#...here you go

[revelisms]

At it again with these two being insufferable, ridiculous, and giving me more Thoughts than I know what to do with.

It's been a long time since I've written anything in this vein, and I'm a little 🫣 but. Giving it a shot. Gah. *runs away*

More Terzo x Sibling of Sin goofiness ahead. This is not explicit, but quite spicy. Please mind the CWs 🌶️🖤

WC: 1.5k | Suggestive content, language, established relationship, bantering | CW: Casual discussion of kink, collaring kink, leather kink, light D/s undertones (AKA: the switch energy has been brought to the function), negotiation, verbal consent, UST through the roof

It had started innocently enough. 

He had never been shy about his collections, even from well before his Cardinal days—and Ale was nothing if not curious. 

Sometimes, though, their snooping got the best of them: like how they'd found his stacks upon stacks of poetry books (Digging through my brooding antics now, are you?), or the shoeboxes of bottle caps he'd hoarded since he was a child (Bought enough Chinottos to fill a museum, darling)—or, now, this.

Angelica, pink-cheeked from hiking across the grounds, had dropped off a new shipment from one of his tailors, and Ale (per usual, when left with his ever-piling to-do list) was just trying to get ahead of the mess—which, apparently, meant finding wherever he stashed his damned storage boxes for his gloves.

It wasn't their fault he had a set of cuffs hanging on the door. 

Or a bundle of treated hemp by his sweaters. 

Or a shelf chock-full of lingerie.

They'd felt like a bull in a glass museum. So many beautiful, delicate, delicious things, that he had often mentioned with as much flippancy as he droned through his touring schedules.

These were just par for the course. Nothing out of the ordinary, for him.

But for them—doe-eyed in front of so much artistry, cotton-mouthed in fascination, sorely sheltered in their past years from any explorations of the sort—it's an apple-bitten Eden.

They don't hear the door to his suite swing open and closed, punctuated by a husky sigh. Don't hear the heel-toed sidling of his boots across the carpets, silk rustling at his steps. And when he finds them—vestments slung over one arm, fingers already at his collar, clearly ready to strip to his skin and shower off the stress of yet another day of their clergy yapping up his ass—they all but plow him over.

He jolts on his heels like a spooked cat. "What in the Hell—"

"Sorry," Ale blunders, jerking to their feet, "sorry, I was just—"

"Satan, you scared the shit out of me—"

"Sorry!"

Terzo pinches his fingers into the skull-paint over his eyes. Huffs a dry laugh. "My love," he grumbles, soft with exasperation, "why do you have the lights off? Fuck's sake. Those archives have done a number on you." He flicks on the switch, squinting quickly. "What are you..." And then he sees the cuffs in their hands. "Oh."

The downpour of apologies is halted before it can even spill: nothing more than a slow-bloomed smile and a shrewd stare. He always has an uncanny way of weeding out their shame by the root—and he does it here, again.

"I see," he murls, playfully scolding, and leans his hip against the doorframe. "So you have gone snooping again, eh? Must I lock every drawer in sight, to keep you out?"

Ale burns red as a beet. "I—"

"Shh—shh. I tease." He smirks, a dimpled shadow through his paints. Wanders closer. "You are intrigued, no? I suppose I have, ah...talked about these things, but not shown. Here..."

Simple questions turn to equally simple offerings; to him standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them in the half-moon of his suite's closets, frankincense and fresh air and remnants of his cologne still sticking to his clothes, clicking back the hinge of one of several nondescript containers.

Tucked amongst the vines of rosaries are belts and chains; between the silks of his vestments, a rainbow of restraints; and here, in their own little box (Can't have them drying out, of course—helps to, eh, maintain conditioning), an assortment of leather collars.

His gloves alone were enough to set them off, on a good day. But these—

These were something else, entirely. Simple and studded and ringed and lovely: black and blood-red and plum: silver-gold glittering.

Mirroring their owlish stance, hands at his back and breath quiet, Terzo quirks a brow. A wry smile plays at his mouth. 

After a moment, he drawls into his usual ramblings. "Got this one in Mexico City," he says, plucking one from the set. "The shop was gorgeous—you should have seen the harnesses, all of them inlaid with silver like this. The detail, alone—I must've spent two hours in there."

Ale lifts their brows. "It's beautiful," they say simply, eyes round.

"Mnh, yes. Thought the little etchings in these were a nice touch," he continues, thumbing one of the rings. "They feel very nice, too." 

He slides the collar lazily through his fingertips, weighted and jingling, and they could kick themself at how audibly they swallow. 

In their periphery, he's tilted his head. His hair is too slicked back to fall out of place. Too much the image of perfection they love to dishevel off him. 

After a pause, he ticks his tongue off his teeth. "You can...touch it, you know," he murmurs, with a coy flash of teeth. Softly, flushing, Ale glares. "Che—they're not just here for display, sweetness," he prattles on. "Though, I will admit: some of them are almost too pretty to wear, no?"

They bite their lip through a smile. Bump their shoulder against his. "Almost."

But not this one. Crimson and sheened with metal, the leather soft as sea glass and heavy as stone, each ring pebbling a cool caress across their fingertips. 

Their head feels like mush. They know they've blushed to their ears.

The way he hums doesn't help.

Terzo drags his fingertips lingeringly along their palm, calluses feather-light and familiar; hooks through one ring to trade the piece in their hand for another. "Ah—and this one," he continues: blue as midnight, adorned with tinkling charms and chains. "Very fun. Lots to play with here, huh? This was, ah...Amsterdam, I think? That little Eastside place? Can't remember it, now—it was years ago. I got a few custom made, on one of the tours, and some other gloves, too. The leather they use is sensational."

"Terzo."

"Mh?"

The collar stings like a brand on their skin. A tether barely keeping them on their feet.

"I, uh," they muddle, their tongue useless. "Um." Swallow, again. "These are..."

"Doing it, for you?" Unblessed beneath, his voice. His smile creases at one side. "Oh, I know." 

Their eyes stutter, heat buzzing through them. He lifts a lax hand, brushing through the mess of their fringe. "They would fit you," he muses on, slowly tracking his thumb from the shell of their ear to their neck. His skin is always so warm, so addictive. The touch all but sends them into overdrive. "Very adjustable, most of them." 

He pauses, making unneeded effort to find their eyes. Green-white and ancient and endless. His thumb slips over their jaw, again. "But you..." He tilts his head back, taking them in like an editorial print; a model in need of one finishing touch. "No, no...you like the simplicities, don't you?" 

They only half-feel the collar sliding out of their hands, replaced with yet another: black as death, buttery-smooth, glossed with a natural sheen. In its center sits a plain golden ring. 

His eyes follow the stuttered plummet of their own, steady as a panther tailing prey. Raise just as easily again, lashes heavy on mismatched eyes.

"You...want to see this one on you?" he suggests, little more than a breath.

Ale can't manage a thought, can barely get a word off their teeth. Too lost in his stare, mossen and moonlit. In his lips, cattish at the corners.

Slowly, fingers itching against that cool ring, heavy around their knuckle, they let their eyes slide down, down.

The bloom of his pupils is slow to come. But, oh, once it does—

"...On me?" he hushes.

It takes them an age to lick their lips. To breathe, "Yes," like the word is eating them through.

The heat in his eyes could burn them.

Terzo's lashes flutter, an unhurried sweep from their hands to their mouth. He's given them the reins more than enough times; relished in it, as much as he took heady satisfaction in leaving them in a puddle of breathless, brainless-smiled bliss on the sheets. But this—

"Well." His thumb is still on their jaw: sliding again to nestle behind their ear. With it, a drag of his knuckles, soft down the nape of their neck. "You are welcome to do that." Up again. "More than welcome," he says, toeing that slow, soft-growled line that never fails to devolve them into some shaky little thing, desperate to blend the edges of them together, bone for bone.

Their hands are already tangling in his sleeve.

"Ah," Terzo tuts. "We wash up, first."

"But—"

A soft squeeze on their nape is all they need to settle down, spitefully as they may concede. His eyes simmer on them. "Wash, first," he says again, voice low. "Believe me—this is...not a quick process. Not when you get into this headspace." His touch trails over their cheek, catching slow at the corner of their lips. "I'll tell you what I like," he murls, lifting his lashes again. "And you tell me what you like too, mh? Before." His knuckle cusps beneath their chin. "And after."

Dazedly, their brain somewhere far, far past their feet, Ale blinks. "Okay," they whisper. The word kisses against his skin.

His stare is searing, electric, starved. "Good," he whispers back.

And it's almost enough to get them to behave. Almost.

But then he leans closer, just enough—brushes his nose over their cheek, tucking a chaste kiss beneath their jaw, just to gravel, "Good," again—and, well.

They barely make it to the shower.

[zeezeepearl]

ok im going to #seriouspost for a second here. I don't think Harry Potter is a manifesto. I think it was a flawed passion project that millennials latched onto because of the fantasy of sticking it to their mean teachers and arbitrarily categorizing themselves (hogwarts houses; it's the thinking millennial's astrology). I think the fact that the series got popular when and how it did was very much a product of its time.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

No, none of you are as bad as JKR because you don't have her money or her power. You will likely never have the capacity for harm she does. But check yourselves. Do not affirm yourselves into thinking you always have the moral high ground. Watch yourselves; humble yourselves; check yourselves for signs of cult behavior and internalized prejudice. You are always learning. You will always be learning. Do not allow yourselves to get a power trip from brushing off marginalized voices.

[hawkpartys]

this image came to me in a dream

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[riacte]

not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing [what would happen between earth and the moon if the earth stopped spinning as illustrated by xkcd randall munroe]

[tawnysoup]

Finally now that the comic is fully public on comicfury, I get to share it with all of you here, too <3

If you enjoyed, please consider supporting by buying a PDF of the comic on itch.io: https://tawnysoup.itch.io/home-in-the-woods

[jm-chrome]

Their little Christmas Cupid 🎄💘

[batcavescolony]

the difference between Haymitch and Katniss's narration is so funny. Haymitch would give us everyone's social security number if he knew them, while Katniss wouldn't even tell us her mom's name.

[solar-sonata]

[poki-art]

I painted very round birbs

[lgbtlunaverse]

To me the most fun part about fix-its is placing dominoes.

Tragedies often consist of escalating series of actions and circumstances which, in isolation, were not clearly leading to the tragic end but form a chain of cause-and-effect directly towards it in hindsight. In equal but opposite fashion, I love starting with small inoccuous changes to canon that in themselves do not obviously fix everything but start a new chain that leads to a better ending.

It's kind of impossible for fix-its to feel fully natural– the reader by definition knows what the original ending was and that this ending will be happier because the writer wants it to be– but it is possible for them to not feel contrived. A big deus-ex-machina, or a character breaking with their pre-established tragic flaws to suddenly make all the "correct" decisions almost always feels unsatisfying to me.

But a few carefully placed small domino pieces slowly knocking over bigger and bigger tiles until the entire story has radically changed? That's a lot more fun.

It recquires the author to both correctly identify the original chain of cause-and-effect and understand the characters well enough to know how they'd react to different circumstances. Because if the story feels like it's fixing the wrong problem or the characters don't act like themselves the magic is lost. But when it works? When it clicks and the reader sees the domino chain laid out in front of them? It's beautiful.

[oldbutchdanielcraig]

hey guys if you’re planning on making a vaguepost on the dashboard can you message me with the details and some of the lore behind the vague post you’re making. a vaguepost for the dash and a detailedpost for me. because i like to know what’s going on. if you do this i will automatically take your side because you’ve done the right thing by letting me know what’s up. thanks in advance ❤️

[muisley]

happy new year everyone

[amomorii]

Yule Ball, 1994

"Can we talk?"

[janederscore]

so, just for the record, staff's blatantly discriminatory rules enforcement practices are only half the story. like, if you ever find yourself wondering why trans women are always getting termed right after their posts about transmisogyny start getting numbers (and mysteriously start getting mature content flagged for seemingly no reason), its bc there are a couple of specific circles of people who mass report tgirls who talk about that sort of thing too loudly (or, y'know, they're just generally annoyed by). there's at least one discord server more or less dedicated to the practice to my knowledge and i wouldn't be surprised if there were more.

staff, of course, can perform the tied hands routine bc of this - they're just responding to reports! and now that the first ban is served, any subsequent attempts to rebuild one's social life are read as Ban Evasion. girls are left with the non-choice of permanent exile or starting over from scratch, trying to be quieter this time so they don't get found. this is the point, and its being done with purpose by people who, funnily enough, spend most of their time talking about the importance of Community. lol and lmao