable income for the year.

2. Identifying Taxable Events

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Example: Selling shares of a mutual fund at a profit generates a taxable event, potentially resulting in capital gains. Identifying such events enables investors to plan tax-loss harvesting accordingly.

3. Leveraging Capital Losses to Offset Gains

One of the primary benefits of tax-loss harvesting is the ability to use capital losses to offset capital gains. If an investor has realized gains from the sale of profitable investments, strategically selling assets with losses can help offset those gains, reducing the overall tax liability.

Example: Suppose an investor has $8,000 in capital gains from selling certain stocks. By strategically selling other investments in the portfolio at a $6,000 loss, the investor can offset the gains and only be taxed on the net gain of $2,000.

4. Managing Tax Liability through Loss Deductions

Beyond offsetting capital gains, tax-loss harvesting allows investors to deduct losses against ordinary income, providing additional tax advantages. If capital losses exceed capital gains, the remaining losses can be used to reduce taxable income, potentially leading to a lower tax bracket and reducing the overall tax burden.

Example: If an investor has $10,000 in capital losses and $5,000 in capital gains, the remaining $5,000 in losses can be used to offset ordinary income, such as salary or interest income, reducing taxable income for the year.

5. Implementing Wash Sale Rules

Example: An investor sells shares of a particular stock at a loss and then buys the same stock within 30 days. The IRS may disallow the loss, considering it a wash sale.

6. Diversifying and Maintaining Portfolio Alignment

While tax-loss harvesting can be a valuable strategy, it’s crucial for investors to remain mindful of their overall investment goals and strategies. Diversification and maintaining the intended allocation of assets within a portfolio should not be sacrificed solely for the purpose of tax-loss harvesting. The primary focus should be on optimizing taxes within the context of a well-balanced investment strategy.

Example: An investor holds a diversified portfolio of stocks and bonds. While harvesting losses from certain stock positions is beneficial for tax purposes, it’s essential to ensure that the overall portfolio remains aligned with the investor’s risk tolerance and long-term objectives.

7. Utilizing Tax-Loss Harvesting Across Various Accounts

Tax-loss harvesting can be implemented across various types of investment accounts, including taxable brokerage accounts, individual retirement accounts (IRAs), and 401(k)s. However, the tax implications and rules may vary depending on the account type. Investors should be aware of these differences and tailor their tax-loss harvesting strategies accordingly.

Example: An investor may choose to focus tax-loss harvesting efforts on their taxable brokerage account, where capital gains and losses directly impact their tax liability. Meanwhile, the strategy may be less relevant in tax-advantaged retirement accounts.

8. Considering the Long-Term Impact

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Example: An investor decides to sell a position at a loss for immediate tax benefits, but this decision conflicts with their long-term investment strategy. Over time, the missed growth potential of that investment may outweigh the initial tax advantages.

9. Seeking Professional Guidance

Implementing an effective tax-loss harvesting strategy requires a thorough understanding of tax laws, investment markets, and individual financial circumstances. Seeking guidance from tax professionals, financial advisors, or investment experts can help investors navigate the complexities of tax planning and optimize the benefits of tax-loss harvesting.

Example: An investor consults with a financial advisor to create a tax-efficient investment plan that incorporates tax-loss harvesting while aligning with their overall financial goals.

10. Staying Informed and Adapting Strategies

Tax laws and financial markets are subject to change, and investors should stay informed about updates that may impact tax-loss harvesting strategies. Being adaptable and adjusting strategies based on changes in tax regulations or personal financial circumstances ensures that investors continue to maximize the benefits of this tax optimization technique.

Example: Changes in tax laws or an investor’s financial situation may necessitate a reassessment of tax-loss harvesting strategies to ensure they remain effective and aligned with overall financial goals.

Conclusion

Tax-loss harvesting is a powerful tool that typical investors can leverage to optimize their investment portfolios and potentially reduce tax liabilities. Tax-loss harvesting emphasizes the accessibility and potential advantages of this strategy for investors seeking to maximize returns while being mindful of tax implications. Through comprehension of the workings of tax-loss harvesting, strategic application, and professional advice when required, investors can make well-informed decisions that are consistent with their long-term financial objectives. Recall that a well-managed tax-loss harvesting strategy adds to a thorough and deliberate approach to managing investments for long-term financial success, going beyond the immediate tax benefits.

Also Read: Exploring Ingenious Investment Options: Maximizing Your Financial Portfolio

#Tax-Loss Harvesting

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devinkarlson · 1 year

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Investment Strategies — A Quick Primer. Money, because of inflation, loses value over time, making investing essential for everyone looking to grow their wealth. For instance, if a stock is trading at $100, but an investor believes the intrinsic value is $120. Read more click on Link

#investment strategies #rebalancing #tax-loss harvesting #hsa investment strategy #long-term strategy

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anantaru · 1 year

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EX HUSBAND ALHAITHAM

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband alhaitham headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fluff, crack??, [ex]plicit, fem! reader, just a sprinkle of possessiveness but not detailed, kaveh is a paid actor in this

ex! husband alhaitham who will transparently accept your decision to the divorce, in defiance of his own individualistic judgment about your commitment. Truthfully, and as far as one can tell, he was anything else but delighted by it, yet he was aware that he couldn't force such decision out of you, quite bothersome— he thinks.

ex! husband alhaitham who will come off as decidedly snotty in the first couple instances of your next meet ups, but when you propose the rational idea of keeping a distance between each other he will blatantly refuse it and assure you that he still considers you as his best friend regardless of the vexing circumstances of your failed relationship.

ex! husband alhaitham who you undisputedly trust when he guarantees you that he's over the entire situation just as much as you were, no, he in fact did not think you both would get back together but it was a logical process to look after a 'friend', so he doesn't understand your sense of reluctance at first. Yes, again, you're free to do whatever you want as long as you both continue to harvest a flourishing friendship.

ex! husband alhaitham who will keep a sprinkling of his own belongings in your home even after he moved back into his old house— he will always assure you that he's going to get them, really, once he's free from working but he never does. It's a secret (and beneficial) way of forcing you to see random possessions that will remind you of him.

ex! husband alhaitham who still pays things regarding your entire house, even though he isn't living there anymore— though he wants to do it regardless. When you proceed to tell him that it's okay, you got it covered and you can't be dependable on him forever he's warily accepting it but will then silently outlay several bills behind your person without ever telling you— because it's really not a big deal and he doesn't understand why you're making it one.

ex! husband alhaitham who will quiz kaveh more often now after your divorce to stealthily find out about your latest happenings or if you've bumped into another relationship thus far. In the early stages, your friend kaveh wasn't pleased about aiding your ex in this taxing scheme, but in the fullness of time he will be exceptionally beguiled into thinking it's to assure you're doing okay after the divorce.

ex! husband alhaitham who had the splendid idea to meet up for dinner (or lunch) at your once shared house periodically, giving no additional elaboration to it— as he put it, it's to fortify your innocent cordial bond, without having any ulterior motives behind the sudden urge.

ex! husband alhaitham who will ridicule every budding relationship (or friendship) that would embark into your space but he'd do it dubiously respectful as well as passive aggressive so you initially won't catch onto it. Whenever someone would claim to know a particular fact about you, ex! husband alhaitham would beg to differ and instead, correct them.

once you're asking ex! husband alhaitham to tone it down a little— otherwise some might think you're still a couple or rekindling, he's retracting the question to you and ask if you're really okay with someone spreading misinformation about you.

ex! husband alhaitham who will downrightly tell you that no matter the coeval occurrences, you are still his person and that he frankly isn't interested in dating or pursuing someone else, he'd rather just focus on work and live a comfortable life with you by his side, he didn't care if you're his friend or spouse.

ex! husband alhaitham who will be— for once, at loss of words when you're telling him to stop making it so challenging, that there was a reason you have decided to call it quits and that he's only making it more difficult for you to fully move on. And the moment he'd perceive that he'd ask you what you meant by 'fully move on'. have you not entirely moved on yet?

ex! husband alhaitham who will take a step closer to you now, yet leaving enough space in between your bodies to not unanticipatedly overwhelm you when his eyes slowly blink over yours, demanding the truth. On how his breathing was quickening, you knew there was something he did not show you or was meant for you to be seen.

ex! husband alhaitham whose skin will be covered in goosebumps the moment you place your hand on top of his chest, right above his pounding heart. He's watching you closely and not once, averting his gaze from you. You do not talk, neither does he— it's as if you both had left it to your bodies to speak.

ex! husband alhaitham who couldn't hold himself back anymore and drew your face towards his with your chin tugged in between his thumb and pointer finger, placing a fine kiss on your sweet lips— he immediately registered just how much he missed the trifling touch of you, or the comfort your glow would convey on his, as if you were touching his hidden soul through nothing but a amiable trace.

ex! husband alhaitham who will deepen the kiss, heaving as to try to catch his own breath when you push your tongue past his lips, toying with his wetness with your arms tightly enclosed around his neck. Somehow, everything you knew had become muddled and dimmed, it's all the more difficult to let go when it came to someone like him.

ex! husband alhaitham who will kindly shush you with a chime of sweet, quick kisses while pulling you towards your once shared room, assuring you that whatever will happen after this moment, you'd get through it together— as a team.

ex! husband alhaitham who will be more animated than any other days you both had been intimate with each other, from someone who was commonly laid back in the process of it all, he now wanted to see and witness it on his skin, soul and touch. It was excruciating to catch onto his fondles and meet ups, how needful the both of you had gotten from the warm kisses.

ex! husband alhaitham who'd gently push you on top of the mattress and skillfully kick your legs apart with his knees to dwell amidst your thighs. The moment he's entirely on top of you, you had already intuited his stiffened cock beating within the confinements of his pants. He's grinding himself into you— appearing almost feral by how nasty and unyielding he was, but you loved it, because you have missed him so very much.

ex! husband alhaitham who will spoil you the whole night as to show what you willingly gave up— he wants to make sure it's engraved in your body, the trace of his soft lips, the loud darts of his tongue, the warm slurps of his mouth drilling past your folds to collect the slick that was only meant for him to taste and treasure.

ex! husband alhaitham who will decorate the inside of your thighs with gentle nibs and bite marks because at this point the control over his own emotions and needs have been kindly dwindling away. He can't recognize himself whenever he's intimate with you, whenever he's on the brink of release, it feels like he arrived where he should be, in a comfortable space with the love of his life.

ex! husband alhaitham who will kiss from your clit up to your lower stomach— smooching your belly twice, then prod his tongue out and lap all to your collarbone until finding solace on your neck, guzzling on the skin simultaneously to hovering his tip over your entrance. When he perceives your legs automatically spread farther and wrap around him— as you always did prior to the divorce, it will make him lose his mind.

ex! husband alhaitham who will set a unmanageable maddening tempo, in order for him to gape into your face and see all the sweet reactions coming from his thick cock fitting so perfectly inside of you. He notices the twitch in your brows, the gentle cradle of your lips— in a sweet pout, or how your eyes are huddling together but feebly trying to open up and see him, to thank him through nothing but your expressions.

ex! husband alhaitham whose head will suddenly feel heavy and if it wasn't for it resting against your forehead, he'd be sure it'll flop into your neck on how passionate the surroundings have gotten. He's readjusting himself and pulling your legs up so he could easily push them into your chest, his muscles were tensed and you noticed how controlled his breathing was, he's glowing and appeared majestic in front of you.

ex! husband alhaitham who would, in any other circumstances, have troubles talking about his feelings, mouth a fragile 'I love you' and making sure you see it. When he notices your eyes widen at it he's certain you know that, fuck, the entire divorce has been eating him up from the very within, if you discard of him, he wouldn't know how to react, what to do or if he's supposed to just walk away from you.

ex! husband alhaitham who will pick up the tempo on his hips the moment you return the sentence to him, when you tell him that you still love him, that you shouldn't have gone so far as to break off this marriage, but instead work more on the reappearing problems which were encountered in your marriage.

ex! husband alhaitham who senses the warm tears bubble out from the outer corners of your glassy eyes and who's swiftly sweeping them away with his thumb, leaning close until every warm exhale of his breathing coats your plump lips.

ex! husband alhaitham who before releasing his white seed in you, pauses the tumbling mess on your soiled cunt and buries himself deep to the hilt, leaving you to whine at the fullness of his heavy cock in you, begging him to mess you up with his cum.

ex! husband alhaitham who watches you in a concentrated manner— within a logical approach, because you belonged to him, he never saw it in any other form, even after all he still saw you as such, his spouse, the person he called upon whenever he was in need of company.

ex husband series.

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

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Let the Right One In

“To labor and toil as we harvest the coals, we silently pray Lord please harvest our souls.”

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,372

Synopsis: Down in the holler the women work with dark entities. The mining company employs them to keep the coal flowing. Therein lies the problem, two souls that want to break the wheel.

Tags: Historical!Au, Mining!Au, Southern Gothic/Folk Horror, v!fingering, pnv!sex, loss of virginity, mention of rituals and dark magic, innocence kink, no one is particularly a saint, Bucky is losing it, southern twang

A/N: This is part 1/2 Can you tell I love supernatural/paranormal stuff? On my country bullshit HONK HONK LETS GO SOUTHERN UNITED STATES SKEE *truck noises* YEE where I totally am NOT from help pls

West Virginia, 1883

The last thing Bucky remembered was shouts, a bright light, and burning hot fire. That’s what the young woman gathered from his clouded mind. She tucked a dark strand of hair behind his ear, eyes roaming over his scruffy face. A voice came from behind.

“Are you just going to stare at him all day or put the salve on?”

The girl frowned, turning back to face her mother. She was a grim woman with a stern face and austere clothing. The elder had taught her daughter everything she knew. The same as every female in the family did, keeping that secret magic alive. Magic that kept the crops blooming and the miners back from the afterlife. Whispers at night were the only talk of the strange women in the holler.

That’s how the young miner missing an arm ended up in their care. His sister Rebecca had appeared in the morn, crying and begging to bring her brother back. They had no source of income besides the dutiful brother, their father dead of blackened lungs. Your mother had warned the girl of the powers that she was begging for, but Becca carried him relentlessly forward on shaking legs. She said the foreman told her to bring ‘Bucky’ to the dark holler.

The ritual to keep his life force on this plane had taxed the small coven. A dark energy swirled around Bucky. His soul was blindingly strong but held together precariously. That always attracted the leeches dwelling deep in the mountains, soaking in those coal seams. Her mother and the others dabbled with those dark creatures, but she tried to stay away, wanted to keep the people they helped away too.

The witch knew those eldritch malevolent things were much more powerful than the average forest spirit.

“Fine. He’ll leave eventually. They always do, y’know.”

The young woman bitterly replied, “I know. S’nice to look. He seems…good.”

“Do you want to keep him?”

She really, really did. But she couldn’t.

“No, his family needs ‘im.”

She dusted off her dress and got up to grab the salve for the mess of Bucky’s left shoulder. It had been blown off in that horrible accident at the Howling Commando coal mine. It had taken 15 lives so far. Another man laid broken in the neighboring witch’s house. Sam was his name.

Slowly the woman worked the poultice into the scarred flesh, watching his unconscious face for any discomfort. He’d need a binding ritual to receive another arm. The company would pay for them sometimes. Workers already proficient aided with a supernaturally strong arm or other appendage were quite popular with them.

They provided the materials, the witches would commune with the powers. It didn’t take much, most of the overseer business lacked a soul anyways. The man grunted in pain under her fingers, she stilled with wide eyes. Backing away cautiously, her gaze kept focused on him.

Blue eyes groggily blinked open. She bit at her lip in anticipation of the wave of emotion. He looked around before registering the pain. Then the lack of an arm. A wounded noise left Bucky. He gasped, “What?” Struggling to sit up he cried again in pain.

“Stop- please stop movin’ it’ll make it worse,” she begged.

“What the hell is going on?,” he half-sobbed. His eyes kept flickering to the ruined stump of what was an arm— like if he looked again it might magically reappear. The daughter spoke, “Your sister Becca brought you here. We’re helpin’ out. M’sorry bout that accident of yours.”

Bucky flopped his head back with a weak groan. Tears fell down his scruffy cheeks. He sobbed softly, right hand holding the ruin of his shoulder. She felt her heart go out to his confusion and pain. The witch padded closer, sitting back down on the chair next to the cot. Bucky rasped half to himself, “What am I goin’ to do? Ain’t worth a damn.”

“The company is helpin’ out. Said you’re an invaluable worker.”

Skeptical eyes met her own softened orbs. He growled, “Company put me out here with you witches? Same shit they did to Steve and the others, I reckon.” Bucky looked at the wooden ceiling, a painful sob tearing from his chest again, mournful prayers leaving his lips.

She remembered Steve. Came in a bag of bones and a stones throw from death, came out full of muscle and strength. He was a sweet soul, somehow uncorrupted by the ritual. She worried about Bucky surrounded by inherent darkness— the same she carried.

“I’m sorry,” she offered again, eyes low.

“When do I get the arm?,” he asked hoarsely.

“Next full moon. Couple’a days.”

Bucky’s sobs had quieted down to tears again, eyes glossy with shock. The witch frowned again, unsure of what to say. She didn’t get to talk to the other sex much. Her mother never mentioned a father, shunning men unless they had a purpose. The zombie-like creatures at their beckoning didn’t count.

The best she could come up with was grabbing his big hand, squeezing it. Icy eyes flickered to the woman, his dark brows furrowed. He managed, “You’re more different than I expected.” She stared on with doe eyes.

Bucky would’ve chased her tail around town, laid it on thick before. He elaborated, “Always was told you witches were these hags up in the hollers.”

“My momma is one of ‘em,” she deadpanned.

Bucky laughed at that, the reaction deliriously bubbling out of him. The witch by his side sure was pretty but mighty strange. Hell, he might as well make the best of the worst. Slaving away in the mines for the company and the devil was his reality. She murmured, “I don’t like those rituals, they take a little piece of ya.”

“A big piece a’me is gone, little witch.”

Her hand grabbed his tighter, a pink tongue nervously darting against soft lips. She urged, “Jus’ do me a favor and don’t let ‘em in. Ever.” Bucky had an inkling of what she meant and nodded along. He didn’t want to think about that, instead wondering how the woman’s hair would feel against his skin. The throbbing pain of his shoulder was easing up a bit, some cool substance covered the area.

“What’s your name?,” Bucky asked.

She shook her head, declining the miner an answer.

“Call me what you wish, but I can’t do that. M’sorry,” she apologized again. Bucky pondered over a name, surveying the witch intensely. She blushed and stared down at her lap. He figured she didn’t speak up much for herself, baring her sweet neck at the slightest provocation. Like a little shy bunny.

“Bunny,” he said.

Her mouth fell open, a blush high on her cheeks. Bucky liked that look. He continued, “You remind me of a sweet lil’ bunny. Cute as one too.” Her grip on him faltered. She muttered, “Don’t let my momma catch you callin’ me that. But I like it.”

A screech echoed from outside, Bucky’s newly christened bunny bolting upright. She pressed an urgent peck to his cheek and hurried out the room, sounds of wood creaking after.

Bucky laid in the cot, pondering his reality and the pretty witch accompanying it. He just wanted his arm back, not the twisted silvery shit he’d get. He saw the hollow looks in their eyes when they returned to the mine. They rarely spoke, worked to the bone, and ambled out as if in a daze. Steve was the only one he’d seen who seemed fine. But he didn’t get a new appendage, instead a new body. Stevie was too pure.

Maybe he’d fuck the little bunny as a last laugh before his soul was sucked out. She seemed interested enough, he could almost see her trembling to get closer. Bucky would make her scream, poor bunny probably never even been touched right. He’d show them.

Bucky hated his inability to barely move, worn out from the slightest movement. His bunny later explained it was from being brought back so close to death. She took care of him, feeding Bucky and tending to his wound. He’d met her mother since, the woman glaring at him and warning him to be good.

The haggard mother kept away for the most part, Bunny had mentioned she led the coven of witches and was often busy. Bucky considered it perfect for when he defiled the innocent thing. He enjoyed the caretaking in the meantime, never receiving anything like that in his cold life. She was very attentive and a good listener.

A day away from the ritual Bucky asked, “Ya got a straight razor around here bunny?” She was mashing ingredients up with a pestle across the room. The mother was gathering energy in the forest from what he’d heard, garnering him to take action. The woman hummed, “I think so, why?” Bucky rasped, “Need a shave, face is itchin’. A bath too if ya got it.”

Her breath hitched. Carefully she put down the mortar. Silently she stepped to a drawer and pulled out a razor. Bunny said, “I’ll have to boil water. Think you can get into a tub?” Bucky joked, “I think I’d jump into one if I could.” Her pretty lips quirked into a smile and she disappeared.

Bucky began to grow restless at her lack of presence. He shifted into an upright position, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. The miner stretched the best he could, the bones in his back grinding and popping. He was exhausted from the haul up, feeling his eyelids slip. Bucky felt himself doze, unable to stop the descent.

When he woke again he felt warm, glancing around for the reason why. Bucky dimly registered he was in a tub now, his remaining arm gripping at the side to tether him. His eyes wildly darted around for another person. He noted that his growing scruff was shaved.

“Shh, s’fine, I’ve got you,” she soothed.

A small hand caressed his mottled shoulder, Bucky feeling better with her presence guarding his weakened side. He cocked his head to look at the witch, a slight smile gracing Bucky’s features. She held some soap in her other hand, a rag hanging on the edge of the tin tub. He had many questions on how he ended up here but decided to ignore it. Probably for the best.

Silent as always his bunny lathered up the rag and rubbed circles on his sore skin. She made sure to get his torso thoroughly, face schooled into single-minded focus. Bucky sighed at the feeling, heat spreading under his skin. As the rag neared his thighs, he couldn’t help but swell at the touch.

Bucky could easily excuse this to corrupt her. He found himself saying anyways, “Ah- bunny, you may need to stop yourself.”

“Why?”

He huffed a laugh at her innocent response. She frowned in confusion— the look marring fine features. Her hand grazed against his length under the water, a little ‘oh’ filling the awkward silence. Bucky murmured, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He held her gaze with a molten look, lips quirking into a smirk.

“Buck,” she blushed and turned her head, “Do y’find me pretty or somethin’?”

The woman chewed at her lip nervously, quite overwhelmed with it all. Bucky drawled, “I think you could feel it for yourself, bun.” She glanced up, an eager look flitting across her face. Bucky laid it on, “Course I find you pretty. Prettiest thing I’ve seen in West Virginia.”

This usually was his hook, line, and sinker for the ladies. Bucky threw on a charming grin to seal the deal. The little witch trembled, faltering over a response. Her hand rested dangerously close to his cock.

“I want you. Please,” she whimpered. Her eyes were watery with need while hands wracked with shakes. Bucky beckoned her closer, the woman dropping to her knees, hand still so close to where he needed it most. His cock throbbed with blood, swelling painfully so.

He puffed against her lips, his blue eyes almost blackened by inky pupils. She whimpered softly, lips grazing Bucky’s own. He closed the minuscule gap sealing their mouths together with a feather-light kiss. His little bunny’s hand gripped at his thigh in an attempt to tether herself from floating into the ether.

Bucky led the way with insistent presses of his lips, his only hand holding her soft cheek. She gasped into his warm mouth, opening up like one of those morning glory flowers curled on the path to the mine. The man tenderly coaxed her lips into an lazy dance, soaking in her sweet scent and taste.

She shyly pressed her forehead against his own, eyes fluttering in pleasure. The brunette deepened the kiss— gently sliding his tongue across her own wet muscle. She cried softly, Bucky swallowing the sound with another greedy lick. His thumb slid across the witch’s skin, sending goosebumps down her arms.

Slick smacks and her beautiful noises swam in his head. Bucky was utterly intoxicated by the innocent eagerness, seeping into his flushing veins. He wanted to consume her wholly, never in a way he’d felt before. A dark thought slid from the sap in his skull— Probably put a spell on you, young blood.

Bucky didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore except defiling this paragon of purity surrounded by vast darkness. Where he’d soon reside after the ritual.

He drawled against her swollen lips, “Get in with me, Bun, c’mon sweetness.”

Her lithe fingers frantically unbuttoned her plaid top, Bucky holding the woman’s mouth hostage. She whined his name— breasts exposed to the chilly air. She undid her skirt and petticoat to his gaze, shivering under the intensity. Bucky wished to something higher up that he had his other hand to feel her.

The little witch murmured against his insistent maw, “Do I please you?”

He drew back to drink in her body, glowing with something he couldn’t name. Bucky thumbed at a pebbled nipple, rumbling out, “More than pleasing me, c’mon now bunny.” Her breath hitched, a flush deepening her skin. She climbed into the tin tub, crying out when her sensitive cunt pressed flush against Bucky’s desire.

Bucky nuzzled her neck and murmured, “Y’feel how much ya please me?” His bunny jerked her head in a semblance of a nod, struck by the onslaught of new sensation. The man rubbed his nose against hers, his hand running down her belly and hips. She keened his name, eyes fluttering helplessly.

“Ya gonna let me touch your pretty pussy, Bunny?,” Bucky groaned filthily in her ear.

“P-please Buck,” the girl in his lap begged.

She steadied herself with hands on his shoulders, cautious of the left side. Bucky didn’t feel as much pain from it— sometimes a burning itch or dull throbs. He grinned as his fingers slipped against her slit, feeling the collected slick even in the water. Bucky’s cock jumped at her thighs trembling in response.

She seized his lips again with a desperate whine, pressing her tits against his own muscled chest. The miner circled his thumb around her clit a couple of times, testing the waters with one finger sliding into her heat. He swore, “Fuck bunny- you’re tight.” Bucky could cum from her virgin cunt sheathed around his one digit.

He eased the single finger in and out, eyes checking her own for pain. She seemed dazed, full lashes sweeping over her cheeks, puffy lips lax and wet. Bucky crooked up into her sweet spot, groaning softly at her warbling yelp. She squirmed in his lap, bumping his rigid cock with another wrecked cry.

Bucky slid another finger in, aiming to stretch her out now. Regardless she’d be a tight fit, he knew that much. He scissored his fingers with practiced ease, enjoying her needy lips mouthing against his neck. She shivered and mewled, “Another, ‘nother one Buck.”

Who would James Buchanan Barnes Jr. be if he declined the beautiful bunny in front of him? He cooed, “Such a nice bun takin’ my fingers like that.”

“Mmh, yes, wanna be good,” she rambled.

Bucky reverently watched her writhe and sniffle at the third finger forced it’s way in. He swore again at the tight fit, pausing to gather himself from shoving his cock in her pussy like a rabid dog. Bucky mumbled, “You’re a real prize, y’know that?” She blinked and hid blushing cheeks. Apparently that was one compliment too far.

He pumped his fingers a few more times and asked softly, “Y’ready for it? Want me to fill ya up?” His bunny nodded and rolled her hips in agreement, whining at the loss of the brunette’s digits. The witch nestled her forehead into the crook of Bucky’s neck. He stopped and chided, “Look at me. I wanna see you.”

She focused on him.

Bucky guided his cock into her virgin cunt, his chest filling with warmth at the press. She bit off a cry, teeth clamping down on her full bottom lip. Bucky groaned, stretching her inch by agonizing inch. She whimpered in pain, a heartbreaking little cry of his name. Bucky shushed her, rubbing comforting circles on her tightened back.

“Easy now, you’re doing okay, it’ll stop pinchin’,” Bucky promised, “Gonna make ya feel s’good bunny.” He slipped his hand back to her pussy, thumbing gentle circles into her clit. Her pained whimpers subsided, a minute roll of plush hips made Bucky see stars. The witch panted, forcing herself up and down.

Bucky tried to slow her roll but she shook her head and kept it up, back arching in blooming pleasure. He rasped, “Y’sure?”

“Mhm, yes!”

Bucky rolled his hips up, canting his cock into her slick heat. He moaned deep in his throat at the impossible squeeze, balls already beginning to draw up in anticipation. Bucky thrusted faster, aiming for her sweet spot. Sharp teeth latched onto his shoulder when he made contact— her yelling into the thick muscle.

The water sloshed and rolled at their racing movements. Bucky couldn’t help but groan, “S’good bunny don’t stop.” She cried, “Never- y’feel so damn good.” He breathed into her ear teasingly, “Yeah? How I feel?” He roughly drug his cock against her walls with a grin.

She shivered and mewled, “So full, so big Buck.”

The witch’s tight heat pulsed around his thick cock in waves, her noises growing higher and higher. She tossed her head back, giving Bucky the ride of his damned life. His bunny babbled, “Oh fuck- oh my, my, you’re perfect.” Her glinting teeth were tinged with his blood, making him even harder.

A voice echoed in his head, “Serve her. Make her your goddess, yes, yes!”

Pleasure surged through Bucky’s veins. He pinched at her clit with a ragged wheeze, feeling himself come unraveled. She fared no better, pretty tears on her cheeks. Bucky begged, “C’mon baby, c’mon and cum on me please sweetheart.” She nodded in agreement, biting down on his bruising skin to hide the wailing.

With a burst of colors behind the brunettes eyes, she seized with a hiccup, milking his dick at the same time. His bunny gasped and writhed around him, whimpering his name. Bucky moaned deeply, pulling out and finishing in the water with milky blooms. He held her close as he could, laving at her salty skin.

“Aw hell,” she whispered, wide eyes and heavy pants.

“Nah bunny, s’perfect,” Bucky slurred.

She traced the familiar symbol into his neck with a shaky finger, hoping something would click. With a sigh she murmured, “C’mon. Need’ta clean you up ‘fore mama gets back.” She felt hollow now, just wanting to rest in his arms. Bucky was the same mindset but kept his mouth shut. Reality of what was to occur was hitting him like a ton of coal.

After resting from the exhausting climb from the tin tub, his eyes flickered open to the moonlit room. No one was in the cabin anymore— only her sweet scent lingering in the air. Bucky’s blues caught on a shiny reflection. On the wooden table sat a silvery arm. One with a horrific red star stamped on the shoulder. He was suddenly very scared.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfic #historical au #Bucky barnes x reader #witch!reader

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ineffable-rohese · 7 months

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Oh hey, I've gotten a few followers/mutuals, so I guess it's time for a pinned intro post?

Demographic info (because it gives context to my words): Early 40s white fat cis queer poly pagan woman living in the wet corner of North America. My nearest and dearest are almost all trans/non-binary.

Personal (public facing): I'm an Aziraphale-coded hobbit. Like, so cozy and wholesome you might want to puke. I rewatch just the first disc of the LOTR extended edition because I love the Shire so much. I drink Earl Grey with milk and one sugar. (Or a good scotch, cause every Aziraphale needs a little bit of Crowley inside them, right Sheenie?) I read mainly historical fiction, especially anything set in (actual, not fantasy) medieval Europe and I was at one point a medieval music history nerd. I wear cozy sweaters. I love rain on ferns and April flowers. I make soup with things I've tended and harvested. I work a Wholesome AF job. I unironically hug trees. I'm deeply in love with the world.

Personal (in private): I'm deeply kinky. I'm primarily a Sensual Sadist with a significant Dominant streak. I often play as a Panther. I absolutely love consensual violence, and get great joy from hurting people who want me to hurt them. I've only really given myself permission to be that in the last year or so.

Fandoms: I fell in love with Good Omens in 2000 when a college roommate gave it to me. It was genuinely the funniest, greatest thing I had ever read, and I evangelized about it to anyone who would listen. S1 of the show immediately became a comfort show, and it got me through a time of massive loss and upheaval. I put it on when everything was too hard and I needed something that made me feel like everything was going to be OK. S2 - well we're all here still, aren't we? It dropped when I desperately needed One Good Thing for my brain to latch on to as I got through some intense pressure, and boy howdy did it lodge itself in me.

Other fandoms in roughly chronological order: Star Wars (original trilogy made me a child nerd), X-Files (first real social fandom, and intro to fanfic!), Buffy/Angel/Firefly, LOTR, Doctor Who, Torchwood (the only other show I've been driven to write fic for), Sherlock to an extent. OFMD and WWDITS are great fun, though not obsessions.

My Writing: Writing Index Here I'm really enjoying writing right now! I don't know how long this ADHD hyperfocus will last, but I'll take it while it lasts. My goal in writing is to challenge myself, create things I'd want to read, and have fun with it (for a definition of fun).

I'm also definitely working on being comfortable expressing the things I like and want and being unashamed about that. I worry too much about how my 😈 side might reflect on my 😇 side, and honestly, these shades of grey lovelies are helping me with that a lot. It's probably why I love writing Dom Aziraphale so much, because he is just so sweet and good and bright, and also a toppy BAMF who can make demons (and their Bentleys) do whatever he wants and wields a flaming sword against Satan himself.

So yeah, every time I make Aziraphale go to a dark place, and then come back again to being a ball of delight, it's helping me create a map that allows me to do the same (to a, you know, somewhat lesser and more reasonable extent). And when others read and like the things that come from the darkest corners of my brain, it makes me feel seen.

Anyway, you made it this far. Here are my cats for tax. Yes, I have one of each of the Kinds of Cats.

#intro post #pinned intro

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acti-veg · 7 months

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I’ve been vegan since before I met my partner, and he’s been a bug and reptile enthusiast since before he met me.

He REALLY wants to buy something. Tarantulas, snakes, cockroaches, fish. He has bought bugs and reptiles from breeders in the past but we currently have nothing but my childhood cat, and feeding him is emotionally taxing enough. Every time he asks i say I’m unsure, i need to do more research. I dont want to debate him on anything but he is insistent that breeders are vital for species conservation.

Ive come to the conclusion absolutely no carnivorous pets, no reptile breeders. A reptile is relatively easy to find as a rescue where I live and I think animal rescue is one of the most vegan things you can do. But what about bugs? Can you rescue a bug? I still feel very wrong about buying and breeding them and keeping them in a tank like little decorations. We have a couple snails in a jar that hitched a ride on some apples we harvested and I feel real terrible about not just letting them go. I feel at a loss, bugs and reptiles are his passion and i dont want to take that away from him but I dont know if he’ll ever see them the way I do. I grew up watching my reptiles suffer in poor conditions because my mom looked at them like toys, i used to beg my sister to release her buckets full of hundreds grasshoppers dying all over each other and be told no, shes “learning” about them. The thought of being back in a home surrounded by miserable animals makes me feel sick.

I used to be deeply involved in this world when I was younger, and none of it is about conservation. Most reptile and exotic enthusiasts more generally are little more than collectors, and the live trade of endangered animals in particularly is inextricably linked to poachers and wild caught species. That’s how they get here in the first place.

There is really no way to argue that breeders who sell exotic animals to the public are essential for species conservation… Most actual conservationists would point out how the exact opposite is true, given the problem of wild-caught exotics, and the problem of feral populations establishing themselves extremely quickly in many places, and they’re very hard to dislodge once they get a foothold, as Florida has found with many reptiles and arachnids. He wants to acquire an exotic animal because he likes them, which is fine, but he can’t really pretend he’s doing it to support conservation.

You can adopt these animals, including arachnids but they’re far less commonly available. They are generally sold, because the exotic pet trade is alive and well, and quite profitable for breeders. Why give away an exotic animal when you can sell them? Regardless, the point of doing that should be to save an animal who won’t otherwise get adopted, not to acquire an exotic animal, which is too often the motivation.

I also found people massively underestimate just how much space these animals should have, the 3x4 vivariums most are kept in are just miserable for them, and they need a lot of stimulation and attention. You’d need the space for it, the money to feed them a high quality diet, all the equipment, he’d need to find a herbivorous animal up for adoption, and be able to guarantee he has the time to give them what they need. If he can do all that and you’d still not be comfortable, then your vote matters on this as much as his does, since you’re also going to have to live there.

I do want to emphasise though, that not wanting to share your home with exotic animals is not taking away his passion, and you shouldn’t feel pressured. I’m passionate about reptiles too, it’s just that now that I’m older I know that I don’t need to own any to do that. He may have to learn the same lesson too, if you’re really not comfortable with it.

Regardless, I think that he needs to be the one to do the research and show it to you, he needs to tell you what this would actually look like, show you adoptable animals, tell you where in the house they’d live, how the set up would be, how he’d feed them, what species, how many etc. You can’t really make an informed decision on that and come to a compromise without that information.

#ask #pets #reptiles #exotic animals

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asnowfern · 10 months

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Sunshine in Autumn - Part Two

Summary: Desperate to prevent the possible loss of her family's happiness, Elain travels back to the past to Autumn, where her sole ally is her mate who has no idea who she is.

A/N: It is still @elucienweekofficial!✨ Unrelated to day 6 prompt but please enjoy the second and final part of this little time travel fic! Also, given that this is a time travel fic, some Doctor Who spoilers was required. Another huge huge thanks to @reverie-tales for the constant support and encouragement. Love you! 💕💕💕

Read on AO3 | Part One

LUCIEN

Lucien looked on with a practiced mask of arrogant indifference as Beron led the procession, raising the tray of symbolic harvest to the full moon which hung low in the sky, casting its light on the standing rocks that surrounded them. His voice droned continuously on the importance of farmers in contributing to Autumn’s agriculture-rich economy. As if the true farmers of the court were even in the audience, as if the farmers were not under compensated and over taxed for the work.

His fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to pull on the stuffy collar of his stiff formal wear.

Thirty minutes.

Just thirty minutes before Lucien would be released from this social obligation and he would be rid of the uncomfortable clothes, twirling Elain as they danced around the bonfire in the town square.

His thoughts, he realised, had a tendency to be centered around the mysterious attractive time travelling Fae these days. If he wasn't with her, he was writing her notes or scouting for information on her mission in Autumn.

To stop Beron from successfully egging Spring and Night into war.

It would be just like his father to take advantage of the tenuous links between the two courts. Lucien knew it wouldn't even take much to push the two young, grieving and untested High Lords in the direction. A spark to a forest fire.

Lucien had been laying the groundwork with Tamlin over the past month, hinting at his father's selfish intentions. He would have to leave convincing Rhysand to Elain, who seemed confident in the ace hidden high up her sleeve, with whatever secrets the future held.

A future that Elain had to return to, a future that existed a Lucien who wasn't falling over his feet for Elain, the prospect boggled him. You didn’t know me when we first… met, she told him once, the words stumbled out of her unsure. He would have to forget her, forget their time together here, forget his feelings for her. Would it really be so easy? The same feeling nagged at him again that he was missing something very important.

Splatters of polite applause snapped out of his thoughts. Lucien sharpened his gaze as Fae began to trickle off after Beron’s exit.

“Careful, brother. Your poor attention is telling.” Eris murmured from behind him.

He fought off the urge to scowl, “It’s fine.”

Eris cocked a brow, “And the rumours of you consorting with someone from the town?”

“Rumours are just that, rumours,” he said sharply, “Nothing to pay attention to.”

“As I said,” Eris landed one hand on his shoulder as he walked past the youngest born, “Telling.”

Lucien still bore a scowl on his face as he stepped into the town square. A scowl that only slipped when he spotted Elain seated at the public benches by the bonfire, her face alight with affectionate smiles and giggles as she held a hot drink to her lips. An adolescent male was attempting to needle her into dancing with him.

He stepped closer towards them, keeping his tone light as his words announced his presence, “Perhaps the lady would do me the honour of dancing with me instead?”

The duo spun their heads in his direction to stare at him in surprise. The young male did a double take before groaning loudly, "Wait, he's the one you're waiting for?" He shrugged, "Well, there goes my chance."

"Giving up?" He asked the boy, his voice dripping in haughtiness.

"For today," the boy replied cheekily, pointing his index finger at Lucien as he retreated backwards, "But you watch yourself, milord. I'll be back to challenge you to a blood duel someday."

"That's quite an admirer you've got there." He commented lightly as he turned back to her. Elain looked like a dream. Her dark blonde waves were tied back into a half updo, drawing attention to the rosy apples of her cheeks, her eyes were bright with life.

She laughed, the melodic chimes lighting his insides like little sparklers, "Oh yes, you should be very worried."

"Oh?" He took his cup and placed it on the table, pulling her towards the fire until her soft curves were flushed against the hard planes of his body, his hand spanned nearly the entirety of her waist, "Should I be?"

"Yes," she breathed, the reflection of flames dancing with the humour in her pupils.

He raised an arm to send her into a twirl in response. She spinned back into his arms, crashing her back to his chest. His mouth ghosted over the shell of her ear, delighted in the goosebumps it raised, "We'll see about that."

They danced song after song, even as the people around them changed and shifted, even if the music died away. It didn't matter. It was just the two of them.

Above them, the sky exploded into a symphony of colours, the fireworks shaping and rearranging themselves from their classic spheres to various images. Elain gasped, her mouth shaped into a silent 'o' as she admired the pyrotechnics. When she dipped her head back to him, her face, lit by the bright lights of the fireworks, was mere inches from him. His eyes dipped to her lips before returning to the doe eyes in question. At the upward tug of her lips, Lucien closed the gap, slotting his lips with hers.

He swallowed her gasp. A beat passed before her lips moved against his, deepening the kiss. The feather of a touch that sets him off wanting more. His hands tugged her closer, her lips parted to let his tongue in. The kiss grew hungry and desperate, as if this was the only chance they had, breaking apart only when the need to breathe became too pressing.

Elain's cheeks were deliciously flushed, her pupils blown wide as she breathed heavily through swollen lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was so goddamn beautiful.

Every fibre of Lucien's being screamed at him. Claim her, mark her, yours yours yours. Blood roared in his ears as his blood thrummed with the magic of the Equinox. The memories of the past few weeks surged through his mind.

"You don't want to eat anything I make, I'm a terrible, terrible cook."

The pieces clicked. Of course.

"You're my mate," he said in a breathless whisper.

Elain's stricken face was all the answer he needed.

ELAIN

Horror streaked through her as Lucien's words echoed from her past and into his future.

"No," she denied weakly, frantically trying to sense if there's a change in the bond, "W-why would you ask that?"

Has the bond snapped for him? Has she irrevocably changed the future?

She sent an experimental nudge down. Immensely relieved when it vanished into the abyss instead of the golden presence at the receiving end that she was used to.

"I'm right, aren't I?" He accused, stepping back, his hands dropping to his side as his face scrunched up, his eyes swept wildly as he gathered his thoughts.

The next time russet eyes blazed through brown orbs, it was through a world of hurt that she thought might kill her to lie her way out of, "Did you reject the bond?"

"No! I swear, I didn't. It's…" she trailed off, her hand clutched desperately at her chest where the bond yelled at her as she struggled to piece together the words she needed, the words to make him understand, "complicated." She finished lamely.

"Complicated," he repeated flatly, his mouth pressed into a fine line.

Her blood chilled as the memories resurfaced. She was back in the endless darkness of the Cauldron. The despondence, the bone-chilling fear, the ripping agony. She opened her mouth to scream but there was no screaming without oxygen. She was trapped.

Then her world burst into orange flames and aureate light, warmth rushed through her veins as oxygen filled her lungs.

"Elain!" A familiar masculine voice rumbled as warm hands shook her shoulders.

Panicked russet eyes swam into her vision.

Lucien.

The fireworks, the kiss. Mate.

She pushed down the hot wells of embarrassment as she looked around furtively at the familiar wooden furnishings of the cottage. Lucien must have winnowed them back during her meltdown, away from prying eyes. She pointedly focused her gaze away from concerned eyes as she echoed her earlier words, “As I said, complicated.”

“Elain,” Her mate’s voice was pleading, “Look at me, please.”

He covered her hands with his, soothing the trembles. Before she was fully aware, she was in his arms with her face buried in his chest, surrounded by the comforting woody scent of cinnamon and honey. Hot tears pricked behind her eyelids.

His hold tightened as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. Baritone reverberated through her body, "Just let it out, I'm here."

Sobs racked her lithe form. Lucien simply held her through it, whispering sweet nothings to her. "I was horrid to you," she confessed in between hiccups. "You treated me with nothing but respect and I was absolutely appalling."

Lucien unexpectedly chuckled causing her curiousity to override her mortification, and she looked up at him, asking with pinched brows, "What's so funny?"

"He can take it," he said simply, shrugging,"It doesn't matter what you threw at him, he can take it."

It didn't alleviate anything.

"You say that now," she argued.

The Autumn male shrugged once more, almost dismissively, "If the reward is you, he will take it.”

The tip of her pointed ears heated as she buried her face back into his chest, deeply inhaling honey and cinnamon. You say that now, she thought sadly because she’s felt it. The hurt and frustration that radiated from his end until it flickered to nothing more than resigned indifference.

You say that now. But just like everyone else, you will eventually realise that I’m not worth it.

***

Elain woke to a cold cottage, the sheets surrounding her cool to touch. Lucien must have left during the night. The pit of disappointment was halfway formed when she spotted a bunch of wild flowers placed neatly over their notebook. Smiling to herself, she padded her way to the table, opening to the marked page.

Dear Elain,

I need to return to prepare for the High Lord’s meeting. The wards surrounding the main entrance of the Forest House and the grand hall will be relaxed from 9am in anticipation for the meeting. That would be our chance to slip in. I’ll winnow you from the cottage.

Yours forever,

Lucien

Yours forever

Would he still feel this way back in their present time? Elain thought idly as she tossed aside the conservative Autumn fashion and dug out the navy dress she was wearing the night she arrived. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric.

Everything that she had been working towards since Seeing that vision that night had led to this day - in Autumn, over two hundred years before she was born. Sneaking into a High Lord’s meeting to convince her future brother-in-law how much he had to look forward to, how much he stood to lose if he fell to Beron’s machinations today.

She slipped the chiffon over her head and let the material slide over her curves and fall to her ankles. She cleared out all evidence of her ever being at the cottage and pocketed the prepared vials of forget-me potions, her drifting eyes stole glimpses of the stalks of wild flowers.

She would have to return to her present after today. Her heart ached at the thought.

You know where to find me when you've finally made up your mind if you want to give us a chance or reject the bond.

She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

The golden thread in her chest glowed as Lucien winnowed behind her. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, a small clipped braid ran down the side of his head. He was dressed in a stiff white shirt, an intricately designed vest and dark pants. He looked regal but rigid as stone, an appearance Elain was used to seeing on Eris. He lets out a breath as he takes in her appearance, blinking at the Night court style dress.

"You look beautiful,” he recovered automatically, not skipping a beat, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“You’re an atrocious liar,” she told him, rolling her eyes. She had accepted it a long time ago that the dark style of the Court of Nightmares would never suit her.

“No, I'm a great liar and you would look beautiful even if you were dressed in a trash bag" he said, pressing his lips to her cheek, "Maybe I just like you better in Autumn wear."

"With their infinite laces? Maybe I’ll let you lace me up some other time,” she offered teasingly as she threaded her arm through his.

His eyes darkened as he purred, “Trust me, I rather much prefer unlacing you instead.”

Heat coiled in her belly as her Sight manifested a vision of Lucien, one with mismatching eyes and clawing scars, flipped her around, pressing her front against the bedpost, his hands expertly undoing neat laces between stolen heated kisses. Elain pushed it aside before traces of her arousal permeated the air. Although she swore she saw his nostrils flare slightly before he winnowed them away in a flash of flames and golden light.

They appeared in what seemed to be a study. Shelves of neatly lined tomes sat behind a large desk. On the opposing side sat two plush velvet chairs arranged facing each other in a diagonal in front of the fireplace.

“This is a private room used only by the Vanserras. I’ll draw Rhysand here when I can but you’ll probably need to wait a while,” he explained, “You’ve got that note for him?”

Elain nodded, pulling out a small envelope from her sleeves, glass vials tinkled as she did so. Lucien stiffened at the sound, his mouth tugged into a melancholic smile, “One of those for me?”

“You can’t remember me,” she reminded him as she handed him the note, ignoring the twist in her chest.

"Of course," Lucien pocketed the note, leaving the room with a kicked puppy expression.

It was hours before the door cracked open again. Familiar star flecked darkness followed an uncomfortable Lucien as Rhysand entered the room. The High Lord of Night's face was venomous as he turned to glower at Elain.

Talons instantly latched onto her mental stone walls, gripping tightly at the edges. Its presence was kept imposing but not intruding. Not yet, it said. But lie to me, threaten my court and I'll rip it to shreds.

It might have worked for other members of his court but not Elain. Not Elain who had seen both her blade run through the king of Hybern and Nyx projectile vomit on Rhys.

She fortified her mental shields and leveled a gaze at Rhys, who cocked a brow in return.

"Leave us," he ordered Lucien, igniting a low growl from the male.

"I'll be fine, Lucien." She said quickly, casting a reassuring look at her mate.

Lucien looked conflicted, his worry so palpable Elain could nearly feel it through the unsnapped bond. She cupped his cheek, stroking it with her thumb, "I can handle this. Trust me."

Russet eyes scanned deep brown for a beat before he agreed, squeezing her palm, "I'll be right outside."

The weight of the assessing glare tracked her movement as Elain settled back into the plush seats when Lucien exited the room. She extended her hand out in invitation to the seat opposite her. By now, he would have clocked in the Night style dress and the bargain tattoo on her forearm.

"Velaris," he started, his words lined with ice and malice, "Does he know about it?"

Elain lifted the edges of her mouth, sharpening them into razor edges. Her note worked. "No, Night Court's most prized secret is safe with me."

"What else is safe with you?" He asked sharply before reciting, "The Lord of Dreamers may be interested in Autumn's plans for Night. Your words were very deliberate."

Elain paused, pondering her response and letting her Sight prompt her in what she hoped to be the right direction, "Spring. What is Beron saying about them?"

Violet eyes narrowed into slits as he scoffed dismissively, "I'm aware of Beron's attempts to incite war. We're not that easily manipulated."

"It's not that straightforward," she shook her head, her visions rising to the surface. All it required was one army sighting, one rumour, from either side to escalate the conflict. "If you're considering raising the Illyrians, even in defense, he succeeds. If you're talking Keir into preparing the Darkbringers, he succeeds. It's a slippery slope."

She paused and waited.

"How do you know so much about Night's affairs?"

She could’ve smiled.

"Why don't you take a look?" She offered, swinging the gates to her mental walls open.

She didn't need to ask twice, not when the stakes were Night's greatest secrets for Rhys.

His mind enveloped hers, pushing through the gates in a mist of darkness. Holding firm to the light, Elain pushed the memories to him. Of family dinners at the River House, Cassian's expression of pure unbridled joy at his ridiculously ornate bonding ceremony, stealing kisses from Feyre when they thought no one was looking, spinning Nyx around in the air as the young heir giggled and cheered.

The pressure lifted, its presence retreated so quickly Elain physically recoiled and rubbed at her temples.

Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord in history, was rendered speechless. He staggered back into the chair, his mouth gaping like a fish. Eventually, he croaked, "How?"

"You know how," she said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort, "I'm from your future, sent back by some device tucked deep within Hewn City. What you saw was your future - what you need to protect because it's there, waiting for you."

When violet eyes finally lifted to meet hers, it held a pool of disbelief and desperation, but above all, it was filled with hope. "What are their names?"

Elain smiled, "Feyre and Nyx."

Rhys repeated it reverently under his breath. His eyes fell shut for a second to imagine being with his future family in his mind.

Elain said nothing, letting the male process the newfound knowledge while she internally mapped out their next steps. Her hand drifted to the two glass vials in her satchel, inadvertently drawing Rhys's attention when the glass clinked its way out.

"Are those forget-me potions?"

She dipped her chin in confirmation, “Made with a strand of my hair. Enough to remove all traces of me in your memories. One for you…”

He looked towards the door, his face cast in sorrowful understanding, "One for him."

She looked away, a lump forming in her throat once more. She raised her forearm, tracing the outlines of the flowers. The magic hummed, intertwined with the golden thread linking her to Lucien. Once the tattoo faded and he drank the potion, everything would fade and it would be like Elain was never here. Unless-

"Rhys, is there any way for you to lock away someone's memories temporarily?" She asked, unable to keep the tinge of desperation out.

Rhys' brows creased as he answered, "Theoretically, yes but it will be extremely intrusive and risky. I will need full access to all his recent memories and mind space. I can't do that without the other's cooperation, not without the risk of shattering his mind altogether."

"I'll do it"

Lucien stood by the door, his face set with grim determination.

"Lucien-"

"I'll do it," he repeated, turning to Rhys, locked in a silent conversation.

Rhys held his gaze before turning back to Elain, taking a glass vial from her palm. "I'm due back in the hall and there's a High Lord I need to deal with. The both of you,” he wrinkled his nose, “ work out what you need to and let me know before I take Elain back to Night with me."

"Wait!" Elain called out, halting him as he turned towards the exit, "What are you going to do?"

Rhys's face transformed into the cruel Lord of Nightmares, "Perhaps it's time Prythian is reminded of what the Night Court truly is."

A cut of the future hit her. A beautiful young winged girl with violet eyes chased an older Nyx who and feint annoyance, the glow of Starfall smeared across their faces. Nesta and Cassian stood a few paces away leaning against the railings, the General laying a protective hand on the Valkyrie's belly. She leaned back into a familiar firm warm body as a strong arm encircled her waist.

Seer, Rhys breathed into her mind.

Hush, now, she chided lightly. Something in her loosened at the hopeful future as she returned cheekily, Spoilers.

Rhys departed the room with twinkling eyes, leaving just the pair of mates.

“You don’t have to do this,” she told him quietly, “We can make new memories in the future.”

“We can and we will,” he agreed, reaching for her hand to trace idle circles, “But wouldn’t that be terribly lonely for you?”

Her breath hitched as he interlaced their fingers and used his spare hand to tuck away a stray curl. Her eyes studied his features. His eyes, still so young and untouched from the pain that was etched into his future self. She didn’t want to leave, she realised. She wanted to stay and be with him through every challenge, every brutality his family will inflict, every tantrum he will endure from Tamlin, and she will rip apart Amarantha for ever laying a hand on him. Because she loved him.

Elain was irrevocably and undeniably in love with Lucien. The golden thread in her chest glowed, beaming as bright as the sun.

"I love you," she said in a shuddering whisper, shaking her head, "that's all that matters."

"I've always ever been yours," he promised, bringing her hand to his lips to press a tender kiss on her knuckles, "Giving Rhysand full access to my head would be a small price to pay to keep the memory of this me - the me that loves you wholeheartedly, right now, right here, alive.”

With a small quirk of his mouth, he leaned in to plant kitten kisses on the tip of her nose and cheeks, wiping away the tears that came with her confession. He held her face in his warm palms, his expression unbelievably soft, “Okay?”

“Okay”

The moment shattered as a loud commotion exploded outside the room. Elain and Lucien sprang apart in alarm. She felt herself pushed behind Lucien as the door burst open. Rhys stormed in, a sea of barely kept inky darkness gathering around his feet.

“We need to go,” he informed gruffly before disappearing back into the shadows.

An image of snowy mountains was pushed into her and Lucien's minds. Meet us there in an hour.

"C'mon, let’s make a pit stop." Lucien held out an arm, offering a small smile.

With a single touch, their world disappeared in a burst of flames and light and landed them in familiar woods.

The twilight sky casted their surroundings in gentle pink and gold. Lucien snapped his fingers, conjuring a thin sheet on the ground. With a cheeky grin, he pulled her down with him to lie beneath the jigsaw puzzle locked treetops.

Elain idly raised an open hand and watched the light streamed through the canopy before reaching her fingers. Next to her, Lucien interlaced his hand with hers, the warmth radiating through her palm and flowed directly into her heart. She scooted herself closer until she was tucked comfortably into his side, her head semi-resting on his chest. She could feel his smile as a muscular arm fitted securely around her.

After a while, she raised herself higher so that she was twisted over his body and had an unrestricted view of his face, the movement jostled him into alertness. Lucien peeked at her with one eye open, a lazy grin spread across his face, “See something you like?”

“Yes,” she admitted, lowering to capture his lips. The kiss started out unhurried, a relaxed exploration of lips, tongue and teeth. Hands soon joined the expedition, raking up and down each other’s forms as Elain moved herself up until she straddled his waist. Her thighs clenched around his middle as calloused fingers skirted under the fabric bunched around her hips and ghosted over her abdomen, occasionally teasing her breasts.

“Elain,” he sighed into her lips. He stretched the column of throat to give her better access as she kissed her way down his jaw, sucking gently where his neck met his shoulders. She raised her head slightly to steal a glimpse; his head was tipped back, exposing sensual jawline, his eyes were half lidded but gleamed with hunger.

Gods, he was beautiful. A smile snaked its way as she leaned down for another kiss.

The world stood still in that moment. There was nothing but him and her. But like all things, it had to end.

Regret tinged russet eyes as he too clocked the time. Refusing to let time sully their moment, the words spilled out of her, "It's just a pause," metallic sting swivelled and gathered as her powers sang with resounding truth, "There will be dark times ahead but you will push through it, and one day, we will meet again under the canopy of golden light and resume what has been paused."

His eyes widened as the magic sank into their tangled forms. Surrendering to instinct, their lips crashed together and codified the bond.

Forever, forever, forever. The Cauldron didn't bind them together. They did. Centuries before Elain was even born, their magics had bound them together. A bond waiting to snap the instant they meet.

Later, back in the depths of Hewn City, Elain would return to the future with the magic still singing in her veins.

***

A few years later, Spring

LUCIEN

Lucien stared emptily into the sink as the water from the open tap turned ruby red. Screams echoed in his head. Jes's agonised screams, his desperate pleas, the feral cries as he and Tamlin struck down his brothers.

Slumped on the bathroom floor, the screams eventually faded, leaving Lucien nothing but the vacant look in her eyes and the heartbeat that slowed and weakened.

He failed her. They should have ran away weeks ago, before his father ever knew of her existence. Far away where she would've been safe.

Stay, Tamlin had told him, awkwardly patting him on the back as he showed him the room, Spring can be your home in any capacity for as long as you need it to.

How? How could he move on? To a new home, a new court, discard his old life and start over like nothing happened?

Exhaustion pulled him under and smothered him under a blanket of fitful dreams, filled with terror and violence. When Lucien dragged himself awake, still lying on the bathroom floor, he made no effort to pull himself up. What was the point?

There will be dark times ahead but you will push through it, and one day, we will meet again under the canopy of golden light and resume what has been paused.

Just for a split second, the scent of jasmine and honey enveloped him. A scent so comforting and lovely he could have wept. When it dissipated, it took away the sharp edges of his grief and pain.

Lucien stood up, his neck and shoulders cricking in protest.

All he could do was to take it one step at a time, one day at a time. That would have to be enough for now.

***

Present day, Day

Lucien nodded off, nearly crashing face first into the thick tome. He scowled and glared at the miniscule words which transformed into wriggling ants amid his exhaustion.

Two months. It had been almost two months since Elain vanished into the past. Rhysand had explained how they had synthesised the potion Elain made with her hair and left traces of it on the disc so that his memories would be unlocked the moment he touched it in the future. With a simple glare into his brain, the daemati unearthed memories buried deep within the recesses of his mind and brought him to his knees.

Elain, his chosen mate, sanctified by her Cauldron given powers.

Were they mates because they had fallen in love centuries ago or did they fall in love because they were mates, even centuries ago? The implications made his head whirl.

Helion had inspected the relic that very night but even with all his knowledge, he was at a loss on the mechanics of the time travelling device. Or how they could bring Elain back.

Lucien rubbed his chest warily again. The abyss on the other end of the bond was just as disconcerting as the day it quietened.

He heaved as he closed the giant tome and reached for another. Then just as abrupt as it did before, the golden light blazed in his chest and knocked the air out of him.

With the next exhale, Lucien was outside Hewn City. His mechanical eye surveyed the wards and shattered them with a clenched fist. He could apologise later.

Because there she was, still wearing the same navy dress. Still so damned beautiful it stopped the circulation in his lungs.

"Lucien" she breathed, her doe eyes bright and round with love.

He was by her side in an instant. His nostrils flared as it registered the scent of his past self still clinging to her. A sudden influx of nerves hit him as she gingerly traced his features, recoiling slightly when fingertips ghosted the gnarly scars.

"Don't," she admonished lightly, "Just don't."

"I'm not the same male you just left."

That male was young and whole. A male who hadn't failed to protect the people he loved. A male who hadn't had his eye clawed out and lived forty nine years in a mask. A male who hadn't failed everything and everyone in his life.

A melancholic smile adorned her features, "I know."

He stilled, his entire body awashed with crippling fear. Was he too broken for her?

"I always knew that," she continued firmly, "and it changes nothing."

His heart raised in tempo in response, "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she affirmed, "Continue where we paused, remember? "

A spike of worry traversed down the bond. Her unspoken question loud and apparent. If you still want it, if you still want me. Like it was ever a question.

"I would love for nothing more."

Her answering smile was so radiant it took his breath away.

***

A bout of excitement and playfulness escaped the glowing thread in his chest and woke him. Lucien opened his eyes, blinking blearily at the sunlight streaming in from the dome shaped glass ceiling. His hand fisted the cotton surface next to him. The fabric was still warm despite his mate's absence.

His eyes shuttered close as he sent inquisitive pulses down the bond, smiling when he felt Elain's cheeky silence. He could almost hear her laughing. It glowed and brightened as his doors sprung open and brought in the decadent smell of eggs and bacon.

His heart rose to the edge of the atmosphere, beating wildly in anticipation.

With a face splitting smile, Elain set a breakfast tray on the bed. A huge plate of eggs and bacons with a side serving of oats and apple. She wagged a finger at him, humour lacing her words, "You gotta eat the oats too."

Lucien picked up the spoon and scooped up the mushy grain.

It was the best damned oats he ever had in his life.

End

#elucienweek2023 #elucien fic #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #time travel fic

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avaantares · 1 year

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I wrote a long response to a blue-checkmark drama post, but between the time I clicked "reblog" and the time I finished typing, OP apparently turned off reblogs for that post. So GUESS WHAT, y'all get my diatribe anyway. (Sorry; I know most of you aren't the problem. But I did actual math, so I don't want it to go to waste.)

---

The old axiom still applies:

If social media is free to use, it's because YOU are the product.

What that means, for the adage-averse, is this: Sites and services that appear to be fully free to users (Facebook, Twitter, TikTok, Google, et al.) are collecting your personal data and selling it to advertisers to pay for the (in some cases) hundreds of millions of dollars it costs to run such sites.

Tumblr doesn't do this. Tumblr hasn't done it, despite a monthly deficit of literally millions of dollars, which is why it's repeatedly been sold at a massive loss to new owners.

To give you actual numbers: Yahoo! acquired Tumblr in 2010 at a cost of $1.1 billion. After taking enormous losses, they later sold it to Verizon for an undisclosed amount. After trying (and failing) for two years to make the site pay for itself, Verizon sold it to Automattic (its current owners) for just $3 million. [Source]

For those who don't math, that means Tumblr's market value dropped by $1,097,000,000 in just nine years, or (averaged out) devalued by approximately $10 million per month. In short, nobody is looking at this as a worthwhile investment to hang onto long-term.

So why didn't it make money for its various owners, despite promising user statistics and a then-unheard-of initial sale price to Yahoo? Precisely because it wasn't leveraging your data to offset its running costs. The algorithm-free advertising format simply isn't viable for a site this big, which requires massive amounts of data storage and bandwidth (all those multimedia options you love cost a fortune on the back end). While there is a modicum of value for companies to hold a loss-generating property for tax purposes (which is pretty much what Verizon did with the site during its ownership), there is a finite period to reap those tax benefits. More relevant to us, if the site's only purpose is to show a loss on paper, there's little incentive for the owner to improve the service or keep its user base happy. We, the users, get thrown under the bus.

So how did Tumblr, under Automattic, try to run as a free site that didn't harvest user data? Tumblr served ads to try to generate revenue. But users complained about the ads. So Tumblr offered ad-free subscriptions at a very reasonable introductory rate of $3.33/month. But users complained about the subscriptions ("It's always been free! Other sites are free! Capitalism is evil!") and refused to pay. So Tumblr offered post-Blazing and tipping and physical merchandise and a variety of other optional features, most recently dashboard horse games and parody blue checkmarks, and instead of seeing these as a desperate attempt to stop the site from hemorrhaging money opportunity to support their online community, users just keep screaming about the moral failings of corporations that charge money for literally anything and insist that "we must keep this site unprofitable at all costs!"

Guys. Sites like this cost millions of dollars -- sometimes tens of millions -- to maintain each month. With the influx of new users from Twitter and elsewhere, that number is only going to increase as server load and bandwidth increase. And because of its history of losing value on a jaw-dropping scale, there will not be another company waiting to take ownership if Automattic decides to stop throwing money into the blue fires of this hellsite. If Tumblr is unprofitable for long enough, it will shut down. Period.

So either chill the $%#@*& out about the blue checkmarks or whatever, or pony up the monthly subscription fee yourself to help support the site. At the very least, stop attacking those who choose to give something back in exchange for the service they receive. Because they're the only reason this site has lasted as long as it has.

#tumblr #support financially if you can #and if you can't -- just be supportive of the community #don't be That Guy who launches drama b/c someone with disposable income gave a few bucks of it to tumblr #you don't get to dictate where other people's money goes #it's simple: if you don't want to pay then don't; just stop harassing other ppl who want to.#blue checkmark drama

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Happy Independent Bookstore Day!

Tomorrow (Apr 25) I’ll be in San Diego for the launch of my new novel, Red Team Blues, at 7PM at Mysterious Galaxy Books, hosted by Sarah Gailey. Please come and say hi!

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It’s Independent Bookstore Day! I love bookstores, especially indies. I’m a recovering bookseller (love you, BakkaPhoenix!) and an inveterate and absurdly optimistic buyer of books — just this weekend, I bought three books at the LA Times Festival of Books, from Pages and Octavia’s Bookshelf!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#ibd

Supporting indie bookstores doesn’t mean foregoing the convenience of buying online. Libro.fm pioneered a model that lets you nominate your favorite local bookstore, which receives part of the proceeds from every audiobook you buy at Libro (where all the audiobooks are DRM-free).

Libro is celebrating indie bookstores all week with stellar deals on an incredible lineup of audiobooks, from Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower to Chokepoint Capitalism, the book Rebecca Giblin and I wrote about how monopolies (including bookstore monopolies like Amazon) destroy the livelihoods of creative workers, and how to fight back:

https://libro.fm/ibd

You can also back your favorite indie bookstore when you shop online at Bookshop.org, who — like Libro — donate a portion of the cost of every book you buy to a nominated local bookseller:

https://bookshop.org/

Of course, nothing beats actually visiting your local bookstore, browsing the books, reading the shelf-reviews, and talking to knowledgeable, intelligent, passionate booksellers in person. I’m about to embark on a tour for my next novel, Red Team Blues, and I’ll be stopping at many great indie stores on the way.

Tomorrow, I’ll be in San Diego at Mysterious Galaxy Books for a launch with Sarah Gailey. On Wednesday, I’ll be in Burbank at Dark Delicacies. On May 5, I’ll be in Mountain View with Mitch Kapor at Books, Inc. There are plenty more stops, in PDX, Toronto, Vancouver, Calgary, DC, Gaithersburg, and all over the UK, finishing in Berlin:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/19/whats-wrong-with-iowa/#red-team-blues-tour

I hope to see you there! Also, my family has asked that you stage an intervention if you see me buying more books while I’m on tour!

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[Image ID: A shot of the legendary El Ateneo bookstore, 'the world's most beautiful bookstore,' housed in a former grand theater in Buenos Aires, Argentina.]

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Image: Liam Quinn https://www.flickr.com/photos/liamq/5459406835/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

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#pluralistic #audiobooks #libro.fm #bookstores #indie bookstores #bookselling #books #independent bookstore day

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autumnbrambleagain · 11 months

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ultimately i think our real complaint with pathfinder wrath of the righteous is that its "difficulty" isn't so much "the enemies have very clever positioning and tatical advantages--how will you manipulate the situation to overcome it?"

it's not like the incredible oil refinery battle in Divinity Original Sin 2, where it gets WEIRD and you're fighting the environment and a new faction shows up and starts overrunning everything with weird resistances and forces you to outthink it, out-position it,

every single battle in Wrath of the Righteous is already decided long, long before the battle starts.

did you look your build up on metabuilds.quick? did you pick the Correct Feats and spells? did you reload the second combat started and then pre-buffed 30 different spells before combat began?

that's what defines the difficulty. is your build meta enough? did you read enough spreadsheets before this battle started?

i LIKED blackwater, I'll be honest. the super-high ACs meant i had to use spells i'd never used before, didn't NEED to use before, to deprive enemies of their AC bonuses! it felt like i was figuring out a puzzle, it was great, it was an outlier

im' on normal difficulty, which coddles and protects and forgives you. i'm on normal difficulty, and combat is either "i curbstop everything without trying, or i die instantly because i didn't get the gimmick right"

but on higher difficulties, there's no room to play with your build. in divinity you could be a teleporting assassin who dips into an elemental magic for extra fun, or a wizard just go full magic and you'll never be at a loss for things to DO. i put some levels of metamorphosis on my assassin just for the wings and tentacle slap, no problem. want a wizard who casts gun turret and then hits you with sword? that's fine.

in this shitty DnD inherited system you can't go "red mage". you can't casually dip. you can't do something Interesting. a sorcerer who spends a feat or two to use a cool sword? no. spell penetration. spell focus. you can't hit anything in melee after level 3 anyway so don't try. turn into a dragon? too bad, you still don't have the BAB to hit anything. you're a weak-ass nothing of a dragon.

the challenge isn't "here are all these pieces you can use--how will you use them to overcome the challenges before you?"

the challenge is "here are all these pieces. if you put them together in the right way you win. if you try to do anything fun with them you lose."

and for what? for what verisimilitude? ADnD had classes as CLASSES. you were a WIZARD. you had NO TIME to learn how to fight. your spells all had a dozen things to keep track of. you were a FIGHTER. at level 9 you literally get a Castle and a small ARMY as a class feature. as you leveled up you gained titles of nobility as a matter of course. you had to worry about taxes and harvests. of course multiclassing was hard back then--each CLASS was a career path. a druid leveling up had to do druid politics just to be ALLOWED to reach the next level. the fluff and crunch was INEXTRICABLE

but 3.x and 3.P threw that all out for the most part. just look at people talking about builds--they ALL talk about level 20 builds, and they're all ridiculous 3 rogue/1 monk/6 cleric/ 10 asshole builds that mix and match class features at will. i've seen it recommend that everyone take an entire level of monk just for the bonuses--ignore that it makes like, no sense everyone suddenly becomes an ACTUAL MONK. you don't just pick up the skills you pick up a level in the CLASS.

it so desperately wants to be a classless system where each level-up you pick what you get, but it can't escape its inheritance. it makes sense, to a degree--if you divide your time poorly in your study, you'll become not great at anything. a mediocre sword-fighter and a mediocre-wizard! but. but we're beyond ADnD aren't we?

why isn't it more gameified? I guess pathfinder 2 is more like that? i haven't played it, and i'm dealing with pathfinder 1 for WotR. taking a level of monk doesn't require you to add being a monk to your story--you don't need to find a cloister and dedicate time to it, you just pick the class to get the bonuses it gives you. why have it tied to classes at all at that point?

just like how multiclassing poorly leaves you unable to do anything well, picking both "classes are a career/lifestyle" and "classes are just a set of bonuses you get for this level" leaves the entire system poorly functional. you really can't do both.

why can't my sorcerer fight in melee when turned into a dragon? i don't have the BAB for it. how do i get the BAB for it? can i spend a few skill points per level to learn how to fight? no, i need to take a fighter class. retroactively all my experience is only into fighting. you can't multitask, you can't learn things outside your class--a sorcerer can't FIGHT with a SWORD! that's silly!

but a sorcerer can take a break for a level and become a knight, and a monk, and an alchemist, and a rogue. you can't be a sorcerer who sacrificed a bit of time mastering their magic to be competitive in a melee--that would make no sense! but you can be a sorcerer who stopped being a sorcerer and joined a convent for a short while and then became a squire for a knight for a week and now they can use a sword, sure. that's the option that makes sense.

just let adventurers be good at shit. let me block out two schools of magic in exchange for being able to fight in melee. let that just be a default fucking thing. you wanna make "classes" just a selection of bonuses you can freely pick from each level up, just let it be a la carte already. untie it from the canon. if everyone can take a level of sorcerer let magic just be something you can pick when you level up.

auroral oceans is a very different beast from a generic fantasy setting and the tabletop system im making for it is far from finished or perfect, but one of the base assumptions it makes is, if you're a player character, you're some kind of adventuring asshole enough that you can both: use a sword, and fire a gun, with enough competency that you can kill a person with it.

like yeah, someone who spends all their points on sword techniques is going to have more dice and way more options in a fight--a wizard with a sword just rolls their dice, a dedicated swordfighter has options to reroll a missed die or turn a point of damage into a disarm or a forced movement--but the wizard with a sword is still a dude with a sword and they can still fuck you up.

altho i guess it helps there's no generic "wizard" in the setting i guess the closest to wizard is worshipper of nirix who gets powers by virtue of emulating its example or like, a hwual channeler which is just a thing you can do it's fine

im off topic

my point is wow DnD fucking sucks and i wish it died from the meme pool already

#autumn rambles #pathfinder wrath of the righteous

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