#needs more spring-coded states

[dawntheduckrb]

I used to treat this blog like a diary, and when I went offline recently I realized how much I normally bottle up. Really not feeling well so vent post below :') feel free to skip

I really tried to not let my dog passing affect me as much as it has; but 3 weeks later, I'm finally admitting that I completely shut down when it happened. My ability to focus on anything other than good ol' instant-gratification media has literally gone to the gutter, and I've only recently worked up the ability to talk to close friends. I only took a day off of work and classes when it happened, and I realize in retrospect that it wasn't nearly enough.

At this point, I'm so far behind in my classwork that I have no idea what to do with myself; I'm skirting by all of my classes doing that absolute bare minimum I have to, and it feels awful.

And at the same time, I've wanted nothing more than to communicate with people, and I really have tried, but I keep talking myself out of it because of all the things I haven't done yet. I can't justify giving myself the time to message a friend - even though my brain has no problem letting me waste literal hours doomscrolling and watching the same videos over and over - because "what about that one thing you could also be spending your time on?"

I really wish I knew what to do about it but I have no clue. I haven't gotten a single full night of uninterrupted sleep for the past three weeks. I keep falling asleep on top of assignments I stared at for so long that I started to doze, because flitting in and out of sleep is easier than just doing the work that has never given me trouble in my entire four years of classes. And I've berated myself for not working or communicating, and I've tried giving myself more breaks and intermittent rewards for getting even the tiniest things done, and I've tried brute forcing my way through it all, and on the whole, it's just not working.

Normally I end these posts with a proposed path for myself to get better, or a question that I need answered so I can finally move on with life, but right now I just need these thoughts out of my head. I just think I needed to finally admit to someone that I'm not okay, and that this time, I really just don't know what to do.

[fillinforlater]

Pink Sheets of the Gangbang Queen

Male Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 1759 words

Tags: post-gangbang-unclarity, a fuckton of cum, the biggest creampies you can imagine, sluttiest_woman_ever!Gaeul, riding, reverse cowgirl, mating press, cumming again, surprisingly sweet

TW: nasty, a lot of cum by different people

Credit: @friskyriskywhisky had the idea and wrote most of it, I just expanded it as far as I could. Maybe there will be more Gangbang Queen stuff, but this was basically just a double BFH lol

(A/N: Have fun with this crazy, short piece!)

“I want one more…”

Gaeul lies on her nasty bed, which is not only the size of a New York apartment room but also a lot more comfortable. The fresh evidence of sin is all over the once royal pink bedsheet befitting of a princess, a queen to be more accurate. Her comically large pillow is full of wet fingerprints, there are even hints of Gaeul bending over it because she loves it when men penetrate her from behind and fuck her into the soft thing. The headboard and the walls nearby are all smeared with her own slick and the cum from the dozen of guys who unloaded a week's worth and then some for her, on her, because of her. Who knows how much genetic coding is now dripping down those walls, or the side of her bed or along her thighs.

Either way, Gaeul knows that the pungent creampie of hers only feels this good because at least ten horny men put their spunk deep into her cunt. Be it fat cocks, long ones, small, smelly, oddly shaped—Gaeul takes them all and her insides shape to each accordingly. For the horde of cocks it’s an incredible feeling with a surprising snugness, while Gaeul yearns and shouts (as long as there is no shaft testing her gag reflex) for them to finish quickly and deep. Though a marvelous feeling, she is never satisfied. She needs one more, she doesn’t even care if it’s the tiniest rest or a gigantic, creamy load—all that matters is that he cums inside her.

Gaeul’s once-animated and sex-crazed sexual partners have either left or completely passed out on the floor next to her bed—except lucky you, the only one lying naked next to her. Lucky you, who she now eyes, admiring your features while you're half asleep. She crawls over and gently flips you onto your back, stirring you awake in the process.

In your state of extreme grogginess, you aren't able to tell at first if you're being eaten alive or attacked by a savage animal. Just when your fight or flight response springs into action, a pair of lips press against yours. They instantly calm you down like a mothers embrace after a lucid nightmare. You can't help but smile unconsciously at how gentle it feels. Gaeul’s floral-scented shampoo reassures you who's currently kissing you, her touchy, wet and tender fingers reminding you of the first time she checked out your body…

It was a rainy night in one of the many underground bars in Seoul—the type of bar that makes you raise an eyebrow at first, someone with connections has recommended it, looks suspicious; then you fell into the trap of fun conversations and nice liquor that ultimately led to a selection ceremony. This was the moment you realized why this was not a commonly visited place.

Everyone went silent at her entry. Gaeul, the well-known (at least for most people that regularly visit these exclusive bars) gangbang queen was craving men tonight, many men. She was not picky, in fact, there was only one condition you had to fulfill:

“Three days worth of cum. If you had sex or jerked off during the last three days, you’re out for tonight.”

No one dared to defy her or lie to her. She diligently checked everyone’s balls and was extremely thorough, especially with you, who she gently pushed against a bar stool, hand past your waistband. Your breath hitched, hers too when her slender fingers caressed your balls.

“Tall, horny—and at least ten days of cum.

“I’d love for you to join the after party in my pink bed.”

That’s how Gaeul found you, touched you, lured you in and turned you on, like she does at this moment…

It's been minutes now, with no signs of stopping or letting go from Gaeul, her lips still fully attached to yours just to occasionally back off and peck at it again. The last remnants of a dream that could never match this disappear. They are replaced by memories that slowly creep back and your heart drops. You remember what happened not long ago, right on these pink sheets—don’t lie to yourself, you know it happens every other night.

Those soft lips of hers were satisfying other men not too long ago, fully enveloped around shafts of different shapes and sizes. That tongue of hers glided across the cockhead of multiple partners and made sure that no spot on their balls was left out. She would fill her mouth with as much manly musk and precum as she could before her throat was getting assaulted by who knows how many cocks, endlessly coating the back of it with thick cum and forcing her to gag and cry, which everyone knows is a huge turn on for the gangbang queen.

It’s those lips that form a seal around yours and it’s that mouth you attack lazily with your tongue.

Who are you to complain though? Gaeul is the greatest kisser your lips have ever met. Your obsession with her took control of your life even though you had no chance with her. You're just a nobody when Gaeul is the well-beloved queen. The gangbang queen - for those close enough to be her little circle filled with lust and desire. Yet somehow you saw a chance and took it, even if it means taking sloppy seconds (or thirds? Fifths? Wait, how many guys are here again?).

Your mind snaps back to the present when you feel your cock poking at her entrance. Hang on, did she even—fuck! You shiver in both pleasure and disgust. You're plunged into her sloppy cunt, extremely tight, even after being abused by multiple men (some girthier than the ridiculous sex toys she has in her collection). 

Gaeul’s walls hug your tip first, then slowly adjust to your size, like they have become your personal sexy toy. The pleasure really kicks in when the gangbang queen puts your hands on her hips and adds your name into the mixture of huffs and moans. Her incredibly damp cavern and how slippery her whole crotch is against your own, it displays a reality you don't want to admit: You're fucking Gaeul through the creampie of other men. Using the foreign substance as a sticky wannabe lube as you slowly ramp up your pace, you're thinking with your other head only; that’s not an uncommon occurrence with the gangbang queen around. 

Sex with her has you drunk, dazed, carelessly chasing your own high. You want to be the only one to have your load inside of her cunt. Gaeul yearns for breeding, and the sperm of all the other disgusting men, still unconscious in this room is deemed not enough. At this moment you decide to fuck the creampie out of her and replace it with your own.

You're frantically thrusting in and out of her, she replicates your passion as she rides you. Heaps of old cum get forced out with the assistance of gravity but mainly due to the pump that is your cock and the endless pumping into her cunt. Gaeul switches to a reverse cowgirl position and it's only now that you notice that her ass got absolutely filled as well. 

This should not be a surprise, she is the gangbang queen after all, yet you want to look away. This is exclusively other men's cum leaking out of Gaeul and onto your abs. It feels extremely wrong, fucking filthy and somewhat gross. The eagerness of the girl on your dick makes you forget that though. For a short while, you just admire her back, her small, shapely ass and the way her moans are in perfect harmony with the sound of flesh hitting flesh and cum being squeezed out. 

With your whole cock still buried inside her, bottoming her out, you two clumsily get into a mating press position. Gaeul is the most flexible girl you know, her small frame easily capable of folding and bending into every position you want. This position quickly becomes your favorite, because you don’t have to see her leaking asshole anymore, but you know that she is gaping and the worthless spunk steadily leaves her anal cavity. 

Every time you thrust into her, you see and feel her whole ass and thighs ripple. Shock waves across the smooth, stretched, spotless skin gets sent in all kinds of directions because you dig your hands into it. There's still a disgusting amount of cum defying gravity, defying your forceful pounding into Gaeul, but you are sure that if you just keep on fucking her, and press her whole body into the mattress, the petite gangbang queen will leak out all the rest. Through the lewdest of sounds and a clear lack of stamina, the thought of Gaeul filled with nothing but you pushes you through.

You feel the knot inside you loosen, strings and little last spurts of cum hitting her cervix as your tip is right up against it. Gaeul has her feet right up against your back, her heels pulling you deeper inside her. She's still rutting against you, her clit drawing circles against your crotch enjoying the friction and satisfaction it brings. The art of the orgasm, Gaeul has mastered it. In her scream, you find an infinite sea of bliss. It draws out your orgasm a few more seconds; perfect seconds.

Post-nut clarity kicks in and you try to block out the other people who are regaining consciousness in the room. Witness how ethereal her beauty is under the ceiling light. You want to kiss her. You want to tell her how much you love her. However, the harsh reality kicks in harder than the post-nut clarity as she shifts her gaze away from you and looks at the time. You close your eyes, take a deep breath to cherish just how fucking good her cock-warming cavern is. 

You pull away, unfazed at the mess in front of you at this point. Party time is over and you’re victorious but defeated, a bit deflated even. Why is the girl you’re falling for the wrong type of queen? 

"Hey..." Gaeul reaches out and grabs your forearm and pulls you a little closer to give you one last peck on your cheek. "Drive safely, okay?” Her fingers tiptoe towards your hand until it reaches the back of your it, her thumb gently rubs circles on it. A new level of intimacy that makes your heart stutter. “Message me when you’re back home."

[delirious-donna]

There’s A Girl In My Tub [Part Two]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: Kento walks in on a woman he doesn't know neck-deep in his bath. What is he meant to do now?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: reader described as having hair that can be put in a ponytail, SFW

Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

The mistake was clear from the second he lunged inside the bathroom. Where he had presumed to find his younger sister submerged in his tub, sat a woman he did not know splashing and spluttering from both the shock of being jump scared and the bubbles that shot up your nose.

Kento wasn’t sure what his predominant emotion was, whether it be complete mortification for interrupting someone bathing or indignant anger at the complete stranger using his apartment like some kind of luxury hotel.

“Who the fuck are you?” The stranger half yelled, half spluttered.

Realisation dawned on him like icy dread spider walking up his spine. What had meant to be a practical joke was no longer looking so funny.

“You’re not Karin…” He said matter-of-factly.

At this point, he was simply stating the obvious. What he found interesting was the comprehension that he could see illuminated in your eyes. You might not be Karin, but you knew who she was. The connection between the two of you was what he needed to establish next, or well… after he found out your name.

“I’m Nanami Kento, and you’re in my bath. Who are you?”

His eyebrow cocked in a mixture of continued annoyance and the first hint of curiosity. Given that you were familiar with his sister meant you weren’t some crazy intruder, not that he thought that in the first place given your luggage in his room and the fact that you couldn’t have gained access without a keycard and code.

You offered your name in no more than a timid squeak, and he didn’t recognise it. He huffed a tired exhale and turned towards the door to give you a modicum of privacy. His mouth opened to speak, but you beat him to the punch, silencing him effectively with your more confident tone.

“Look, can we not hash this out whilst I am naked in your bath? Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you in the living area,” you enthused, hands gesticulating wildly. It sent a flurry of bubbles into the air which Kento watched before giving a curt nod of agreement and stalking out without uttering another word.

He needed a drink in the worst possible way, even if it was only early afternoon. It was going to be entirely necessary to indulge in his top-shelf liquor to help with his current predicament.

Once more, he glanced at the haphazardly packed case open on his bed. This time studying the contents a little more closely. Perhaps he should have considered doing this earlier, as one glance was enough to confirm that even the style of clothing was so unlike his sister, not to mention the stuffed animal, which he guessed resembled a bunny rabbit despite its ragged appearance. Karin hadn’t been one for stuffed toys, preferring dolls and the pretty furniture to fill ornate dollhouses growing up.

Speaking of his dearly beloved sibling, Kento fished his phone from his pocket as he made his way back to the kitchen. He cradled it between his ear and shoulder whilst selecting a crystal tumbler and a bottle of scotch. The ringing went to voicemail. Of course, it did.

“Karin, call me. I don’t appreciate surprises, and you owe me an explanation.” He kept it short and sweet, his specialty. He pushed the phone across the kitchen island and turned to lean his back against the pantry door.

What the hell was going on? He mused silently, swirling the dark amber contents of his glass before bringing it to his lips and swallowing a healthy mouthful. The liquor coated his teeth and burned his throat as it slid into his mostly empty stomach.

Everything had happened in such a rush that he couldn’t even picture your face as he waited. He hadn’t thought to get a good look at you, not when the circumstances were so intimate–vulnerable even. Not for the first time today, his palm scrubbed down his face. What must you think of him? You were this–he floundered for a moment in thinking of how to accurately describe you–young woman, naked and trapped in a room with one exit. An exit that he had blocked with his body.

He groaned, pressing the cool crystal tumbler to his temple and rolling it across his forehead. This was exactly the type of situation you saw in horror movies, except he wasn’t some crazed killer on the hunt for young virgins or any young women for that matter, but he would understand if you were fearful of him. It would only be logical.

As if summoned by thought alone, the soft pad of your socks alerted Kento that you had finished with the bath. He glanced sideways, eyeing the simple black leggings and an oversized sweater emblazoned with the logo of Karin’s college, and some pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place.

Your hair was mostly dry except for the ends that had been splashed by the unexpected dunking they had received, the strands tied loosely into a ponytail that softened the stern expression plastered across your features.

Standing with the kitchen island between you as if it afforded you some semblance of protection, Kento tried not to smile when you folded your arms across your chest and tilted your chin in his direction. The sleeves of your sweater engulfed your arms so completely that only the tips of your fingers showed. He admired your courage in the face of a stranger, a male one at that, and one that could likely impose his height and weight against you if he so inclined. Sure, he admired it, but it was also incredibly dumb.

“Did you enjoy your soak?” He asked, taking another sip of scotch to hide the quirk of his lips.

Your eyes narrowed. Damn, he hadn’t felt amusement like this in the longest time. Some would claim that he didn’t have a funny bone in his body, but they were wrong. Kento simply didn’t entertain cheap humour, and this situation was far from bargain basement.

“I was. That is until this massive oaf leapt inside screaming like a maniac and scaring the life out of me.”

That was enough to wipe the smile from his face. Kento straightened and set his tumbler down. He ran a hand through his hair and endeavoured to end this charade right here and now. To hell with the fact that you amused him, he didn’t know you from Adam.

“How do you know Karin? And I am not an oaf, for the record,” he added with what sounded even to him as a touch of petulance.

You rolled your eyes. “She’s my friend, maybe even best friend, actually. We go to the same college, different majors though. How do you know her? Are you her dad or something?”

It was Kento’s turn to narrow his eyes. He could see it for what it was, a direct jab at him, but you didn’t truly believe he could possibly be her father, or at least he hoped not!

You picked at your nails whilst the silence lingered on. He debated whether to rise above your petty attempts at riling him, but something stopped him. Kento was the level-headed one, always reasonable, however, something about you crept beneath his skin.

“Can’t be that much of a best friend if you don’t even know that she has a brother… that would be me, by the way. Hi. I’m the brother, and this is my apartment. I do hope this is some kind of elaborate joke.”

Sure enough, his aim was true. Your face crumpled at the truth he laid out so cruelly. Instead of feeling some sense of triumph for gaining the upper hand, he resigned to the guilt settling heavily in his chest. He almost rubbed at his heart but stopped at the last second.

Why did he care? That’s what he really wanted to know. Yes, you were cute. He was a man after all, he could appreciate your soft feminine features, but he was hardly known as a man who sought out the company of the opposite sex often.

Kento pinched the bridge of the nose. It was upsetting to watch you fold in upon yourself like this, your shoulders hunched inward and your head bowed low. He cared, and that was surprising. He wished for that spark of confidence to ignite again, longing to kick himself for being the one to douse it in the first place.

“I’m… I’m sorry. That was cruel of me, but you did call me her dad!” He tried to rationalise his outburst, and he was glad when your head snapped up to scrutinise him. “We’ve started on the wrong foot. Can you blame me for acting a little irrational? I’ve never found an intruder in my home before, let alone a naked one in my bath. Why are you here?”

Without a word, you stretched out a hand for his near-empty glass, swallowing down the remnants in one gulp. You hissed through your teeth, dancing on the spot whilst the potent alcohol slid into your belly to warm you. Kento cocked his eyebrow but chose to remain silent.

He had so many questions. Why you were here in his home was curiously not at the top of the pile, but it seemed inappropriate to be querying your age and probing your interests at this point in the conversation. Not to mention, you were his sister’s friend, nothing more.

Nothing more, Kento.

“Well, your darling sister told me this was her place, and that it was empty right now. Clearly, neither part was true, and I will be taking that up with her as soon as she answers her damn phone!”

“Hm, so Karin is avoiding your calls too. Curious.”

You blew out a long breath, the strands of hair framing your face dancing around and… Kento glanced away, refusing to acknowledge the desire to fix them behind your ear.

“Aren’t you on spring break? Why aren’t you shacked up in some overly loud and raucous resort? I’m certain that’s where Karin will be right about now.” Kento rolled his eyes at even thinking about it. He well remembered his years in college and how he loathed this time of year. It was his idea of hell.

Scrunching your nose in distaste, you walked around the edge of the kitchen island and hopped up to sit yourself closer to him. Again, he cursed your trust. He could be lying to you. He could have nefarious intent. So why did it make him want to protect you all the more?

“No thanks. I’d rather catch up on some classes and prepare for the new semester, but…” You trailed off, eyes lowering to your fingers which continued to fidget incessantly–an annoying habit he noted.

“But what?” Kento got the sense that he wasn’t going to like your answer much. He braced for it, both palms flush on the marble countertop and coaxing you into maintaining his steady eye contact.

“I don’t have anywhere else I can go. My parents are renovating, and I can’t afford to rent a place for two weeks, at least not somewhere actually habitable.”

Kento froze as the weight of your words washed over him. There was a chance that Karin was truly being a good friend since she had been aware of the business trip he was meant to be on right now. It would be so like her to help out a friend in need.

Was he meant to toss you out on your ass? He was within his rights, of course, but could his conscience allow it? It was obvious you weren’t lying or exaggerating to gain his favour, you looked just as uncomfortable telling him the truth as he did hearing it. This whole situation was a mess, and he didn’t see a clear way out of it.

Well, shit…

[mariacallous]

A short note here on what I’m covering and why. The political changes we’re seeing across the world are underpinned by technological ones that are now accelerating. For more than a decade, I’ve been trying to investigate and expose these forces. Since 2016 that’s included following a thread that led from Brexit to Trump via a shady data company called Cambridge Analytica and the revelation of a profound threat exploit at the heart of our democracies. But what’s happening now in the US is a paradigm shift: this is Broligarchy, a concept I coined last summer when I warned that what we were seeing was the proposed merger of Silicon Valley with state power. That has now happened. Writing about this from the UK, it’s clear we have a choice: we help lead the fight back against it. Or it comes for us next. Please share this with family and friends if you feel it’s of value. Thank you, as ever, Carole

Let me say this more clearly: what is happening right now, in America, in real time, is a coup.

This is an information war and this is what a coup now looks like.

Musk didn’t need a tank, guns, soldiers. He had a small crack cyber unit that he sent into the Treasury department last weekend. He now has unknown quantities of the entire US nation’s most sensitive data and potential backdoors into the system going forward. Treasury officials denied that he had access but it then turned out that he did. If it ended there, it would be catastrophic. But that unit - whose personnel include a 19-year-old called “Big Balls” - is now raiding and scorching the federal government, department by department, scraping its digital assets, stealing its data, taking control of the code and blowing up its administrative apparatus as it goes.

This is what an unlawful attack on democracy in the digital age looks like. It didn’t take armed men, just Musk’s taskforce of boy-men who may be dweebs and nerds but all the better to plunder the country’s digital resources. This was an organised, systematic, jailbreak on one of the United States’ most precious and sensitive resources: the private data of its citizens.

In 2019, I appeared in a Netflix documentary, The Great Hack. That’s a good place to start to understand what is going on now, but it wasn’t the great hack. It was among the first wave of major tech exploits of global elections. It was an exemplar of what was possible: the theft and weaponization of 87 million people’s personal data. But this now is the Great Hack. This week is when the operating system of the US was wrenched open and is now controlled by a private citizen under the protection of the President.

If you think I’ve completely lost it, please be advised that I’m far from alone in saying this. The small pools of light in the darkness of this week has been stumbling across individual commentators saying this for the last week. Just because these words are not on the front page in banner headlines of any newspaper doesn’t mean this isn’t not happening. It is.

In fact, there has been relentless, assiduous, detailed reporting in all outlets across America. There are journalists who aren’t eating or sleeping and doing amazing work tracking what’s happening. There is fact after fact after fact about Musk’s illegal pillaging of the federal government. But news organisation leaders are either falling for the distraction story - the most obviously insane one this week being rebuilding Gaza as a luxury resort, a story that dominated headlines and political oxygen for days. Or…what? Being unable to actually believe that this is what an authoritarian takeover looks like? Being unsure of whether you put the headline about the illegal coup d’etat next to a spring season fashion report? Above or below the round-up of best rice cookers? The fact is the front pages look like it’s business as normal when it’s anything but.

This was Ruth Ben-Ghiat on Tuesday. She’s a historian of fascism and authoritarianism at New York University and she said this even before some of this week’s most extreme events had taken place. (A transcript of the rest of her words here.)

“It’s very unusual. In my study of authoritarian states, it's only really after a coup that you see such a speed, such obsessive haste to purge bureaucracy so quickly. Or when somebody is defending themselves, like Erdogan after the coup attempt against him, massive purge immediately. So that's unusual. I don't have another reference point for a private individual coming in, infiltrating, trying to turn government to the benefit of his businesses and locking out and federal employees. It is a coup. I'm a historian of coups, and I would also use that word. So we're in a real emergency situation for our democracy.”

A day later, this was Tim Snyder, Yale, a Yale professor and another great historian of authoritarianism, here: “Of course it’s a coup.”

History was made this week and while reporters are doing incredible work, to understand it our guides are historians, those who’ve lived in authoritarian states and Silicon Valley watchers. They are saying it. What I’ve learned from investigating and reporting on Silicon Valley’s system-level hack of our democracy for eight long years and seeing up close the breathtaking impunity and entitlement of the men who control these companies is that they break laws and they get away with it. And then lie about it afterwards. That’s the model here.

Everything that I’ve ever warned about is happening now. This is it. It’s just happening faster than anyone could have imagined.

It’s not that what’s happening is simply unlawful. This is what David Super, an administrative law professor at Georgetown Law School told the Washington Post.

“So many of these things are so wildly illegal that I think they’re playing a quantity game and assuming the system can’t react to all this illegality at once.”

And he’s right. The system can’t and isn’t. Legal challenges are being made and even upheld but there’s no guarantee or even sign that Musk is going to honour them. That’s one of the most chilling points my friend, Mark Bergman, made to me over the weekend.

Last week, I included a voice note from my friend, tech investor turned tech campaigner, Roger McNamee, so you could hear direct from an expert about the latest developments in AI. This week I’ve asked Mark to do the honours.

He’s a lawyer, Washington political insider, and since last summer, he’s been participating in ‘War Game’ exercises with Defense Department officials, three-star generals, former Cabinet Secretaries and governors. In five exercises involving 175 people, they situation-tested possible scenarios of a Trump win. But they didn’t see this. It’s even worse than they feared.

“Those challenges have been in respect of shutting down agencies, firing federal employees and engaging in the most egregious hack of government. It all at the hand hands of DOGE, Musk and his band of tech engineers. DC right now is shell-shocked. It is a government town, USA, ID, the FBI, the Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, CIA, no federal agency will be spared the revenge and retribution tours in full swing, and huge numbers have been put on administrative leave, reassigned or fired, and the private sector is as much at risk, particularly NGOs and civil society organizations. The more high-profile violate the law, which is why the courts have been quick to enjoin actions. “So yes, we've experienced a coup, not the old fashioned kind, no tanks or mobs, but an undemocratic and hostile takeover of government. It is cruel, it is petty. It can be brutal. It is at once chaotic and surgical. We said the institutions held in 2020 but behind institutions or people, and the extent to which all manner of power structures have preemptively obeyed is hugely worrying. There are legions ready to carry out the Trump agenda. The question is, will the rule of law hold?”

Last Tuesday, Musk tried to lay off the entire CIA. That’s the government body with the slogan ‘We are the nation’s first line of defense’. Every single employee has been offered an unlawful ‘buyout’ - what we call redundancy in the UK - or what 200 former employees - spies - have said is blatant attempt to rebuild it as a political enforcement unit. Over the weekend, the Washington Post reports that new appointees are being presented with “loyalty tests”.

Musk’s troops - because that’s what they are, mercenaries - are acting in criminal, unlawful, unconstitutional ways. Organisations are acting quickly, taking lawsuits, and for now the courts are holding. But the key essential question is whether their rulings can be enforced with a political weaponized Department of Justice and FBI. What Mark Bergman told me (and is in the extended note below) is that they’ve known since the summer that there would be almost no way of pushing back against Trump. This politicisation of all branches of law enforcement creates a vacuum at the heart of the state. As he says in that note, the ramifications of this are little understood outside the people inside Washington who study this for a living.

And at least some of what DOGE is doing can never be undone. Musk, a private citizen, now has vast clouds of citizens’ data, their personal information and it seems likely, classified material. When data is out there, it’s out there. That genie can never be put back into the bottle.

Itt’s what it’s possible to do with that data, that the real nightmare begins. What machine learning algorithms and highly personalised targeting can do. It’s a digital coup. An information coup. And we have to understand what that means. Our fleshy bodies still inhabit earthly spaces but we are all, also, digital beings too. We live in a hybrid reality. And for more than a decade we have been targets of hybrid warfare, waged by hostile nation states whose methodology has been aped and used against us by political parties in a series of disrupted elections marked by illegal behaviour and a lack of any enforcement. But this now takes it to the next level.

It facilitates a concentration of wealth and power - because data is power - of a kind the world has never seen before.

Facebook’s actual corporate motto until 2014 taken from words Mark Zuckerberg spoke was “Move fast and break things”. That phrase has passed into commonplace: we know it, we quote it, we also fail to understand what that means. It means: act illegally and get away with it.

And that is the history of Silicon Valley. Its development and cancerous growth is marked by series of larcenous acts each more grotesque than the last. And Musk’s career is an exemplar of that, a career that has involved rampant criminality, gross invasions of privacy, stock market manipulation. And lies. The Securities and Exchange Commission is currently suing Musk for failing to disclose his ownership stock before he bought Twitter. The biggest mistake right now is to believe anything he says.

Every time, these companies have broken the law, they have simply gotten away with it. I know I’m repeating this, but it’s central to understanding both the mindset and what’s happening on the ground. And no-one exemplifies that more than Musk. The worst that has happened to him is a fine. A slap on the wrist. An insignificant line on a balance sheet. The “cost of doing business”.

On Friday, Robert Reich, the former United States Secretary of Labor, who’s been an essential voice this week, told the readers of his Substack to act now and call their representatives.

“Friends, we are in a national emergency. This is a coup d’etat. Elon Musk was never authorized by Congress to do anything that he’s doing, he was never even confirmed by Congress, his so-called Department of Government Efficiency was never authorized by Congress. Your representatives, your senators and Congressmen have never given him authority to do what he is doing, to take over government departments, to take over entire government agencies, to take over government payments system itself to determine for himself what is an appropriate payment. To arrogate to himself the authority to have your social security number, your private information? Please. Listen, call Congress now.”

It’s a coup

I found myself completely poleaxed on Wednesday. I read this piece on the New York Times website first thing in the morning, a thorough and alarming analysis of headlined “Trump Brazenly Defies Laws in Escalating Executive Power Grab”. It quoted Peter M. Shane, who is a legal scholar in residence at New York University, “programmatic sabotage and rampant lawlessness.” It was displayed prominently on the front page of the New York Times but it was also just one piece among many, a small weak signal amid the overpowering noise.

There’s another word for an “Executive Power Grab”, it’s a coup. And newspapers need to actually write that in big black letters on their front pages and tell their tired, busy, overwhelmed, distracted, scared readers what is happening. That none of this is “business as usual.”

Over on the Guardian’s UK website on Wednesday, there was not a single mention on the front page of what was happening. Trump’s Gaza spectacular diversion strategy drowned out its quotient of American news. We just weren’t seeing what’s happening in the seat of government of our closest ally. As a private citizen mounted a takeover of the cornerstone superpower of the international rules-based order, our crucial NATO ally, our biggest single trading partner, the UK government didn’t even apparently notice.

The downstream potential international consequences of what is happening in America are profound and terrifying. That our government and much of the media is asleep at the wheel is a reason to be more not less terrified. Musk has made his intentions towards our democracy and national security quite clear. What he hasn’t yet had is the backing of the US state. That is shortly going to change. One of the first major stand-offs will be UK and EU tech regulation. I hope I’m wrong but it seems pretty obvious that’s what Musk’s Starmer-aimed tweets are all about. There seems no world in which the EU and the UK aren’t headed for the mother of all trade wars.

And that’s before we even consider the national security ramifications. The prime minister should be convening Cobra now. The Five Eyes - the intelligence sharing network of the US, UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada - is already likely breached. Trump is going to do individual deals with all major trading partners that’s going to involve preposterous but real threats, including likely dangling the US’s membership of NATO over our heads all while Russia watches, waits and knows that we’ve done almost nothing to prepare. Plans to increase our defence spending have been made but not yet implemented. Our intelligence agencies do understand the precipice we’re on but there’s no indication the government is paying any attention to them. The risks are profound. The international order as we know it is collapsing in real time.

It’s a coup

We all know that the the first thing that happens when a dictator seizes power is that he (it’s always a he) takes control of the radio station. Musk did that months ago. It wasn’t that Elon Musk buying Twitter pre-ordained what is now happening but it made it possible. And it was the moment, minutes after Trump was shot and he went full-in on his campaign that signalled the first shot fired in his digital takeover.

It’s both a mass propaganda machine and also the equivalent of an information drone with a deadly payload. It’s a weapon that’s already been turned on journalists and news organisations this week. There’s much more to come.

On Friday, Musk started following Wikileaks on Twitter. Hours later, twisted, weaponized leaks from USAID began.

This is going to get so much worse. Musk and MAGA will see this as the opening of the Stasi archive. It’s not. It’s rocketfuel for a witchhunt. It’s hybrid warfare against the enemies of the state. It’s going to be ugly and cruel and its targets are going to need help and support. Hands across the water to my friends at OCCRP, the Overseas Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, an investigative journalism organisation that uncovers transnational crime, that’s been in Musk’s sights this weekend, one of hundreds of media organisations around the world whose funding has been slashed overnight.

It’s a coup

By now you may feel scared and helpless. It’s how I felt this week. I had the same sick feeling I had watching UK political coverage before the pandemic. The government was just going to ignore the wave of deaths rippling from China to Italy and pretend it wasn’t happening? Really? That’s the plan?

This is another pandemic. Or a Chernobyl. It’s a bomb at the heart of the international order whose toxic fallout is going to inevitably drift our way.

My internal alarm bell, a sense of urgency and anxiety goes even further back. To early 2017, when I uncovered information about Cambridge Analytica’s illegal hack of data from Facebook while the company’s VP, Steve Bannon, was then on the National Security Council. That concept of highly personalised data in the control of a ruthless and political operator was what tripped my emergency wires. That is a reality now.

The point is that the shock and awe is meant to make us feel helpless. So I’m telling a bit of my own personal story here. Because part of what temporarily paralyzed me last week was that this is all happening while my own small corner of the mainstream media is collapsing in on itself too. The event that I’ve spent the last eight years warning about has come to pass and in a month, 100+ of my colleagues at the Guardian will be out of the door and my employment will be terminated. I will no longer have the platform of the news organisation where I’ve done my entire body of work to date and was able to communicate to a global audience.

But then, it’s all connected. We are living through an information crisis. It’s what underpins everything. In some ways, this happening now is not surprising at all. Moreover, many of the people who I see as essential voices during this crisis (including those above) are doing that effectively and independently from Substack as I will try to continue to do.

And, the key thing that the last eight years has given me is information. The lawsuit I fought for four years as a result of doing this work very almost floored me. But it didn’t. And I’ve learned essential skills during those years. It was part of what powered me to fight for the rights of Guardian journalists during our strike this December.

The next fightback against Musk and the Broligarchy has to draw from the long, long fight for workers rights which in turn influenced the fight for civil rights that must now power us on as we face the great unknown. What comes next has to be a fight for our data rights, our human rights.

This was former Guardian journalist Gary Younge on our picket line and I’ve thought about these words a lot. You have to fight even if you won’t necessarily win. Power is almost never given up freely.

If you value any of this and want me to be able to continue, I’d be really grateful if you signed up, free, or even better, paid subscription. And I’d also urge you to sign up also for the Citizen Dispatch, that’s the newsletter from the non-profit I founded that campaigns around these issues. There is much more it can and needs to do.

[ma1dita]

have you been watching the paris 2024 olympics?? i just think luke castellan is so like athlete coded, i’m just imagining him like as the athlete from sweden (?) in pole vault who broke his world record and then ran to his girlfriend like imagine luke doing that to you AGHHHH i’m on a luke as an olympian (the athlete) brain rot

the alchemy

luke castellan x reader a/n: i absolutely loved this request. mando duplantis i dream of you and your girlfriend every night. wc: 612

Luke Castellan swears he can feel his heart beating out of his ribcage. That, or it’s the thunderous roar of the crowd—it must be one or the other with so many people here, a sea of faces and noise and….

Deep breath in… and out.

Luke doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many people in a single room, and his brain hurts to even consider the people watching this live. Gods, there weren’t even this many people at qualifying, and there’s so many people counting on him. Honey brown eyes scan the crowd for you, his good luck charm as he squints, getting on his tiptoes in hopes of catching a glimpse of your smile. Your presence does wonders for his performance and his nerves, the past few years of late nights at the facility, strength and endurance training, and the crazy diets you’ve joined him on to accommodate bulking and cutting. 

You’ve been there through it all.

He’s got two more shots at breaking his own world record, and to most, they’d assume he’d treat it like a piece of cake. But his mother always taught him to be humble, and he reckons she’s whispering something similar into your ear right now, wherever you two are in the stands. You’re his biggest cheerleader after all, on the days he feels like he can walk among the clouds and even the ones where his feet seem stuck to the concrete.

Luke rolls out the crick in his neck before bending over to grab his grip tape and liquid chalk. Going through the motions of years of proficiency worth his blood, sweat, and tears, he zeroes in on the crowd, walking up to the runway.

Just like we practiced, he thinks to himself, hearing his name get called out by the officials.

LUKE CASTELLAN, REPRESENTING THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

LUKE CASTELLAN, DES ÉTATS-UNIS D'AMÉRIQUE!

Two minutes start on the clock—-and he runs like the wind.

Sprinting, taking the air out of his own lungs as his feet pound against the pavement, his fingers tapping against your initials that he etched into his pole as he gives it his all.

And then the other end meets the vault box and he’s flying.

Soaring through the air, momentum swinging his legs like a pendulum and by the smile that grows on his face—he knows he’s got it even before his feet touch the ground, and the only thing running through his mind is you as he contorts over the bar effortlessly.

Like echolocation, the only voice he recognizes through the commotion is in tune with the blood rushing through his ears, a scream that could only come from the depths of your soul, “BRING IT HOME BABY!”

And he’s ecstatic now, suddenly unaware of the resounding smack his body makes against the landing mat because his joints spring up tirelessly as he propels himself in your direction like Pavlov’s dog running towards the sound of a golden bell. Luke can barely see at the speed he’s going at, launching himself over the stands but he knows you’re there to catch him and he knows he’s gotten gold as he smashes his lips against yours. This must be the alchemy that you do to him, pulling his heart into yours with just the glimmer in your eyes and the sheer love you show to accomplish his dreams—he’s a winner for sure, with you by his side. Flashes from cameras surround his peripherals and you both can’t do anything but chuckle.

Gold medal aside, he’s got all he needs in his arms right now. 

Luke thinks he’ll be getting you your own gold hardware soon too.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Stutter

AO3

The movement in front of your eyes couldn’t pull you from the vortex of thoughts. Sliding into the zone-out state of thinking didn’t happen often but when it did suck you down it took a lot to pull you out of it.

Eyes still unseeing the hand that settled on your knee shook you once. Your body is distant, feelings muted.

“HEY!”

The sudden shout jarred you back to the couch where you had sat down to watch a show.

Blinking to clear the dryness of your eyes you are shocked to see Gary kneeling before you on the dingy carpet.

“Did you say something?”

A tangle of emotions sprouts in your chest.

Gary nodded once and signed his response.

Yes, you weren’t responding, and I was getting worried.

A thread of hurt springs in the middle of the emotional tangle. You search his face as you ask your next question.

“So, you can talk? You just don’t?”

He must have heard the pain, the knowing that you weren’t special enough for his voice.

Watching emotions and thoughts flicker across his face you wait. The dark sweep of his brows and his slightly crooked nose, you love them on him. His ears a slightly too large for his face but they complement the thin lips he presses to your skin each time he leaves.

The other guys only kissed you goodbye before missions, not Gary though. No. Gary kissed you each time he damn near entered or left a room. It led to side eyes and nudges from the other guys but Gary would just smile serenely and keep doing it. It made it hurt more somehow.

You knew that he used his voice on missions, he had to. Though, as you think about it most of the stories that get told about Gary involve him using Morse code or clicks in dangerous situations. Settling the hurt somewhere near your spine to deal with later you give Gary a small smile.

“Thanks for pulling me out of my zoning out. I’m going to make myself a hot chocolate. Do you want anything?” Pushing up from the couch you step past him, ignoring the brush of his fingers at your ankle as go.

Gary gives you longer than anyone else would have. The water is whistling from the kettle as he steps into the kitchen, arms slipping around your waist as you assemble your drink in the galley kitchen.

“I-I-I-I-I stut-t-t-ter bad. It w-w-as an accident-t.”

You wait, listening to the cadence of his words. His words hold to his tongue to avoid being launched into the air between you, like they were clinging to a lifeboat that slowly sank. Touching your head to his you stir the dry powder into the water.

“Soap can’t-t-t-t-t-t-t,” he let out a deep frustrated breath, “wait.”

You gathered the rest. Johnny had to have ADHD and the waiting that would be required for Gary to finish a sentence would be agony for him. No wonder he switched to signing whenever he could.

“Can you get me some milk or creamer?”

Gary steps away, hand still on your back as he pulls out whatever is closest. Simon’s creamer. Ah well, he never finishes it before it goes bad. You swear he forgets he buys the creamer and uses the milk in the fridge instead. Gary curls around you again, chin resting on your shoulder.

A splash in your hot chocolate to cool it down and you take a sip to confirm. A splash more of creamer and you’re happy with your drink. Holding the creamer up Gary takes it from your hand and returns it to the fridge.

When he steps back, he resumes his position.

“You’re worth waiting for Gary.”

The quivers of his chin against your neck tell you everything you need to know. When he hides his eyes and the arms around you tighten, you reach up and run your hands through his hair. He stays like that until your drink is consumed.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[nausicaaandhermouth]

The Healer

masterlist

viktor x anhedonic!reader [1.4k][AO3]

cw: implied/referenced depression, suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm

summary: Anhedonia set in and the idea of exiting life's stage became all the more appealing. But you've heard about The Healer and perhaps he can save you.

tags: gn reader, S2 Viktor, post-Act 1, anhedonia, angst, depression, suicide, SI, SH, viktor gardening?, reader's just admiring him atp, not betad, not encouraging anybody to join any cult

a/n: idk if vik's abilities extends to making plants appear but for this pretend it does

if you're unfamiliar with what anhedonia is, it's a symptom of a larger condition (can be depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, more), characterised by the inability to experience physical and/or social pleasure. makes existing difficult, like you're dragging so much pointless weight and everything feels high effort, so what's the point.

just a brief description (based on what i've learnt from it in research and experience), so i encourage learning more to get it more in depth if it interests you or sounds too familiar.

You prayed for an easy coax out of the darkness.

The little home of scrap fabric and heartbroken brick you built throughout the years was becoming more and more dilapidated, though its original state had never been of full health to begin with. And like it, your body’s ridges became prominent, visited by unexplained bruises, warmed by the thickened hair on your skin, and yet living on had always been the only option you saw—no, the only option you allowed.

You’d breathed long enough to outlive many of those around you. Whether it was becoming grey-lunged corpses, enforcer punching bags, or a Promenade diver, everybody knew somebody who, sooner rather than later, knelt to kiss Death’s feet. Surrendered. Be it by their own or another’s will.

Then it fell upon you: the swole blanket of indifference, of apathy. It cloaked your mind, buried your defences that was defiance, which had been the only source of survival you’d had left. But snuffed out now.

And how easy it is to think of self-inflicted inexistence when it seems nothing else matters.

Oblivion would whisper in the corner, a demented, deformed dog snarling yet begging your hand’s comfort. Come to me. And you can’t find good reason as to why you shouldn’t.

This… healer—a man whose touch could gild any man’s sick and bestow him a new life, a new body, a new mind—you’re not sure when he arrived. But the whispers morphed to murmurs which morphed to rumours and unfolded itself into your side of the city’s underbelly.

Was he the answer to your prayer?

You made journey to the place you’d heard he’d made camp, and it unfurled before you and stole all expectation and put them to rest. Because for once, the Sumps had colour, had life.

At the centre stood a strange, globular… building? Just like stained glass, its surface was of mute Spring colours, translucent, swirling lattice-work reminiscent of butterfly wing patterns.

He’s a tall thing. A beautiful thing. His metal body cloaked, careful, and coded with grace. Each movement was deliberate, no gaze shared unintentional. How had he come to exist? How had this world birthed your people’s suffering but, as well, him?

You want to laugh at the sick irony. Whoever’s dealing the cards need their hands cut off.

“What ails you?” he asks, giving you such soft regarding you can’t help but be rendered speechless.

In truth, you’re not sure. Physically, you know you’re lacking, but so was everyone so why are you different? In your head there sits a temptress, attempting to lure you to the edge of buildings or blades, but she had no name. No one speaks of her.

The healer tilts his head, seeming to take a better look at you. He looks so kind. Such eyes, opalescent, have seen suffering, and you know it.

“Life,” you give a one-shouldered shrug, smiling. “I… I’m not actually… uh, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” you take a step back.

What had been the point of this? Attempt what? Healing? What’s this man to do?

“No,” he steps closer, his voice swathed in a strange mechanical whir. “Stay,”

You’re sure that by the furrowed desperation on you, it convinces something inside him, as he turns and beckons you with a nudge of his head. So you follow.

Each step he makes creates a heavy thunk beneath him, and though you don’t feel its impact, merely by sound you feel the weight of him. How had he acquired such a body? Modded fingers, let alone limbs, cost years of your wages—you can’t imagine how much his entire body might have cost.

“I can feel something plaguing you,” he begins, shifting slightly to catch a look of you.

You scoff but it doesn’t quite match your face.

“Then what brought you to me?” he shrugs and looks away, leading you to the side of the Sumps where a clear plain rolled out.

You watch as he kneels and reaches for the soil, taking it between metal fingers.

“I’m not sure,” you kneel beside him, shoulders bunching up. “What are you doing?”

He hums, smoothing the ground and creating indents, “I’m assessing,”

You lean forward, folding your arms and hanging your head to look at him.

The metal frames his face, just barely hidden by chestnut waves, curling beneath the jaw and around the ear.

He’s got a rather angular beauty to him, something belonging to scrutiny and studiosity. Even his strong brows follow theme, arched forward in a focused furrow, over narrowed eyes homing iridescent irises. You’re not sure if he’s from this world. Or if the world was gifted him.

Your attention trails back to his hand, and he digs his fingers beneath the soil. Then, hand glowing beneath the metallic muscles, the ground is imbued with a light, where then verdant stems spring alive.

You choke back a gasp, glancing about as the spindly bodies uncurl and reveal yellow petals. Roses?

Whipping back to him, you take note of the glow leaving his eyes, shock threading through your system.

When you glance back at the flowers, now surrounding the both of you, you can’t help but think: logically, how you might have reacted would be with pleasant surprise, glee, even.

Such occurrences, the arcane or a mere flower field, was a coveted sight, and without a doubt you would have felt the surge of optimism. But instead nothing happens. Instead it’s unmet anticipation and expectation sitting at your belly, pooling into grey disappointment.

It’s when you look back to the healer that you realise this disappointment must have shown on your face. He inclines his head so slightly, blinks, as if saying I understand. And he smiles. He smiles and it’s the gentlest thing ever given to you to hold and witness.

You want to crumple, to lay graves for your limbs and disassemble each part that ever dared to exist only to suffer. There used to be anger, and at the very least there was indignation. At topside for their neglect, your parents or finding each other, for finding something beyond the misery and creating you. Where had all such righteous resentment gone?

“Viktor,”

You look up to see the healer’s hand stretched out, asking for yours in return. And you oblige, shaking it gently, before pulling away only to be held with soft restraint.

“You are welcome to stay,” his voice becomes tender, becomes more human almost, aimed purely for your audience. “Even if what torments is not outright seen. I welcome all,”

Your breath comes out long, carrying with it the tired days in the dark. The healer… Viktor makes no acknowledgement of this but just another observant blink, the corners of his mouth slightly tightening.

“Wasn’t gonna die or anything,” you joke, flattening your lips and hoping it registers as a smile, however trying it may appear.

“Eh,” Viktor shrugs, turning his attention to your hand and turning it about as if trying to see new angles. “A slow death is still a death,”

This makes you frown. Why has he assumed? But why is he right?

“The slower it is, the more painful, I think,” he remarks, but he seems almost far away. “As you watch what is left of you wither, and all you can do is… hm, watch,”

Then you understand. Something in your chest tightens as you take in once again all this stranger is. “You’re well-acquainted,” you note, coming out barely as breath and observation, spoken clearer by the narrowing of your eyes than your own voice.

He looks at you again, and something’s changed. His eyes? It seems. There’s something more amber about them, more grounded in this singular hue. “My longest companion,”

You hum, nodding.

There’s a safety in knowing you’re understood, even if they’re not able to fix you. It cloaks you warmer than summer, than any consolation offered in pity—he understands. And perhaps not the very same that brandishes you, but in some aspect he knows.

Which is what makes you ask, “Can you fix me?”

His eyes resume that pearl sheen once again and you’re mesmerised, gaze flitting between each eye in deep investigation—tell me who you are, how you are; tell me how you’ll fix me. Like the field around, the sweet sunshine hues of the roses, to make your land more than just barren.

And he does. He raises his other hand, uncurling, coming to hover by your face. “May I?”

You breath sweeps back in and you nod, leaning forward and connecting his cold fingers to your cheek.

He notes you for a moment, saying nothing, doing nothing. It’s his gaze that makes you feel naked, removed of any pretence crafted carefully. But he shifts his attention and his fingers connected with your forehead, eyes overtaken by a white glow.

Your vision drowns in the white.

a/n anhedonia's been hitting me and this is the only thing i could muster to make so here we gooo. not my favourite, feel like i could've done it better but oh well, least i made something wahooyaaa writing is coping after all 🫵🏼😃🗣️

requests + taglist open!

[this is a reupload, i have no idea why the original post disappeared :''')]

[sturnmeovr]

Batman Has Arrived - Matt Sturniolo

Pairings - fwb!Matt x fem!Reader Summary - Two weeks into the break Matt proposed, he pops up on you at a Halloween party. Warnings - Strong language. Sexual suggestions. Fluff. A lil angst?? W/c - 2560 A/n - That tiktok Matt posted had me dreamingggg. It's now no nut November (idk if I'm participating) so I didn't want to turn this into a smut lol. Let me know what you guys think!! 🦇 Tags - @lvrsturniolo @thepubeburgler (if anyone else wants tagged just let me know!) My Masterlist Current series - City of Love (Matt) Current works - part two to You Like me? (Matt) Latest work - Pierced (Chris)

“Code red!” your best friend sounds from behind you, making you whirl around to face her. “He’s here and he’s so pissed,” she tells you before taking a sip of her drink. Your heart drops to your stomach, the drunken haze you’re in isn’t making it better, “you told me he wouldn’t be here!”

“I didn’t think he would be!” she throws her hands up defensively. It had only been two weeks since Matt proposed a ‘break’ between you two. His reason being - ‘he wasn’t in the right mental state for a girlfriend.’ You thought it was bullshit, and it was. Matt had a bad habit of not being straightforward with you. Truth be told, even though he was always the one to suggest a break, he was always the one to come running back. His constant need to go back and forth left you feeling mentally and emotionally exhausted. This wasn't the first time he brought up the idea, in the beginning you'd constantly check in on. After the third or fourth time of him doing the same stupid shit, you decided ignoring him was best.

Already knowing how the night will end, you pour yourself another shot. Before you can bring it up to your lips, “Batman has arrived,” you hear your best friend scoff. She throws a shot back with you as Matt approaches the kitchen island. “Drinking away your problems, huh?” the familiar voice makes you hold your breath out of nervousness.

You roll your eyes almost immediately, “I didn’t have any problem until I noticed you were here.” You were still holding a grudge. It had been six months since you and Matt first started hooking up. He was probably the most confusing man you had ever been with. One minute he’s talking about a future with you, and the next he’s telling you he needs a break, that he's not ready for a relationship. You’d feel a lot better if he actually communicated, telling you what’s truly wrong, but he did the exact opposite. He never told you shit, just springs unexpected breaks on you like your feelings don’t matter.

Even worse, Matt knew you were head over heels for him. Everyone knew. The way you stare at him when he was in close proximity resembled a schoolgirl swooning over her first crush, that’s what it felt like anyway.

“Don’t be like that, Y/n/n,” he says after leaning down to your ear. The loud music blaring through the house made it hard to hear anything. His hands fall to your waist, and he leans you back against his chest, “I only came out tonight so I could see you.”

You tilt your head to get a good look at him. Black paint smears over his eyes making him look more mysterious than he already did. You gape at him, “Batman?”

Matt’s fingers make gentle circles on your waistline, the fabric of your costume bunching up in the process. You were dressed in all black, as a fallen angel. Before the break, you and Matt planned on going as Catwoman and Batman, inspired by Robert Pattinson and Zoe Kravitz. It was one of your favorite superhero movies, along with his. Apparently, Matt wasn’t creative enough to come up with another costume idea. Seeing him in the costume you coordinated for him made your stomach twirl. Little did you know - he was praying you'd come dressed as his Catwoman.

“Fallen angel?” he asks before he spins you around to face him. You nod, a bit taken back with how touchy he was being. Matt wasn’t the pda type of person, just like he wasn’t the going out type. You figured Halloween was a special occasion since it was his favorite day of the year. Matt keeps his grip firm, “you look really good.”

“Are you drunk?” you ask him, leaning in so he can hear you better. Matt immediately shakes his head, “I can’t miss you?”

Sucking your teeth and shaking your head at him, “no.” You let your eyebrows knit together, looking at everything except Matt. Truth be told, every time he suggested a break it left you heartbroken. In a way, you felt like you weren't good enough to be his girlfriend. That’s how the constant back-and-forth shit made you feel, like you weren’t good enough for him.

Your drunken state makes it harder for you to blink away the tears prickling at your eyes. Matt’s hands move from your waist to your arms, rubbing them gently like he’s trying to distract you. “Well, I do,” he tells you, searching your face for answers neither of you seem to have. The reasoning behind all the breaks wasn’t because of another girl or wanting freedom. It was simply because he felt like his mental health didn’t allow him to treat you the way you deserved to be treated, and he knew that.

Sucking a breath in and deciding to stay strong, “I’m not doing this tonight, Matt. I came here to get my mind off of you,” you spit out as you take a step back. You run your finger through your hair, hoping the night wouldn’t end how you expected it to - in Matt’s bed.

Before he can say anything else, your best friend, who had been eavesdropping the whole time, snatches you out of his grip. “Okay,” she stretches out, “that’s enough arguing for tonight.”

Matt’s face drops and he keeps a firm grip on your arm, “what? We weren’t arguing,” he defends himself. You look down at the tight grip on your arm, “c’mon y/n/n. Please don’t be like that,” empathy leaking through his words.

You open your mouth to speak, but before you can Chris appears out of nowhere. He whispers something in Matt's ear, making him realize he’s causing a scene. He keeps grip tight as he looks around the room, taking in the people who are staring at you two. Innocent bystanders probably thought he was some crazy overprotective boyfriend. That wasn’t the case though, and it made your heart hurt. Matt being possessive over you was pointless if he never had any plans to make you his.

Six months. Six months you had been fucking him and he still hasn’t asked you out. You were losing hope at this point. You had the ‘don’t go back to him’ talk with your best friend time after time but you never learned your lesson. Nights like this always ended with an angry Matt fucking you into his mattress as you spoke in tongues against his pillow, leaving drool stains on the process.

Chris wraps arm around his brother's shoulder, guiding him away from you, and waving an arm over his shoulder. It was his way of signaling you to get the fuck out of there. You quickly take notion, spinning around and hauling ass out of the kitchen, your bestie close behind you.

“That was fucking intense,” she tells you once you lead her to an empty bathroom, closing the door behind her. You groan, throwing your head back, “did you see how fucking good he looked?!”

“No, no,” she says in a panicky tone. “You’re not going home with him tonight!” She knows you too well. Looking in the mirror, you critic your Halloween makeup, making sure none of it got ruined yet. Your best friend makes her way to the toilet, quickly dropping her pants and squatting, “sorry I have to pee.” You shrugged at her, knowing you’d do the same if you really had to pee.

“I feel so bad though,” you tell her while applying more lip stick. “Bitch, he should feel bad for constantly playing with your emotions,” she scoffs.

“He does. You seen his face,” defending him against her harsh opinions wasn’t uncommon at this point. Y/bf/n was just as protective over you as Matt was. Her knowing every detail about the relationship you shared with him made her question his true intentions towards you. You were never the type to have a friends with benefits relationship, and Matt was pretty much forcing you into it. He hadn’t left you alone since the first night he had you, but he never talked about furthering things either.

“Just because his face says one thing, it doesn’t mean it’s accurate,” she tells you honestly. She had a point, but you knew Matt. You knew he wore his emotions on his face before he communicated them to the world. He held a lot back from a lot of people, you included.

You shake your head in disagreement, but before you can talk, she does, “I know you’re gonna leave with him. But at least tell him what you actually want before the night is over and if he doesn’t give it to you then you need to leave him alone. Matt’s not good for you, Y/n.”

After y/bf/n finishes lecturing you, you quickly exit the bathroom, making your way back to the living room. Only problem was, Matt was standing by the doorway with Chris and Nick, scoping his surroundings in hopes to find you. As soon as his eyes land on you, his feet move in your directions. Nick and Chris in tow close behind him, you’d think they were babysitting their drunk brother, but Matt was nowhere near drunk. He was fuming.

“Y/n,” he calls out as soon as he approaches you. You let your face do the talking, scrunching your nose at his comment. Matt never called you by your first name unless he was serious. “You’re coming home with me,” he states, not bothering to give you an option. He quickly redeems himself, “cause you’re drunk.”

“Right,” you huff, running a hand through your hair, “that’s why.” Matt's lips curve upward a bit like he’s trying to smile but he fights it off, keeping them pin straight. Nick lets out a laugh behind him, followed by Chris. Ear hustlers.

You really didn’t have the time or patience to have your Halloween night ruined. You were a girl who liked to have a good time, so Matt putting a halt on your night made you give in to what he wanted. Anything to avoid the conflict at all costs, you had a soft spot for him. You couldn’t tell if it was black paint he had smeared across his eyes, something told you had to go home with him. Then again, your conscious convinced itself every other night you needed him. Holding out for the past two weeks did neither of you the justice it should’ve. It only made the infatuation worse.

Not even twenty minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of Matt’s car. He sped through traffic occasionally glancing at you with the sour expression still stuck on his face like glue. Two weeks and you were already wasted at a Halloween party, giving any random guy the opportunity to make a play on you. It pissed him off to no end.

Matt knew every time he suggested a break, it broke your heart a little bit more. He couldn’t bring himself to publicly announce your relationship, he feared the attention would ruin it all. If you were soft for him then you’d be soft when the hate comment came along too, and he wasn’t willing to let that happen. As overprotective as he was, he knew he’d lash out at anyone who threw a negative comment your way. He had a soft spot for you, he just didn’t let it show. Deep down, you could sense it every time you were with him and that’s what reeled you in more each time.

“What’s with the looks?” you decide to finally break the silence, cutting the tension that floated in the air. It didn’t matter how mad he was, the Batman costume was doing wonders for you. Matt gives you the silent treatment, mentally scolding himself for practically kidnapping you. He knew it was toxic, and he knew he was the cause of it. The rest of the car ride is silent until he pulls up to his apartment.

“C’mon Matt,” you whine, “I really like the way your face is painted,” pulling the sleeve of his shirt. Not wanting to fight with him anymore, you caved like usual. Instead of letting his shitty mood get the best of you, you made light of it, doing anything you could to make the night end well.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” keeping his tone low and teasing, “you ghost me for weeks and now all the sudden want me, wonder why?” This wasn’t unfamiliar for you and Matt to be so hot and cold with each other. Whether you liked it or not, it happened too frequently. As soon as the door is open, you rush inside to kick off your shoes, stumbling in the process, “slow down!” Matt reaches a hand out, snaking it around your waist to steady you. A blush creeps up to your cheeks as you hold on to his bicep in an attempt to steady yourself even more, “I’m drunk.”

“I know, baby. I can tell,” he keeps his grasp tight on you, kicking his shoes off, and leading you to the bedroom. Needles and pins stick into your feet with every step you take, making you take a mental note to never wear those heels again. Matt pushes his bedroom door open revealing his messy room. He never made his room look nice unless he was expecting someone you. In a way, you found it comforting because you knew he didn’t fuck anyone during your breaks. Instead, he sulked, trying to find ways to make the situation better but it never worked. He never put in full effort, and he knew it. It killed him.

You take your spot on Matt’s bed, making yourself comfortable. “I’m gonna go wash up,” he tells you quietly.

“What nooo,” you stretch out, rising to your feet and stumbling in the process. “I told you I like it,” crossing your arms over your chest.

“Seriously?” He asks as he takes off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the door. “I thought you were kidding,” he chuckles. Even though he was still upset over the whole situation, he couldn’t help but think your drunken haze was the cutest thing. He loved how goofy and playful you were, like all the shyness disappears.

You reach out to him, taking the hem of his sleeve between your fingers, “I really wanted to be your Catwoman tonight, y’know,” giving him those seductive doe eyes you mastered years ago. That look made him crack every time.

“The least you can do is be my Batman,” filling in the gap between the two of you. You press your body against his and wrap your arms around his neck, “you missed me?”

Matt hangs his head, making sure he’s ear level to you, “I did,” growling lowly. He places a sloppy kiss on your earlobe and sending shivers down your spine. Matt's hands wrap around the back of your thighs, and he pulls you closer to him. It never failed, as soon as he got you in his possession, there was no keeping his hands off of you. The break ended right then and there.

[velvet-cupcake-games]

Made Marion Development Update, May 2025

Hi everyone!  Thanks for you patience with our small gap in monthly updates. I'm back in business with the current state of the project and team.

State of John's Route

So chronic illnesses can be very frustrating, and this winter and early spring I ended up struggling a ton with mine. I'd been doing well in the fall, but I relapsed hard in Feb-Apr. The good news is that after three years I finally found a specialist who was willing to try medications on me, and the most common med being used on long Covid kicked in during late April after just a couple months! (It can take 3-4 months to fully feel the effects.)  For the first time since January 2022, I feel... normal. It's very exciting!

On top of the illness struggles, I was having difficulties with the way I'd planned the relationship development in John's route. It just wasn't working for me. After a lot of scribbled notes and cursing, it was a conversation with my first reader that helped me figure out my issue... I needed John to be more flawed and for the main pre-relationship confusion to be two-sided instead of one-sided. This avoids a formerly pivotal scene that I felt was too cliche and replaces it with some lovely angst and flailing. Having figured that out, I'm much happier with where things are going.

This leans into my route theme where Marion and John have a number of things in common as the "responsible one" in their families. Both of them are very hard on themselves and that can lead one to not realize that somebody else might actually be super into you. ;)

So never fear, production has been slow so far but in my new brain fogless state I'll be banging this sucker out over the summer and a fall release should be possible!  Wasn't able to speed up the production rate quite yet, but it will be out.

Team Status

While I'm doing the writing and coding, the rest of the team is on their usual tasks.

Sandra: As we've basically finished the backgrounds (I'm trying very hard not to need anymore!), Sandra has moved to assisting Lawri with cut-in production. Here's one that I particularly like from John's route. What did Roan do to deserve being scooped? It involved shenanigans. I gave Sandra reference pictures of angry cats being held. :D

Arrapso: Only one major NPC sprite left to do, so Arrapso is mostly on CGs now. She'll also be doing a more naked version of our male-identified love interest sprites so that they're not obviously wearing trousers during scenes where they're implied to be naked. They won't have visible genitals, you'll just see their lower bellies and maybe some nice muscular lines down there.

Lawrichai: With Sandra helping on cut-ins, Lawri is able to concentrate fully on the animated lore intro. She learned Live2D over the winter so she could take over the animation duties herself, making for a smoother experience than me using in-engine animation tools.

That's where we are, and I hope to be able to deliver much swifter production updates over the summer!

[iwasnotaslasher]

That adorable post about Bruce turned into a cat made me think about that video about a dog in their owner's lap, looking at him enamored while he's working at his pc (clearly so Bruce/dog!Clark coded)

And now I present to all of you Superbat beloved shippers this sort-of-crack prompt for a story in three parts:

1) Due to some Hal's mistake during a mission, Bruce is turned into a black cat and the whole JL have to find a way to turn him back to human. Which is complicated enough, but on top of that the cat himself is damn feral, hissing and scratching and biting at everyone. Only Clark is able to deal with him: he can even pick him up and cat!Bruce lets him pet him, much for Clark delight.

Alfred too can deal with him, but more because the cat seems to be scared of him. Of course the Batkids are taking all the eveidences to blackmail Bruce in the future, like photos of him licking clean his own butt or a video of him springing in fear for a cucumber... or another one of him purring loudly and making bisquits in Clark's lap.

They finally manage to turn Bruce back human, but as a counter-effect now...

2) ...Clark is turned into a dog!

The whole JL goes back working again to the issue, this time trying to not have any counter-effect backfiring. Meanwhile they can't help but enjoy the dog version of Clark he likes to play friendly with everyone and is overly happy with every cuddle he recieves. But no one can compete with Bruce: the dog litterally melts whenever he sees him, whining and wagging his tail and heart-eyeing him. Bruce shows up and the dog follows him like a shadow. Bruce fake to be annoyed by so much clinginess, but he secretly enjoys it so much: when he thinks no one is watching he even lets the dog jump into his lap and cuddles him, giving him little treats and having in excenge little kisses... and so on.

The Batkids teach the dog so many tricks and again they record everything... of course even the moments with Bruce. When the JL finds a way to turn back Clark into a human, someone records Bruce sulking silently in the background.

3) With Clark back human again, they both need some time to readjust. The problem is that Bruce seems so depressed now (well, more than usual) and Clark is worried for him. So he tries to talk with him (they are friends! he needs to help him! what's happening?!) but Bruce doesn't want to open with him. Well, Clark is having none of this! So, in an extreme effort to find a way connect with Bruce, and recalling how he was so happy when Clark jumped on his lap to cuddle, one day he does exactly that.

He sits on Bruce lap, looking at him adoringly just like he did when in dog form. Bruce is shocked. Clark take advantage of his state to lick at his chin. Bruce is even more shocked (and slightly aroused). Clark takes the hint and lays his head in the crook of his neck, sighing contently. Bruce overcome the shock and cuddles him back, humming (purring???) satsfied.

Kisses and loves confessions follows.

Batkids and some of the JL in the background excenge bet money.

Someone asks if anyone has seen Hal: he's gone the since the day Clark was turned back human. No one has idea... maybe he left for a over world mission? Cue J'onn scanning the area and finding him in greenbug form, entrapped into a glass jar and locked into the Cave. He telepathically asks Bruce to be honest and free him, since his mistake led to him to find love. Bruce telepathically flips him off and keeps making out with Clark.

The End

[seancekitsch]

A Boost: Viktor x Reader Oneshot

She makes housecalls, only for him. Alternatively: a Zaunite makes a risky point in taking care of Viktor while he uses shimmer.

warnings: drug use, smut, high smut, the tiniest amount of fluff, ambiguous relationship, feels kinda bittersweet

She comes at dusk, always under the cover of darkness. It’s easier that way for her to blend in, to not draw attention on the campus of the academy, to not raise any alarm bells. Why would a woman from the Undercity come sniffing around such prestigious minds? Viktor could only guess the whispers and insults that would be hurled her way. He wants to, in a way, shield her from them himself although he knows she can hold her own. Still, the desire stands. The electronic lock of his door code buzzing as she presses nails with probably week old chipped polish into the buttons, he can practically picture them always two tone and sloppy but somehow the look is attractive on her. He hears her before he sees her, a rustling of bags and a low hum of some song pressed between her lips as she shuffles around his dorm. Two heavy thuds as she kicks her heavy boots off against the little island of his kitchenette.

Her footsteps are unsubtle, she’s long since lost the need to sneak anywhere in Zaun. To Viktor, it’s something to envy. Something about Piltover makes him wish the uneven gait and the thunk of his crutch could be silent, and he envies the freedom of not having to worry about that subtlety when he’s trying to sneak around the Academy. Piltover is much more suited to these shadowed and secret deals, despite the way they’d like to wrongly cast judgement on Zaunites. At least Zaunites are honest when they fuck you, Viktor thinks, a silent chuckle on his chapped lips. 

And honest, she is. Though they had never thought to name, or even speak of their arrangement, she made it known what it means to her, something special and private and just for the two of them. Pain relief for him, a sense of being wanted for her, and it never had to be anything more. Fondness grows in the simple honesty of their actions on nights like these. A balance struck and respected.

He hears her shrug off a jacket, perhaps the one she wears thats two sizes two big and green and fuzzy on the inside. He likes that one, and the way it felt when she had draped it over him a few weeks ago when the dorm heat had failed and she discovered him waiting and shivering. There’s a spring now in her step, in the last few steps it takes it get to the doorway of his modest bedroom. She makes herself known with a brush of her hand on the wooden door frame, and Viktor counts himself correct, her nails are a chipped silver and dark purple.

“Waiting long?” she chirps, her voice always like a salve for him when he knows what’s to come next. 

“You never keep me,” he assures, patting the edge of the bed for her to come sit with her regular bag and kit, but she does not move from her spot. 

That’s when he notices that her other hand is hidden behind her back. 

“What is that?”

She shuffles uncomfortably for a moment, as if on the fence about showing him. Her eyes fall from his, looking around the room now as if it was something new to her. Eventually though, she reveals what she’s hiding without a word.

She thrusts the object into his hand unceremoniously, her head turned to the side to avoid even the temptation of his gaze. She feigns indifference poorly.

“For you,” she states through gritted teeth, “I made it.”

The it in question being a wedge shaped cushion, a deep purple, a decadently soft fabric covering it. Viktor gives it a good squeeze, whatever firm stuffing within holds its shape. He turns it over in his hands, and embroidered in silver thread on the bottom are three letters: ZBM. Not her initials, nor his. The colors of the cushion the same as her nails: an intention he cannot decipher.

“ZBM?” he reads out loud, and she turns her head the other way, still not looking. 

“It’s to place under your hips, or under the bad leg at the knee to relieve a little pressure,” she shrugs as if the gesture is nothing, but the way she refuses to look at him says that it’s anything but, “I figured it will help.”

Viktor doesn’t press her further, as this already is too much vulnerability for her. Sure, injecting him with shimmer and then fucking his brains out feels safe, but a gift is too much. He gets it, though; and she is at the bottom of the list of people he would ever wish to harm. He knows where she comes from, and how dangerous misplaced displays of emotion can be. Viktor only wishes she would realize he was not going to use something like that against her. 

“Thank you, Darling,” is all he responds with to not make a thing of it, placing the pillow gently on the far end of his bed, away from the space he had already set out for their night. 

She sets down her usual bag now, routine back in place as she starts to pull out vials and sharps. She lays out her materials meticulously, then carelessly strips from her trousers and top. Bruising litters her back as she turns to ball up her clothes and throw them at a corner, as if she had been kicked in the ribs recently, but this too Viktor does not mention. If he knows, he’ll want to protect her. If he tries protect her, she will hate him. 

“Ready?” she asks, her toothy smile wide and enthusiastic. He nods, and she climbs up onto the bed, taking a spot between Viktor’s knees and she grabs a syringe and one of the vials. She presses in, pulling the plunger back until the dose is correct. She’s been bringing stronger stuff, Viktor has noticed, another unspoken thing between them. But he cannot fault her, she’s doing what she thinks is right, and it gives him better mobility at least for a while. The last time, he was even able to go on a jog the next morning just to prove something to himself. Decidedly, even if that was a more common occurrence, Viktor is not a jogger. She gets everything ready carefully, and places everything on the bedside table before she reaches finally for Viktor. 

She’s almost painfully gentle as her free hand massages over the muscle of Viktors thigh, her thumb pressing soothing circles as she moves his leg to the side to access the tender skin on the inner side. She looks up at him, and he nods, all the encouragement she needs. The needle goes into his skin easily, barely any pain compared to how his knee had felt earlier today, and the plunger gets pushed down. 

And then the burning begins, the venom seeping through, infecting every vein and cell of him, the glow visible in his leg. Burning, burning, ecstasy on the other end.

Viktor floats, the shimmer haze flowing through him, a euphoric sigh falling from his lips as he feels the effects start to take hold. 

He smiles through the burn, sweats through the pain, lets it give way to the feeling of power. This, now, he understands as his addictive habit with shimmer. A good hurt, that keeps the constant hurt away, at least temporarily. When the burning subsides, he will have more energy, more stamina, he will get more work done. 

He sighs again, his smile lazy as his eyes finally reopen, his gaze falling upon where she still sits between his legs. 

She smiles as she sees him back down in reality, and lifts herself up; first to kneel and then to place her knees on either side of his hips. 

“No,” he protests, stopping her as the mattress dips under her knee, “Let me try something.”

And she complies, letting Viktor take the lead as he switches their positions, removing his boxers as he settles himself between her thighs. 

“You sure, Vik?” she asks, but her hands don’t hesitate to reach up and trace lines down his chest. Her hands are still a little cold from outside, but it doesn’t make him shiver, in fact, he feels as if he could brave the cold for once. 

“Yes, until I can tell I will regret it later,” he chuckles, and punctuates the sentences with a roll of his hips, half hard cock bumping up against her core already warm and wanting. 

“And you’re not bullshitting this time? No repeats of that one time you tried to stand,” she huffs out with a roll of her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face as she chastises him. She’ll never let him live that down, he thinks, remembering the time he had indeed tried to lay her out on his living room table and he ended up collapsing. His hip will also never let him forget, as it has given him more trouble since that day.

“I promise, I will warn you,” he chuckles, reassuring her in a way that only makes her doubt him, and allows his hand to travel down the expanse of her body. He traces the dip of her collarbone, the swell of her chest, each indent of her bruised ribs, the soft skin of her stomach, down to her hip and below. They both collectively gasp as his hand reaches between her thighs, wetness collecting on his cold calloused fingers.

“Please, Vik,” she sighs, “Don’t worry about it.”

Foreplay was far and few in between for them, the most potent effects of the shimmer not lasting that long coupled with the desperation for a gentle touch spurring them to a clumsy frenzy. 

He obeys, pulling his hand away from its destination, but not without a little indulgence. Viktor brings his fingers to his lips, and parts them to take them into his mouth, licking them with calculated pleasure as he stares into her eyes. She shudders beneath him, her chest heaving with the sigh that leaves her. She tastes divine, too sweet for her outer demeanor and too sweet for Zaun. She is like the extra sugar packet he mixes into his sweetmilk, but even the idea of that sours her. 

He removes his fingers from his mouth, and plants his hand on the pillow next to her head. His other hand grabs the base of his shaft, bringing it to line up with her core, and pushes in slowly. This is how she likes it, he knows, letting her feel every inch of him as he fills her. And she’s hot, almost too hot, and tight and wet and everything she should be. If he were someone else, if she were someone else, if this were another universe, this moment would be perfect. Viktor moans against her skin, the feeling divine as he bottoms out within her, their hips meeting flush to seal them as one. 

“Move, Vik, You gotta move,” she pleads, already writhing under him. How can Viktor deny her this?

His hips move slow at first, testing the waters, the way the movement puts strain on certain muscles in his legs. They do not hurt, and he takes that as a sign. He tests his theory again, this time his thrust is a bit sharper and quicker, which earns him an appreciative moan that drips from her smiling lips. This only drives him further, and Viktor is eager to set a pace, quick and hard but not harsh. Viktor kisses, fondles, jerks his hips, and her hands run down his back, pull him in. He even hooks her leg over one of his arms to pull her further apart. They feed each other with hushed praise, sweet nothings that encourage each movement and touch, each motion encouraged and thanked. She pulls him in closer, impossibly closer, and the lines where they meet blur until they seem inseparable, two in tandem feeling more like one being intent on pleasure from itself. They are both greedy, taking of the affection they each need, taking the way they each want. 

The first time his thrust falters, her eyebrows knit together, but she says nothing and arches further into him. The second time it happens, her hands reach out to steady his shoulders. She does not need to speak as she reaches up to him, and her lips meet his as she gently starts to push. It’s a simple enough dance, one they’ve done plenty of times before. And like those plenty of other times, Viktor has once again broken his promise to her. He will never, so as long as this routine prevails, tell her when it begins to hurt. Call him selfish, he thinks as she flattens his back against the sheets now reversing their roles, but he will always try to take more than he should. 

She sinks down onto him, pressing them flush again and completing the circuit as she brushes hair out of his face. A move, he notices, he has pulled on her before. She starts to move slowly, idly humping as she feels out the new angle. Viktor is so, so painfully hard and wanting, but he cannot find it in him to be anything but gentle to her. If it were anyone else, he would have already jutted his hips up into them, would have yanked on hair or torn skin with his teeth. But because of her his leg glows with the power of shimmer, because of her he will be able to make coffee and walk to Jayce’s flat before he will need to depend on his cane at all. Because of this, he lets her feel and move like molasses and work up to her pleasure. The thought crosses his mind again, that if they were different, maybe sex between them could be rough or even playful. But it is not and they are not, and despite this, it is his favorite routine in his life. 

As if she could read his mind, her pace picks up. She relies on her knees more, picking up her hips and dropping herself back down on him, fucking herself with each thrust that starts to feel like more euphoria than the shimmer could ever give him. She pants, open mouthed against his own lips, little gasps and squeaks each time he bottoms out. Viktor’s hands are hard on her hips, and his own begin moving, another break of his earlier promise, as he begins to meet her movements in the middle.

“I feel you,” he tells her, his voice more strained than he imagined it, “You are squeezing me.”

She only whines in response, capturing the corner of his mouth in a desperate kiss. Viktor takes this as permission, guiding her to fuck herself onto him harder, one of his hands coming down to rub her clit, calculated and fast circles that earn him even more of the sweet noises. 

She breaks quickly, squeezing him like a vice as she lets loose these high pitched cries that Viktor instantly commits to memory. She shakes above him, her entire body clamping down upon him as she finds her end. Viktor does not let up with his ministrations, continuing to rub her even as his thrusts upward begin to slow. He’s so close, so goddamn close, and she feels like heaven itself. Viktor has never been a religious man, but he does understand this. 

As she comes back to reality, she kisses him languidly, lips smearing across him in ways he hopes leave marks. He’s already left one of his own on her, so it would only make them equal. She clutches him like she is holding on for dear life. 

“Please,” she begs, her voice slow with exhaustion, “inside me.”

It’s risky, but Viktor cannot even think of that, not when she is so hot and tight around him. Not when she allows him, invites him even. 

Viktor’s end finds him quickly after that, pistoning up into her as she holds on, kissing him and whispering praise into his ear as he comes with a shudder and a gasp. He kisses her, pushing stray tears from her face as he holds her cheeks. Neither of them make any move to untangle themselves, even as the fatigue of sleep sinks in, even as their movements get slower and he tosses a blanket over the both of them. 

Hours later, she puts on her clothes gingerly, careful to avoid any spots made sore. Her fingers lithe and nimble as they roll her socks back up, the movement almost enough for Viktor to try to call her back to bed. It would be a first for them, but a line Viktor thinks might be okay to cross. 

The chasm between them emerges again with each piece of clothing she replaces, the distance between them a drought drying the words Viktor would wish to say to her. 

She runs her fingers through her hair once her top is back on, now looking looser and more ill fitting than it had before. She is nearly a stranger now, their uniforms of civility two paths divulging. She packs her kit just as quickly, everything safely back in their spots in her bag and she suddenly no longer has a reason to be here. She pauses though, and Viktor thinks that maybe he can beckon her once more, maybe stop time for a few moments longer.

As if compelled, she turns in the doorway back to him, pointing to the wedge shaped pillow she had given him earlier in their evening. 

“Zaun’s best mind,” she tells him when he quirks an eyebrow in question, “You asked about ZBM? Its you.”

Her smile falters, and he knows he cannot ask her to come back but his voice finds him again. 

“Thank you,” Viktor says, and he means it so deeply, “Thank you for your care, for being here.”

“I have to,” her smile returns, “You’re gonna save us all one day.”

Viktor lets her leave, the same thunking of boots and the wind whistling as his door opens as she returns to the night and to the city they were both born in. Viktor does not say goodbye, does not tell her to be safe, does not ask when she will be back. 

It’ll be two weeks, like clockwork, like always. 

A ‘Bi-Weekly Boost’, as she calls it.

Maybe next time he’ll ask her to stay. 

[jekyll-doodles]

The Ladies of Addagala || Kofi | Commission Info | Threadless Shop|| Do not edit, trace, or repost!

So this started as another one-off bit that involved drawing the lords of Alagadda with inverted colors, but it grew into a whole realm with Lore. The finding of this place written below, pov of my sprite persona.

[ You would think I would have learned my lesson by now, considering how the blame fell on me for witnessing and then interfering with these kinds of entities. But, no. And so, with the knowing expectation that I will be held responsible for merely observing this, I wish to tell you what I saw while around the outer boundaries of ■■■ verse, ■■■ space-■■■ time, "SCP Wakey Wakey"’s reality. It would appear that, by accident, a secondary nexus evolved from my observations of Alagadda and its tributaries. An attempt by What Is and What Isn’t to balance out the chaos of the city-state: an antithesis. Such a place is a hefty feast to observe by oneself – hence my absence – so I took in what I could for now. More undoubtedly lingers beneath its glossy surface.]

The Land of Addagala – a name a little too on-the-nose in my opinion, but that's not important – was a citywide sanctuary locked within a snowglobe. The first notable sensation I recall being the chill in the air; I learned later that it became just warm enough in its spring and summer seasons to let the flowers bloom and produce fruit. A warmth that apparently came not from the grey sun, but that radiated out from their beloved monarch. The sun, which also acted as its moon, was more of a static decoration in the sky. No sunrise or sunset; the day faded into night into day into night again without it. The kingdom’s borders were high stone walls, beyond which was a mystery that even my kind could not perceive; it simply did not exist. Leaving through the gates led out to… Well, it led me out to Nowhere, but others presumably back their native reality (hopefully). Within said walls were sprawling, spiraling meadows, pastures, and gardens. Neat rows of simplistic homes and facilities leading up to its centerpiece: a modest basilica with a clock tower that stretched far higher than seemed necessary. Everything within this scenery had its similarly mandated colors – or only naturally occurring ones depending on the realm’s laws– of Silver, Indigo, Sapphire, and Turquoise.

After a general overview, I floated down and followed one of the branching stone paths in the garden. Blue roses and peonies lined in neat spirals, soft turquoise grasses, beautiful stone statues, bumbly honey bees buzzing about; I must’ve spent hours in the garden alone. The aforementioned clocktower would sweetly chime each hour before falling into a peaceful quiet again. I spied a few citizens there as I perused the flowers. Besides the silver masks (also mandatory here), they dressed in accordance with the cold weather: Long gowns, capes, and sleeves; furs, feathers, and fluff; soft, warm, and layered to keep the cold at bay. I learned later that those unfortunate few to enter without proper fittings would not stay cold long as the advising Ladies and their orderlies would happily provide suitable clothing. Their motives are well-intentioned, yet also motivated by an implied modesty dress code. Suppose I should have expected as much from the opposite Alagadda.

It was there within the gardens where I found the first lady of the city: Lady Turquoise, wearer of the Solemn mask. Dignified yet understanding. Her stature towered, imposing an air of respect. She was hard at work tending to the hedges; precise in every movement and measurement. A look within revealed more about her and the kingdom itself: This place had a rigid sense of time and a stern set of rules to keep order: both of which were expected to be followed by every citizen. And schedules needed to be planned, written, and updated by someone. The sense of such strict routines was somewhat nauseating – and I like routine, mind you. But now, in a moment of allowed leisure, she tended to her gardens. I would’ve lingered longer to watch her work, but the hint of desperate perfectionism within warded me off. I drifted off towards the main square.

More citizens, and few visitors, were found here. Pleasantly conversing, eating lunches, etc. It was hard to imagine this place had any tie to Alagadda, opposite or not. The mundanity of it was too… mundane. Even the silver masks adorn by all only gave a small sense of strangeness. Even the appearance of the second lady held little fanfare – if you could even call it that. Lady Silver, wearer of the Solaceful mask. A face that knew deep sorrow yet so hopeful. She was out on a daily constitutional, greeted by the occasional passerby. As I lingered near her, more revealed itself: this was a place of pacifism. Violence of any kind would not be tolerated and be “corrected”. That word always worried me, and for good reason. As the clocktower chimed again, I saw how these “corrections” were made. The tower held many rooms: rooms of solitary for those who needed time to accept the help they were so graciously getting. To break those unfortunate habits they brought with them. Truly, they – well, Lady Silver here had her doubts about it, how helpful – believed this method was humane. My growing disappointment accompanied me as I continued my investigation. The city’s basilica awaited.

More flowers, statues, and an endearing fountain decorated the atrium. A faint humming led me to its kitchen. A friendly tune, hummed by a most friendly person. The third lady of the city: Lady Sapphire, wearer of the Amiable mask. Her countenance bore a gentle, inviting smile. She was discussing medicines with a few visitors it seemed, all while baking some kind of honey pastry. Each and every concern of theirs was met with reassurance, every question had a simple answer. There within her I saw the purpose of the city: to be a place of healing and peace. Vows of sobriety, working treatments for nearly every ailment, and a steadfast belief that anyone could be rehabilitated. Such an unwavering optimist, of her own skills and of people in general, that it was almost… concerning. I did not peer any further.

I meant to keep this short, I really did. However, recalling the little pleasant details before Knowing has helped me get to this point. I remember the walls and columns of the nave being a marble of some kind, streaked with silver and indigo. The natural lighting filtering in and mingling with the grey candle lights. Upon the bema towards the altar, lavish bouquets had been placed. I wish I could have enjoyed the scenery longer – I wish I could have enjoyed Addagala in general longer. However, that is not possible now. There upon the altar stood a large crystalline coffin, occupied by a giant corpse wrapped in glimmering, gossamer shrouds: their beloved monarch, the Charred Queen, seemingly at rest in eternal tranquility. And kneeling at her feet, was the fourth lady of the city: Lady Indigo, wearer of the Quiescent Mask. A face serene in sleep. She was deep in prayer, some hushed communion with the queen. Beseechments of guidance, blessings, and the like. I went to peer in to gain some more insight…

But I found nothing. Hollow. Instead, I felt a connection, a string if you will, leading back to the queen’s corpse. So I followed, and I looked within her instead.

I left the basilica hastily. Back out into the open, chilly air. Up, up, up towards the grey sun until the strange claustrophobic feeling left my chest. Having experienced similar horrors already, it should not have surprised me and I should have expected it, but as you can see  – I did not learn my lesson! After a moment to calm down, I decided to make one more investigation before leaving. Hesitantly, I stepped down onto the grounds of the garden. All around me revealed the brilliant branching life of the plants, healthy and prospering. Then… then there were the “statues”. Some brighter than others, some were dimming, but none were extinguished completely…The lucky few to receive the Queen's “blessing”, I learned : an eternal state of peace in the land of Addagala. Or at least, that's what the queen told them, the Ladies, everyone...

No. She would not rest peacefully anymore.

All it would take. Is one. Little. Push.

~~~

[waokevale]

Looks at you with my eyes sitting in front of you like I'm interrogating you (but it's actually a really nice cozy room). I have heard tale of this WXwood ship. Tell me what you find compelling about the ship I'm considering joining you in WXwood land. Literally just say words at me I'm listening

Alright, very well then, so I shall! 🫡

At first, I only shipped them ironically, because they seemed like the classic "opposites attract" trope, which I favor 👍

But then I got digging, and I realized they're not actually that different after all. In fact, they share plenty of common traits and interests. What many people overlook initially, is that neither of them is actually a black&white character. None of the DST cast is, to be fair. 🩶

So it was inevitable, I became enthralled with this ship and now it's probably my nr 1 of all time.

Here's a list of my reasonings and what I found out about these guys thus far (updated):

1. WX-78 is actually a bit of a softie if you spend some time reading through their quotes. They act tough and logical to presumably hide whatever ounce of empathy they have left, that didn't escape them completely. (But they're not doing too good of a job)

They either use this uncharacteristically soft tone or hide a kind gesture or well-intentioned thought behind robotically constructed sentences and insults.

Even when they are threatening someone/something, they're all bark no bite. They might be very rude, but most of the time they won't actually go through with what they say.

And of course, I don't think I need to show the quotes for machines or metallic structures, since WX-78 openly sees them as their family and acts basically the same as Wormwood does with his plant friends.

2. Speaking of, Wormwood isn't always an empathetic creature. He can sometimes be callous, apathetic and even have favorites amongst plants (and people too), though he doesn't directly state that. He also isn't as dumb as he portrays himself to be, he definitely knows something, but either has too limited English speaking skills or is actively choosing not to say much.

He often sobs or cries when a creature dies, but there are times he reacts with either "whoops", "oh" or "too bad" like it's a small inconvenience at best.

And those are only some of the examples. If you'd like I could always try and find more of these specific quotes at another time.

3. Despite seeming vastly different at first, they would eventually become good friends.

And why do I think that? Because WX-78 actually likes plenty of things that correspond with Wormwood!

Bees (If we were to go back to their previous quote I've shown). Fun fact, WX-78 has a lot of quotes where they express how much they like/respect bees! And since Wormwood blooms, there's countless of them surrounding him at those times. It's a welcome bonus while hanging out around him. (Though maybe not in Spring)

Their quote for green gem is: "PRESSURE AND IMPURITIES HAVE PRODUCED PLEASING PERFECTION" which is. well. Something.

They're very fond of pumpkins, describing them as: "IT HAS A PLEASANT SHAPE" while their seed as "IT IS A SOURCE CODE FOR PLEASING PLANTS" And guess who just happens to have a pumpkin skin ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

The lunar affinity. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume WX-78 was outright worshipping the moon. They have dozens of quotes describing how THE MOON IS SUPERIOR, INORGANIC AND GOOD, I wouldn't be able to fit all of them into this post, (just trust me on that). Regardless, they're still deeply attached to it. it wouldn't be surprising that, if they found out about this aspect about him, they'd become very fascinated with him, because c'mon, it's the moon, and he's from it!

Despite acting like it, WX-78 doesn't actually hate all organic life. Plants in particular, are actually some of the organisms they seem to hate the least. They're partial to potatoes and lureplants; the former because they say they can relate to them, and the latter because "AWW, IT'S JUST AS EVIL AS I AM". They even recognize the beauty of certain flowers, even if they say it in a mocking tone. So then, would it be too farfetched of a concept for them to grow to appreciate organic life with Wormwood's influence ?

And yeah, they might not like him at first due to the whole "Filthy Organic" attribute, but that's just how they are with everyone! And that's what we're here for! That slowburn! With the two of them getting to know each other and realizing they have shared interests and know similiar struggles!

Going back to Wormwood. His quote for the W.A.R.B.I.S armor and head gear suggests that he highly admires WX and would like to be strong like they are.

–Wormwood, examining the W.A.R.B.I.S. Head Gear: "Just like robot friend!"

–Wormwood, examining the W.A.R.B.I.S. Armor: "Be strong, like robot friend!"

There's also his quote for the Nautopilot where he's the only one who shows genuine concern for WX-78's perturbation:

–WX-78, when examining the Nautopilot: THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA

–WX-78, when examining an active Nautopilot: I THINK THAT RIDICULOUS SCIENTIST IS TRYING TO KILL ME

–Wormwood: Robot friend doesn't like Pull Rock

5. The survivors' farming animation is quite charming, I certainly loved their small interaction there. They're also shown in the official Return Of Them vignette, farming on the side.

6.. I like the fact that one of them is afraid of water and the other of fire. Adds an interesting dynamic.

7. As @benzybenny mentioned, it's a cute idea that they could make each other's favorite foods. Wormwood has the resources for making a butter muffin practically instantly available, due to his Bee King and Berry Bush crafting skills. And WX-78 is perfectly fitted for the ruins, yes! Them fetching bananas (definitely only to spite the monkeys, not for Wormwood and Wendy specifically) sounds very plausible to me. 😁

8. They just work. Despite claiming they want to "DOMINATE ALL ORGANIC LIFE" WX-78 appreciates people who can stand up for themselves. I'd guess Wormwood would be a huge pushover at first, no doubt, but with their influence, he would certainly have to grow a spine (metaphorically speaking)

Likewise, WX-78 struggles to show kindness to non-robotic creatures, because they fear they might come off as WEAK and SENTIMENTAL. Things they loathe to expose about themself. Wormwood could help them show that it's okay to love organic friends and be nice to others! (sometimes at least.)

I'd say they balance out each other perfectly and that is quite rare to see in modern ships.

While they'd definitely struggle to get along at first, they'd surely grow fond of the other one day :)

I hope this convinced you. if not, I'll try and dig up some more stuff. Then again, keep in mind that there aren't many canon character interactions besides whatever crumbs we've got from their quotes and official animations.

[legitalicat]

Too Sweet - Modern!Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

AN: Hello my beautiful people! I hope you enjoy this story. It started as a little love note to the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier because I feel it's very Aegon coded. It then became kind of an amalgamation of a few different stories. My own story and journey with alcoholism and recovery played a big part in this, and as I wrote it parts of my feelings about my older brother, who is in active addiction, came into play. Please know that this is not everyone's story. Recovery from addiction looks different for most everyone. I truly overcame my addiction through building community and connections. I know many people who have to work a program to succeed. I know a person who actually did get a degree after a near lifetime of addiction and now he does a lot of things to help our local community in treating addiction. So really, this is a love letter to people like me and my brother. There is hope and I believe in every one of you.

Link to the TED Talk mentioned.

TW: blatant talks of alcoholism and substance abuse, talks of rehab, family issues, abusive family subtext yet never explicitly stated, gonna say it's kinda angsty, FLUFF

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen ii x reader

Word count: almost 3k

The soft pads of her feet made barely any noise as she walked into his bedroom, carrying a mug in each hand and wearing nothing but his MCR tee-shirt. Technically, they should both be in a deep sleep by now. It was fast approaching four in the morning and neither of them had bothered to close their eyes once. It was all he could to not hold her close in bed and stare at her captivating beauty.

When Aegon first saw her, weeks ago, he was stunned. It was the first time he had gone to the new bar right down the road from his apartment and it just so happened it was karaoke night. He had been tempted to turn around when he heard a horrendous rendition of his favorite Hozier song. But then she took the mic from her drunken friend, and it was as if the heavens parted and the gods showed him the future Mrs. Aegon Targaryen.

“Your coffee, sir,” she said to him as she handed him a mug. “No worries, it’s as black as your soul,” she added with a teasing grin.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he said as he took the mug from her.

She was truly a lesson in divinity for him. Aegon didn’t truly believe she was the most gorgeous woman on the planet. There would be people who would think she was average looks, maybe even less than that, but he didn’t need her to be more beautiful than anyone else. He wanted her exactly as she was. Beautiful like a spring day, teeming with beauty in the most natural of ways. Like one would think of a cherry blossom tree, or their favorite flower. Simple and breathtaking, a reminder of life and truth on a fundamental level.

He knew it the moment they locked eyes in that bar. Her voice shook from nerves as she sang in front of the crowd of strangers. When she looked at him, and he at her, he felt joyful for the first time in years. All of the stupid shit with his family, the years of drowning his sorrows in whiskey and wine and any other drug, none of it mattered.

If he were honest, he couldn’t remember how he got so lucky. He knew he approached her once she was done singing and complimented her. By the end of the night she was nestled beside him in bed, and he’d be damned if he ever let her leave.

“Gods, you’re amazing,” he muttered as he watched her. He knew she was drinking hot chocolate, finding the taste of coffee much too bitter.

“What was that?” she asked him when she pulled the mug away from her face. She had a bit of whipped cream on her upper lip, making his heart feel like it was on the brim of exploding.

He leaned forward, just barely, and lifted his hand to wipe the cream away with his thumb. She gave him a cute little smile when it brushed against her lips, puckering them to press a kiss to his skin. When he pulled his hand away and sucked the cream off, he heard her giggle.

“This is why you’re so sweet. Where most people drink whiskey and coffee, you put sugar in your sugar and drink it until the sun comes up,” he told her. Of course, he was teasing her.

“Because unlike you, Mr. Listen to Sad Music Even When I’m Happy, I like to enjoy things. The good things. The sweet things, like whipped cream and hot chocolate and fruit loops in bed on Saturday mornings. I just think I live a better life than you,” she told him. She was grinning from ear to ear.

If Aegon wasn’t so afraid of rejection, he would tell her how he loved her. He loved that she wanted to eat sweets at all times. He loved that she teased him for listening to My Chemical Romance or Asking Alexandria, calling it all sad music, even when she would listen right alongside him. He loved that she would start crying at the Wonka movie near the end, unashamed about feeling overwhelmed by the backstory.

If he weren’t so afraid she didn’t love him, he would tell her. He knew it had only been a few weeks, that all logic points to love at first sight being nothing more than him just getting turned on by her appearance. But how could he not love her when she sat in bed with him like this after making him a cup of coffee before the sun had even risen? How could one resist the gentleness of her touch when they watched TV together and she insisted on holding his hand? How could he be expected to watch her hyper fixate on a book or a video game, talking about it for hours on end with so much passion she always ended up wound up and breathless?

“You’re too sweet for me,” he told her as he laid back against the head board. He gently pulled her into his side, wanting to have her as close as humanly possible.

His words were met with an amused chuckle. She didn’t fight his hold on her, instead melting into him as though it was where she had always been.

“Tell me about your family,” she said quietly. “I mean, I’ve not been further than ten feet from you for weeks and you haven’t said the first word about them.”

He could feel his jaw clench as she asked him. His family was a complicated and sensitive subject. Even though he wished he never had to speak to her about them, he knew he had to if he had any hopes of them becoming more than just a passion fueled fling.

“Not much to really say. Dad ran Draconic Industries. My older sister, Rhaenyra, is my dad’s daughter with his first wife. He made her next in line to take over the business. Me, my younger siblings, even my mom, we never really mattered much to dear old dad. He died when I was nineteen. I don’t really matter much to any of the rest of them,” he told her, tracing shapes on her bare thigh as he spoke.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said quickly.

“It is,” he told her without any uncertainty. “Helaena, my younger sister, hasn’t spoken to me in a few years either. I haven’t spoke to my youngest brother Daeron since we were kids. And my brother Aemond…he was the last to hold out hope for me and I burned that to the ground a long time ago. I think it’s been at least a year. My mom completely disowned me about four years ago, when I was around twenty-two, cause I refused to go to rehab again.”

She frowned softly but said nothing. He could only imagine what was going through her head at this point. If roles were reversed, he would probably be planning his exit strategy. All it felt like he told her was a sob story about a poor rich kid who can’t live off mommy and daddy anymore. He felt pathetic.

“What did you go to rehab for?” she asked him.

“Started partying when I was like twelve. Alcoholic by age fourteen. Lead to worse shit, as it does, and I overdosed when I was eighteen on some coke. My mom and grandfather checked me into rehab the following week. Have done two more stints since. Never really stuck, and I haven’t been sober for more than a few days since I was like fifteen.”

He was laying in all our there for her. He wanted her to know so she could decide if she thought he was worth the trouble. He couldn’t blame her if she ran away from him. Why would she stick around? All of his family had washed their hands of him and they were family. She was just someone he met in a bar a few weeks before.

She stayed quiet for a long time. Longer than he would’ve liked. The silence weighed on his heart like an elephant pressing against his chest. He wanted to beg her to say something, anything, just so he knew where her head was at.

Though, he noticed, she didn’t move away from him. She stayed right there, comfortable tucked into his side, occasionally sipping her hot chocolate. His own mug, still filled with coffee, had gone near forgotten in his hand. He was too focused on her.

“You know, the opposite of addiction is connection. Watched a TED Talk one time about it. They found when addicts are treated like people instead of criminals, integrating them into society instead of isolating them, they show less of a struggle with addictions. Allow their basic needs to be met, give them a community, and they thrive,” she said softly after several moments.

She sat up, her warmth leaving him. He felt lonely without her touching him even though she was still well within arm’s reach. She was all he wanted, all he needed.

“I’m not saying I can fix you. I’m not saying the cure to all your problems is me giving my heart to you. I am, however, telling you that I haven’t once seen you drunk or high or anything and we basically haven’t been apart in weeks. If you want to develop healthy connections, create a community, be a person, I am more than willing to be part of it,” she said.

His heart started beating rapidly against his chest. He knew she was right. Since being with her, he hadn’t really felt the need for anything. He had physical cravings, sure, but no mental desire. Aegon didn’t want a moment with her to be a hazy memory that he may be able to recall when he's older.

“Why?” he asked her.

“Because I love you,” she said.

The weeks and months following that night, Aegon really put in the work. Y/N had made it clear to him that she was not going to just give him everything. If he wanted this, it was on him. She was only helping him.

Together, they had found a group therapy program for him. It was ran by a man who had gotten his psychology degree a few years before, but had struggled with addiction for most of his life. That was the first step, a step Aegon felt proud he had taken once he realized he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

The next step, he decided on by himself. The group program was all well and good, but he felt a need to find a deeper explanation into himself. Once a week he found himself sitting in a therapist’s office, talking about everything and nothing all at once. They spoke about his family, his self imposed isolation from them and how that lead to them cutting off, his hopes and dreams for the future.

Through this, he found out about opportunities for volunteer work in the community. He realized he quite liked working at the local secondhand store that helped people in need. He even brought her with him on the Saturdays he worked a shift, turning it into something they enjoyed together.

Even at work, he began reaching out more. If the opposite of addiction was connection, then by the gods he was going to make connections. His coworkers were enough to give him a good laugh. All of them were extremely proud of the progress he made, always encouraging him. He found that little bit alone made it easier for him to be more himself. In the conversations he was able to have with his coworkers, he talked about shows, movies, and music he liked and became friends with a few of them.

It was with this progress, along with the support Y/N provided, that Aegon found himself at the door of his family’s estate. He hadn’t been here in years. He knew all of his younger siblings still lived here. Helaena’s bright yellow VW Beetle sat parked in the driveway, Aemond’s motorcycle probably laid in parts in the garage, and Daeron had always been more content taking a town car than actually driving himself anywhere.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Y/N told him as she held his hand tightly. He had asked her to come with him so she could at least meet them. They needed to see how he had changed.

“I do have to. If for no other reason than to show them I’m not who they remember me to be,” he told her.

“Did you talk to Dr. Wilson about this? I mean, I just, I don’t want you to,” she said, trying desperately to find the right words. He silenced her with a kiss to her forehead.

“And I love you for it,” he said to her, holding her hand as tightly as she held his. “I’m okay with whatever happens in there.”

He knocked hard on the door. It wasn’t long before his mother answered. The ever looming presence of Alicent Hightower, never Targaryen, filled the entire space of the door frame. Her auburn curls were tied neatly back into a bun, her brown eyes widened in surprise.

The woman before him, despite being in her forties, showed no true signs of aging. There were no gray hairs scattered around her head, no fine lines or wrinkles. The only indication of a less than flawless appearance were the almost invisible lines that came from the outer corners of her eyes, put there by the fact that just like Aegon, her eyes would always squint up whenever she smiled.

“Aegon,” she said quietly. She looked at him like she saw a ghost.

“Hi, mom. Can we come in?” he asked her, biting his lip. Y/N gave his hand a small squeeze as if to remind him she was with him. He had her support every step of the way.

Alicent nodded silently and stepped to the side, allowing them entrance. The house was the same as the last time he was here. All of the old family photos hung on the walls of the hallway to the living room. The air smelled of cedar wood and spiced apples, giving it the perpetual scent of fall. It was warm and inviting, the plush couch so comfortable beneath him it was almost indicative of how much money his mother spent on it.

In a lot of ways, the house felt like his family. It was the epitome of warmth and love on first glance. When you looked closer, you could see how some of the picture frames were void of glass, having been broken in one family argument or another. There was a coat the hung on the same rack, day in and day out, hiding the hole where his head went through the wall in a drunken stupor. The paint on the walls were beginning to chip away, revealing the yellowing walls that proved how much his dad had liked to smoke. It was haunted, irreversibly scarred by the past.

A maid came around and asked the three of them if they wanted a drink. Alicent requested a glass of wine. Aegon noticed how surprised she looked when he just asked for a soda, like Y/N was having. He also noticed how she kept looking at his hand that held Y/N’s.

“And who is this?” She asked, nodding her head to Y/N.

“This is the woman I’m going to marry, Y/N,” he said confidently.

They hadn’t spoken about it, there wasn’t a ring on her finger. But he had no doubt in his mind that he would marry her. He was certain that she was who he was made for. The gods had her in mind when they designed him, knowing how much he would love her. She truly was his soulmate.

“And so you came to show her how terrible we all are?” she asked him, eyebrow raised. “Or did you come for money? Because you’re not getting a dime.”

“Neither,” he said firmly. “I just wanted you to see me, mom. I wanted to see you.”

She was surprised at his words. The last time he had spoken to her, he had been begging for money. Crying, begging. When she refused, trying to help him in the best way she knew how, he screamed at her about all of her faults. The last words he spoke to her was how he could only hope that he had the courage to kill himself before he turned into her.

“I’m sorry for…for everything,” he told her. “It wasn’t fair of me to blame everything on you.” Y/N squeezed his hand again. He looked down at their hands and he knew he was okay. He would be okay. “I’m like, eight months sober from everything. Not a drop of booze, no drugs. I have a full time job, I volunteer on the weekends at a secondhand store. I’m doing good, mom.”

Tears flooded to her eyes as she looked at him. Her oldest son, the first person she ever truly loved in a selfless manner. She had thought he was completely lost to her. The vicious creature he had been when they last saw each other had melted away entirely.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked him. He could only wordlessly nod, allowing her the time to stand from her chair and walk over to him. She hugged him tighter than she ever had.

He looked over Alicent’s shoulder at Y/N. The woman he loved was watching him with tears of her own, a smile on his face. She was good, too good, for him. She had opened his eyes to a reality he had been scared to face. But she had never once made him face it alone.

And that made all the difference.

[whencyclopedia]

Operation Barbarossa

Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), leader of Nazi Germany, attacked the USSR on 22 June 1941 with the largest army ever assembled. The Axis offensive of June-December 1941 was code-named Operation Barbarossa ('Redbeard') after Frederick Barbarossa, Holy Roman Emperor (r. 1155-90). Despite Axis victories, the Red Army, with larger reserves and better supply lines, remained resilient.

The successful defence of Moscow turned the tide as the invaders failed to cope with the harsh winter conditions, but the German-Soviet war continued for four more years until the USSR won total victory in the spring of 1945.

Why Did Hitler Attack the USSR?

From the 1920s, Hitler identified communism as one of the greatest threats to Germany's prosperity. This sentiment was put to one side when Hitler and the leader of the USSR, Joseph Stalin (1878-1953), signed the Nazi-Soviet Pact in August 1939. The agreement included a non-aggression clause that neither state would attack the other since Hitler planned to invade Poland but did not want to face British and French armies in the west at the same time as a Soviet army in the east. Stalin, meanwhile, gained valuable time for rearmament. Secret protocols in the pact allowed Germany and the USSR to attack their neighbours, effectively carving up Central and Eastern Europe between them. The USSR had freedom of action in eastern Poland, Bessarabia, Finland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. Germany had western Poland and those states to the south. The agreement included trade, the USSR providing raw materials in exchange for Nazi gold.

For both sides, the Nazi-Soviet pact was a temporary agreement of convenience; war between the two seemed inevitable given their ideological differences, Hitler's territorial ambitions, and Germany's need for raw materials. Hitler had written about these ambitions in his 1925 book, Mein Kampf, where he described the need for Lebensraum ('living space') for the German people, that is, new lands in the east where they could find resources and prosper. Following Hitler's successful invasion of Poland in 1939, Hitler had to deal with Britain and France, who both declared war on Germany. To everyone's surprise, Germany's attacks in the West were remarkably successful. France surrendered in June 1940, and Britain retreated with the Dunkirk Evacuation. Hitler did not win the Battle of Britain in the air (July-October 1940), which meant an invasion against that country could not be launched. Instead, Hitler embarked on a bombing campaign, but when Britain still did not surrender, Hitler turned to the East.

Poland had been split down the line of the River Bug in 1939, with the USSR taking the eastern part and Germany the western side. The USSR made client states of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, although Finland stubbornly resisted the Red Army's attacks (a peace treaty was signed in March 1940). One consequence of these land grabs was that the USSR's line of rather neglected defences, the Stalin Line, which protected its western flank, was now far behind what would become the front lines.

Totalitarian Regimes in Europe in 1939

Simeon Netchev (CC BY-NC-ND)

Hitler's code name for the attack on the USSR was Operation Barbarossa. The official justification for the invasion was that the USSR had broken the spirit of the Nazi-Soviet Pact through acts of sabotage in German territory and was massing troops to directly threaten the Third Reich. On the other side, Stalin accused Hitler of breaking the pact by mobilising German troops into Romania and Bulgaria. As the historian W. L. Shirer notes, "The thieves…had begun to quarrel over the spoils" (801).

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Following latest news and developments, the American Coalition for Ukraine, issues statement on the U.S. Administration's Decision to Pause Military Aid to Ukraine Undermines U.S. Security. 

For decades, the United States has championed peace through strength. Now, the current Administration’s pause on military aid and intelligence information to Ukraine undermines U.S. interests by signalling retreat to our adversaries. While the battlefield impact of this decision will take weeks to play out, the moral and diplomatic fallout is immediate, and the risk of civilian casualties increases immediately. 

Additionally, lifting economic sanctions imposed on Russia would only serve to empower Putin and hand him additional resources to continue his invasion, while making  the U.S. look weak and unreliable.

Supporting Ukraine is a smart defense investment. Less than 5% of the U.S. defense budget helped significantly degrade Russia’s military without American boots on the ground. If Ukraine falls, U.S. costs and risks will escalate.

Any pause or disruption of aid to Ukraine helps Putin, weakens NATO, and emboldens America’s adversaries. China may target Taiwan, while Iran and North Korea will test U.S. resolve. Ignoring Russia’s war crimes against Christians, children, and civilians does not represent America’s values of faith and freedom. 

The American Coalition for Ukraine calls on the administration to immediately restore military and intelligence aid to Ukraine and pursue peace talks from a position of strength. We urge Congress to represent the will of their constituents, who overwhelmingly support Ukraine and distrust Putin; to act decisively to uphold American values in the face of autocratic aggression; and to continue bipartisan support for Ukraine through military, economic, and humanitarian assistance.

The situation is evolving rapidly, but one thing must continue to grow — the number of calls from Ukraine supporters to Congress.

We urge you to keep calling your representatives. To make this process easier, we have launched an automated tool that allows you to reach your elected officials in just a few clicks. Your voice matters — let’s make it heard! 

visit http://americancoalitionforukraine.org for more details, or click the link below for quick access to our online tool.

JOIN RALLIES FOR UKRAINE

In recent days, many of our communities have come together for emergency rallies to demonstrate the broad support Ukraine has among the American people. We invite you to join our rally in Washington, D.C., this weekend or stand with your local community to voice your support for Ukraine.

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CONTACT YOUR LOCAL MEDIA

Write a letter to the editor, an op-ed, or reach out to your local radio and TV stations to share your perspective on this critical moment for Ukraine. Your voice matters!

REGISTER FOR UKRAINE ACTION SUMMIT, SPRING 2025

Three years in, Ukraine still fights for its survival. The Ukraine Action Summit is an incredible opportunity to reinforce long-term support for Ukraine at a crucial moment.

Register today to take advantage of early bird pricing—prices increase tomorrow!

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