#I have spent so much time undoing their terrible work

[elephantbitterhead]

Speaking of the house, we're redoing the old workshop and ONCE AGAIN it would truly be impossible to overstate my animosity toward the previous owners of this house. For some reason they drywalled this space, but like everything else they did it was half assed & terrible -- lumpy seams, board popping off, etc. TURNS OUT that in addition to looking bad on the surface it also looks horrifying underneath -- there's like 90lbs of adhesive just slopped all over the wall under every sheet. That is so much adhesive. It's insane. There is no plausible justification for that.

There's nothing else holding the drywall up and -- despite the preposterous quantities of adhesive they used -- you can just pop the boards off the walls with your hand because they used foil-backed board like the morons they are. So leaving their shitty drywall in place isn't an option because it's too fragile to support putting anything over it. Although the adhesive isn't doing shit to support the drywall, it's sadly well attached to the wall. So this is our SDS drill's time to shine, I guess. Every now & then you hit a blob that just pops off the wall in one piece & it feels like winning the lottery.

Inexplicably, they actually wrote their stupid names under one of the dinner-plate-sized blobs of adhesive -- as though any sane person would want their name associated with this piss-poor work.

[seancekitsch]

Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER TWO: Everything is Embarrassing

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, more to come as needed

You wake up at dawn, shades nonexistent over the large window that covers most of the wall in Aegon’s living room. It’s warm, cozy, and genuinely you consider going back to sleep. The hangover has yet to hit you, but you know it will as soon as you’re vertical, so you stretch from your spot laying sprawled across the couch. Only, a disgruntled meow stops you from raising your arms too much. 

“Oh, Sunfyre!” you whisper, “I’m so sorry, little man, I wake you?”

The massive orange furball responds with his own stretching, but then very quickly gets himself comfortable again, purring next to your face as he settles back in to sleep. You reach for him to wrap an arm around him, kissing his little kitty shoulder blade as he relaxes on the pillow. It breaks your heart, knowing he still settles in with you after all this. He had barely been a year when it all went down, and yet he still snuggled up to you as if just yesterday you were calling yourself his mum and carrying him around Aegon’s flat like a baby to show him things on the high shelves he had never seen. You wish you had seen his terrible twos, wish you had seen the slow transition from the still kitten shaped thing he was to this adult long-haired house lion. 

A snore from the other room breaks the spell. It’s then that you remember the full gravity of where you are. Where the hell even were you? Where was Aegon living these days?

You’re extremely careful in untangling yourself from Sunfyre, who makes displeased little noises but does not lift his head up again. You roll yourself off of the couch, thankful of socks hitting carpet not making a noise. Sunfyre looks so cute, you cannot help but press another kiss to his forehead as you shove your feet into your shoes from last night. Your discarded jacket gets slung over your shoulder as you very carefully undo the lock on the door and slip through it with as little noise possible.

Success. Avoidance at its finest. You all but run down to the street below, happy to meet the bright sun, despite the fact that it makes you feel like your eyeballs are about to pop like warm grapes. There’s that hangover, immediately in full swing as the street air hits you. You almost curl inward on yourself, your jacket and purse clutched tight to your ribcage as you survey your surroundings in the daylight. Right, you remember looking for the stop last night. Four stops north of yours, easy peasy. Your feet guide you down to the track, and your body autopilots you home.

Unfortunately, you realize as you look at a dying phone, you’re going to have to miss class with Sara. She’ll no doubt be bitching about it later when you’re both working at the shop. She works there, more or less, as a way to just spend time with you. Sara doesn’t need the money, as your father still pays her credit card. He’s always done that for Sara, whether it be out of love for the baby of the family or guilt, he’ll never say.

You don’t know if you should even say it, but the parentage of yourself and your siblings has been a long speculated question. Yourself, the eldest, looks a lot like Dad’s secretary, but you are Mother’s favorite. Cregan is definitely Mother’s, because she spent your entire childhood complaining about his pregnancy. Sara you both knew was from an affair, Mom having moved into the ski cabin when Dad brought her home, but still she opened her arms to your baby sister and that was that. Aegon’s family is maybe the only one you’ve met that’s more dysfunctional than yours. Maybe money breeds it, you have to think, and maybe that’s why the thought of taking any of the Stark family fortune after university makes you feel sick and exhausted. Maybe that’s why you won’t go home, even though the past five years despite all of your successes have had you running from a southern ghost.

Your shop opens on Saturday’s around noon, which means that you have plenty of time.

You shower, shave, grab a sugar free redbull from the rack you have dedicated for them in your fridge, you water plants. Everything to mimic the behavior of someone who doesn’t have a raging hangover.

And as eleven rolls around, you almost forget the circumstances of your morning, as if it never happened. Today could be salvaged, and everything could seem normal.

You can tell the exact moment that he wakes up, though, because your phone practically becomes a bomb in your palm. He calls, incessantly, unrelentingly, constantly. You let the call miss six times, a tiny act of revenge against him. It feels petty, but you don’t owe him the twinge of guilt. If anything, he owes you everything.

“What?” you finally answer on the seventh call, hoping that if he hears you’re awake and angry, he can finally stop calling.

“You’re gone!” he exclaims, strain evident in his voice, “You’ve gone… where?”

You roll your eyes. Did he really expect you to stay?

“I went home, Targaryen,” you spit his name like a curse, “You made sure I was safe and I thank you for that but really whatever game you’re playing I don’t want to play.”

You sigh, putting it on speaker phone so you can rest your face in your hands, leaning against the counter as frustration brings back your headache. A dull throbbing that Aegon has created within you.

“I’m not playing any game.”

“You text me like a fuckboy.”

“I text everyone like a fuckboy.”

Ugh, he’s impossible.

“I really really want to talk to you.”

“Speak!” you nearly shout, growing increasingly annoyed.

“It’s not something that we should do over the phone, it’s important. I don’t want us to stay apart,” he says, his voice sounding watery and stressed on the other end. Is he fucking kidding? The ache turns red, until it’s all you can see in your anger. His family may say they are fire made flesh, but they are nothing compared to you in this moment.

“I’ve had to get along without you for five years now,” You seethe into the phone, frustration making your face hot, “I think I can continue the trend.”

“But I can’t —“ you hang up while he’s mid response, and tears flow instantaneously. You wipe tears away, breathe deeply, and decide that you will not let the backslide happen, you will not let Aegon in just to abandon you again. You will not be vulnerable, not if you can help it. You feel as if you’ve already let enough show. Between last night and today, you’ve given too much away. If you were smart and unfeeling, you would have easily blocked his message without reading it and you would not have been too hungover to go to barre class this morning.

However, you are probably only smart, and very often feelings cloud your judgement. If your father, or Cregan were here, they’d say it was because of the south’s influence on you. Far and few Weirwood trees grow down here, and they’d claim it’s your lack of connection to the Old Gods that makes you so brash and conflicted. And maybe they’re right, you think for a brief second. Aegon has always clouded your mind and judgement, though you always liked it that way. Any ‘me’ became ‘we’, and that’s went for professional as well as personal endeavors; from internships to party hosting to a very long string of failed relationships. He would get fired, his parents would attempt to cut him off, he would fight (sometimes even physically) with his siblings and cousins, he’d get dumped, and you’d be there patching him up and helping him dress for interviews. He’d accidentally scare away suitors, you’d get turned down for loans, complain endlessly about your flat, and he’d come over and hold you and help you think of business strategies and help you take your mind off guys while ordering take out on his own dad’s card. You never saw anything as a failure, though, because you and Aegon were always cleaning up after each other.

You sigh as you throw your phone down on the counter, shoving your hands in your jackets pockets to retrieve your keys and wallet so you can transfer them to your purse for work. Only, your left hand touches something that is very much not either thing you need.

You pull it out slowly, a polaroid picture, one thats been bent up.

Aegon's smiling at you in the picture again, this one a subdued, almost thoughtful smile. You're holding a bottle of champagne next to him, winking at the camera. The two of you are surrounded by boxes and candles; The night he helped you move into your first flat you had saved money for. Mr. Cole had taken the picture, a quick snap after a long day of unloading one of the Targaryen vans. Aegon had slept over that night, despite the face that you only had a mattress with no bed frame.

There’s marker on the back, faded pink sharpie that says, in Aegon’s sloppy scrawl:

FAVORITE ONE

When you turn it over again, you finally let yourself feel the emotion you’ve been trying to avoid. You let yourself do what you never wanted to do again.

You admit to yourself that you miss Aegon, more than anything, and sob.

“Guess what I’ve got!” 

Aegon’s voice booms across the apartment, still echoing from the lack of rugs or furniture, no where for the sound to go but bounce off the walls and ceiling. Your head jerks up from where you’re digging in a box, only to find him in the doorway blocking your exit. He’s clad in short green velvet shorts, a grey sweater vest with nothing underneath, and the disgustingly dirty Converse you’d tried to throw out multiple times. And in his hand… fuck. Two squirt guns, shaped like penises. Right, you should have known that instead of helping his butler with your boxes that were in a van, he was going into the sex shop below your flat. It wasn’t an idea set up, but it’s the biggest flat that fits your budget, and at this point in college you rather die than call up dear old dad for some money. Hell, maybe you’ll even apply to the shop below for some extra throw around. 

“No,” you gasp, already knowing what he’s doing. He tosses one of them your way, and by the way it clatters next to you, it’s clear that it’s full. Oh, it’s on. Aegon shoots, cold water hitting you between the eyes. 

“First blood!” he shouts, and you spring into action giving chase behind him. The two of you tear through the small flat, jumping over boxes and behind chairs to dodge the attacks.  Aegon tries to think ahead, bolting down the hallway to where your bedroom and bathroom are, still not set up minus a shower curtain and a bare mattress. You grab him by his vest, trying to slam him into the wall to slow him down.

You fully intend to take him out execution style. He falls sideways, catching himself against the door frame to your bathroom, taking one knee down as you move to the opposite door way. You stand there, penis gun gripped in both hands. Aegon holds both of his hands up in mock defeat, the trigger of the water gun hanging on his pinky. He smiles up at you sheepishly, his hair a mess and water running down the side of his cheek. You lower your gun, right between his eyes.

“Do you admit defeat to the northern forces, M’Lord?” you ask him, putting on a voice you think one of your warrior ancestors would have. 

“I…. I…” he draws out, and then springs, leaping at you. His arms circle around your middle as he pushes you back through your bedroom door. You land hard on the mattress, the springs squeaking as you bounce onto it. Aegon jumps on top of you, messing up your hair and play wrestling you as if you were one of his brothers.

“You fucking asshole!” you shout, but you’re giggling as you play slap at his back and relax into the grip. He stops only when he gets comfy on the mattress, slumping against it and bringing you with him in a weird half cuddle pile of a position. 

He drops his head against your chest and squeezes you, sighing as he does. 

“Promise me nothing changes, yeah?” he asks, sadness seeping into his tone. 

“Age, I’m only gonna be two stops away now, its not like I’m moving back to Winterfell,” you laugh, but your hand comes up to comfort him, caressing his damp hair. Neither of you move until his stomach grumbles, and you push him off you. 

“Pub?” you ask.

“Pub.” he confirms, water guns and boxes already forgotten as he helps you back up. 

Everything was that easy with Aegon.

An hour later, you find yourself in the back office of your shop, Sara up front and tending to customers. Your eyes are still a little puffy and red, but it’s nothing that a little incense and eyeliner cannot make an excuse for. When Sara had seen your face, she decided not to bitch at you for ditching her this morning, instead opting for the normal Saturday routine. You owe her at least two coffees and a bottle of wine for not making you talk about it.

Saturday is always a fun day, bustling sidewalks and people stopping in big groups, the brunchers making large purchases fueled by mimosas and bloody mary’s that help keep the lights on. You always take the post-brunch rush to review and pack online purchases, as Sara is lovely with the trendy college crowd and makes astronomical sales. You swear that she should go the influencer route, her charm and poise her strongest suit and clearly endearing her to everyone. 

Order packaging is much more your speed. It’s a methodical, almost mindless task. You have all of your designs organized perfectly, so each order is simply pulling items from their designated little slot on the wall. Everything lined up like an old school mail organizer, custom dark wood shelves holding every piece arranged by size and color in specific labeled slots. You've taught yourself to love monotony.

You pull and package seven orders before one of them gives you pause.

First off, it’s over eight hundred golden dragons. Thats more than half of your flat’s rent. Its all men’s clothing: a black tunic, a bespoke blazer with a gold chain slipped through the lapel and connecting into the pocket, multiple pairs of chino pants, and your favorite thing you’ve designed, a gold duster that goes over the middle and ring finger designed to look like the snapping upper jaw of a dragon’s mouth. 

This’ll be a fun one, you think, grabbing your basket and kicking over your step stool to get started.

It’s the special instructions memo on the order that makes you freeze, and you read it once, two times, three times. 

“You won’t let me talk, so let the money talk instead.”

This is Aegon’s order. Aegon will be wearing these clothes. Your designs, some of which he had even watched you draft. 

You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head at that. Same old Aegon, same old humor. His charms always worked on you. You could never say no to each other, no matter what. You keep staring at the message, wanting to reply with something snarky, wanting to do something to egg him on like old times. You realize now how large of a hole his departure left in you. It was cavernous, really, and you’d never noticed it until now. You click on his email address, fingers hovering over the keyboard.The shaking of your hands stops you, though. 

It really is too easy to fall into old habits. 

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

See, this is the frustrating thing. Catradora COULD'VE been good enemies to lovers but, like someone wrote elsewhere, if both of them thought that the other was brainwashed.

"Catra, what the Horde is doing is wrong! Come with me, we'll escape together!" "What? No! Did the princesses brainwash you? Oh no they brainwashed you. Look, I'll just bring you back home and it'll all be okay."

"Catra still believes that the Horde is doing the right thing. I need to defeat her but I don't want to hurt her too badly." "Adora still believes that the Princesses aren't the villains here. I need to defeat her but I don't want to hurt her too badly."

Cue whole episodes of vaguely piney battles where both of them are holding back and eyeing each other longingly.

(Someone wrote somewhere that the incest could've been avoided if Adora was raised by Hordak and Catra by SW. This would also tie Hordak's and Adora's arcs together via "okay so I was born to become a weapon/soldier but fuck that I'm so much more than that.")

Princess prom allowing them to temporarily forget about the conflict and have fun like they used to. The dance is more reciprocal than "Catra smirking down at clearly uncomfortable Adora."

Shadow Weaver: alright, Catra, you suck at bringing Adora back. Let's just brainwash- uuuh, I mean magically undo the brainwashing the princesses did to her and bring her home. "But I don't wanna brainwash he-" DID I STUTTER.

Catra targeting Glimmer and Bow bc she perceives them as fake friends who have brainwashed Adora. All the spiel about "they don't really care about you they care about She-Ra's power" isn't manipulation, but something she genuinely believes.

Catra advancing at force captain and taking on more power, but in the process gradually realising that what the Horde is doing IS wrong. Cue an internal crisis because oops, everything she's known all her life is a lie. No, no! She refuses to accept that (Aka breakdown time) and kickstarts the faulty portal.

The portal Catra is twisted and deeply unlike herself, at her absolute and utter worst.

Post-Portal, Catra wakes up and, instead of doubling down, realises that she made a MASSIVE FUCK OFF MISTAKE and spends all of season 4 working on her redemption arc, having moral crises, beginning to feel more and more terrible about the past 3 seasons.

She joins the alliance at the end of s4 (gasp, cliffhanger!) and the rest do the cast slowly grow to trust her throughout the season. That's when she realises that Adora really wasn't brainwashed and APOLOGISES for all the things she did and thought.

"Hey Catra?" "Yeah?" "It's good to have you back." [cue blushing as C and A realise how badly they missed each other now that they have no more reasons to fight]

Catra being gradually incorporated into the best friend squad and she, Bow AND Glimmer all help Adora break through HPrime's virus thingy in a parallel to season 1 where Adora is supported by ALL her friends, not just her gf.

Hooray, the evil is defeated! Uh, what now? Okay, either they come to the conclusions that they lcoe each other separately and confess after HPrime's been defeated and there's nothing in their way anymore, or there's like a mid-combat confession played for laughs like "this is mad sweet of you but we don't have time for this!" "WE MIGHT NOT SURVIVE TO HAVE THE TIME LATER" and a tender moment after the battle where maybe Catra is patching Adora up in contrast of all the times they spent beating the crap out of each other.

Shit, Bow could tentatively give her tips on how to be a good friend!

She'd have a harder time with Glimmer because Glimmer never forgave her for the Angela thing, but Catra tries and feels bad and maybe even begs her for forgiveness. (please, I didn't know it would come to that. You can punch me if you want.) And feeling genuine remorse. (My mother figure was shit. Yours looked okay. I'm really sorry for taking that away from you.) Etc etc

This really isn't a hard character arc to plot, Nate. Look, I did it in like 15 minutes while dicking around at work. Easy peasy.

this! all of this.

(also i was the one who suggested the idea of hordak being adora's parental figure)

[corruptionasart]

No amount of NOT using AI image gen is going to undo the terrible conditions in which it was already made, so I say go for it. If it really peeves too much of the fanbase off to make you happy with doing it, I guess there's the sideblog option?

Yesterday I spent most of my layovers at work writing basically a whole ass essay arguing what you said in that first sentence.

The funny thing about all of this is people seem to think I've already got all the ai stuff going and I have things in the works to turn this blog into an ai hellscape when really I'm playing this all by ear.

I might post stuff here, I might post stuff elsewhere, I might post stuff somewhere and never tell people here about it, i don't know yet.

The secret to the last few months of this blog is that outside of when I queued up rom corruption gifs, all the art i've posted has been put on here seconds after i finished it.

All those collages and stuff took minutes to make and seconds to post and to me that's the dream.

I've seen people do that with other forms of expression as well. I found out about Battle of the Bits a few years ago and the idea of their one hour battles is so cool to me. One hour to finish and post a track based on a prompt. Obviously it's not going to be the best song of all time but that might never happen anyway so just push to get something out the door.

I wish I could do that

[the-ghost-king]

I spent about two hours on this over the past couple of days in total, and I'm sure I've missed a few things and I guarantee that some of my opinions will not be shared by others and that's okay. I'm comfortable with people adding on their own thoughts and feelings and continuing on a conversation if they wish to.

Before I truly begin: this book isn't bad, that doesn't mean it's good it just means it's not bad. I think this book is both wonderful and awful, this book is both exactly what I expected and unlike anything I could have come up with. I will also clarify before you read this that I have never personally enjoyed any of Oshiro's work I've read, if you're someone who enjoys Oshiro's body of work there may be many places you disagree with me and I would like to note that ahead of time. I would also like to note that these are simply my initial thoughts, I finished TSATS two days ago and I have done some thinking and pondering over it since and these are the conclusions I have reached in that time. I cannot say how much of this I will agree with in a week, or a month, let alone three, or a year. I considered writing an essay and then decided a bullet point list would be sufficient, there is no order to these bullet points and some conversation points move in a circular way, I did not proofread this either. Also be aware there will be spoilers. Without further ado, my thoughts:

- Hades is weirdly ooc plus having him be responsible for this and him knowingly harming Nico and Nico just being like "oh ok i understand" undoes so much of the relationship progression from Pjo to BoO to ToA to here!!! Hades is still a god yes but he was becoming something of a father figure to Nico as well again and he just throws that all away because Nyx and Bob were "being annoying" and Nico is just… fine with that??? And they just jokingly brush the whole Hades loved more Bianca thing under the rug WITH MARIA RIGHT THERE

- Why are we reintroduced to Persephone like she's a new character? Sure it's from Will's pov and they've never met but the readers have met Persephone multiple times before!! It was weird to reintroduce her!!

- Worst editor ever, a few typos and apparently some copies have Nico saying his mother is Bianca? He also calls his mom Maria instead of mom or mamma? And we've only ever heard nico call maria mamma before this point so him calling her mom is less weird than him calling her Maria but still off

- Will… still doesn't have a personality entirely and what personality he was given does not match the personality he has in ToA OR in BoO??

- Once again, I don't like Oshiro's pacing and you can tell how hands off Rick was with the whole thing - I've never personally been a fan of Oshiro's work and one of my top reasons has always been their terrible pacing. I will read a phenomenal paragraph and then spend the rest of the chapter struggling to find anything that feels worth my time, and while i felt within chapter there was a fair bit of consistency between different chapters there was not- i would read one chapter that read well and felt amazing and then the next 3 chapters would feel like useless side plot that served no purpose. Oshiro also really struggles to maintain tempo in their work imo.

- Characters defining their sexuality in explicit terminology or labeling isn't inherently wrong but its also not in line with what we've seen so far and while this could be a sign of progress it could also be a step back so instead it's best to consider how this effects or determines characterization

- Nico's coming out party…. God… why?

- There's also this weird thing with so much of the sexuality/gender stuff that it feels more like a lecture than an authentic experience, for me personally based on the flow of these conversations and the events and things i feel like it was done to make this more palatable for a cishet audience rather than to maintain and authentic experience??

- Anyhow the thing where Nico kind of makes Will come out in front of camp is giving me love simon flashbacks and i just have to say making someone come out to a large group or in public just to be with you is so so gross… there was no reason for this to be a plot point whatsoever imo, it feels really ooc and it does that really upsetting thing lots of ya books do where it tries to depict that in order to be authentically and "properly" queer one must be public in their grsm orientation which i think is a pretty harmful/hurtful idea overall but especially in media designed for preteens and teens who are more likely to be living in environments where coming out is unsafe

- None of the jokes land

- Literally they have the worst nicknames for everything. I liked the cringe otherwise, it did have young teen relationship vibes… but that was unforgivable to me personally but i guess other people liked this? To each their own!

- On that note! I've talked a lot about Solangelo being two sides of the same coin in terms of how their relationship works and while symbolism would have been nice straight up seeing Nico given a coin by will was also cringe and too far? Nico gave Will his ring, this thing that we've built up over the series to view as a representation of his grief and loss and his family and love and home and a culmination of Nico and Will gets nico… this coin he just seemingly had made that has almost no symbolic meaning beyond that? Nico's ring is basically a character unto itself, not only does giving a physical object and having Nico outright state the symbolism of it ruin the "show don't tell" logic of authoring it also feels hollow as the reader has no connection to this object like Nico's ring. There was no reason for this other than to make an equivalent exchange which is kind of a sucky way to weigh a relationship… it could have been better for Will to give nico something from his past as well and to have the piece come up in a memory or something OR for will and nico to have exchanged these gifts at some point on or just before their journey so the reader got to experience this connection as well

- Will's pov was kind of trash actually

- Why doesn't Will ever talk about finding Nico attractive?

- We never have it explained what exactly makes Nico a "star" ..? Like its constantly alluded to or even stated he is a star but we never actually get to see why

- Will never really "goes dark" the sniffles are not dark, dark would be like straight up plaguing them or having some sort of ability to radiate heat and blast things or craft his own weapons out of light or just something beyond singing and having the heart blast effect thingy…

- Their relationship is stated they've been together a year and trauma can definitely change things but for whatever reason their relationship feels more new and raw and tender than it did in ToA??? Why??? They do not feel like two fifteen/sixteen year olds who have been in a relationship for a year, they feel like two thirteen year olds who've been in a relationship for three months?

- I also personally feel conflicted about them not having a major kiss scene? Like on one hand it's nice to see queer couples treated like any other couple and kisses to be fairly casual mundane interactions! But on the other hand being a queer couple especially an mlm couple in a children's/ya series and being able to show physical affection is really quite uncommon tbh and I would have liked to see maybe a little emphasis at least on the first kiss that the audience gets to experience on paper just to sort of acknowledge that groundbreaking act? But maybe that's just me?

- Additionally speaking all of their prior banter is just.. gone..? They literally don't joke around except for 2 or 3 lines in the book despite previously being a very banter heavy couple? There is no reason they can't be both soft and comedic or have banter yet be tender to one another? It's like all the joy that was previously in their relationship was traded for arguing and bickering and this weird pettiness that feels ooc in general but especially from them?

- What was the plot point of going to Sally's house to send the iris message? Why was Sally brought into this? She's cool and we love her but there was no plot reason to add her? Even the percabeth iris message only minimally added to the plot

- Why is Will so bothered by death? Like I'm cool with him feeling weak in the underworld. I can respect that from a tension building pov and also being in the dark does go against his nature but like death is not something against his nature? He is well acquainted with death? People die in medical settings all the time i guarantee he has lost many patients and brushed shoulders with thanatos more than most people at camp + he lost A TON of siblings in the war he would have to be familiar with grief AT THE VERY LEAST but yet he seems to lamblike to all these things the whole novel I feel it weakens his character, the story, the plot, previous books, and his relationship with Nico- if they wanted him to have some reserved hesitations about death they could have done it much more tactfully but they didn't?

- I also hate every time some sort of discussion about him being a healer comes up because yes he is a magical exception that makes him a "natural born healer" but they take that too far imo, yes he is a magical exception but the way this stuff is worded gives this like "Will is such a good healer he never fails or breaks down or fatigues from it" and i just feel like it becomes an unrealistic and unhealthy example after a certain point and I would have loved to see that exploration that so many fanfic authors have done wonderfully about how Will is overworked and needs to learn to take care of himself before his patients just to add that depth to his character but Oshiro and Riordan just skip past this and again it feels like a massively missed plot point to give Will a deeper character

- It's also weird everytime Nico is like "Will always takes care of me now I have to take care of him" because again it just feels like such an unhealthy way to view a relationship… like if a partner gets sick 3x a year and the other partner is sick 5x a year partner A shouldn't be like "well now you owe me two sickness helpings" or something you know? Thats so petty and immature and unhealthy for a relationship and it's something that can be unlearned but also like if they've been together a year and they're supposed to be like a perfect fit according to what i think the symbolism was trying to get at (so much of this book feels like a rough draft not a final cut istg) then why is this even included anyhow?

- Also Nico is ooc at points, he seeks to heal others a lot of the time as well- Hades even mentions this, how even when Nico is offered something for himself he uses the gift to help someone else- this is a quality Nico and Percy (and Jason) all really consistently display throughout pjoverse EXCEPT Nico doesn't do this early on in the text?? He is unfazed by the nature of some things in the underworld (Will is right the fields of asphodel are perhaps more horrific in some way than the variations of hell provided in the underworld) and Nico is just like "yeah that's just how it is here" which kind of goes against that character trait + (though i may be confusing fanfic and canon here) didn't Nico and Hazel have a whole convo about how upsetting or painful asphodel is?? It goes on kind of even more so in this regard though where his regard for humanity seems significantly less so than in previous texts, there's something else as well i can't exactly put my finger on yet that also feels ooc … I'll keep thinking lol

- Once again to the "why is Nico a star thing" we have Nico constantly talking about how live exists even in the underworld and it's obviously intended to be a metaphor for hope and finding light in the dark and therefore a whole solangelo metaphor too but Nico brings it up and Will doesnt understand and then they argue (?) And then the metaphor falls flat because we never get to see this explored; we just have it Stated out loud a few times? Like there are many good explanations as to why this keeps getting brought up especially because we can also tie in how Will and Nico are alive down there or how Nico is seperate from the rest of the underworld because despite being part god he is also part mortal

- Once again Tartarus isn't actually scary and there's only so much "it's for kids" I'm willing to accept there, give it more Coraline please!!

- Again an issue with the Nyx thing, Nico doesn't agree with Nyx about who he is because Nyx cannot understand life and Nico can because he is mortal- Nico's mortality is a hugely defining aspect of his character because it sets him apart from the gods and the dead that make up so much of his life- in order to truly appreciate death and the afterlife you have to actually live and know life and change and things and the gods in their consistency are more like ghosts than anything

- It's also very irritating that this was never explored !!! So much of what makes demigods special in the rest of the series is their godhood and their connection to godhood, they are powerful because they are beyond human. However in Nico's fight with Nyx and some other aspects of Nico's behavior but most notably Nyx vs Nico is the culmination of this situation is that Nico's greatest strength throughout tsats is that he is mortal. He is powerful because he is human. He does all the things he does the way he does them because he is human. He is something beyond the gods' understanding because he is mortal- and that's all just swept under the rug for…? Honestly i have no idea why it makes no sense how that is a constant theme in this book yet it feels like the book falls constantly short of actually grasping that concept.

- And if you're wondering what the plot symbolism of Will being involved in all this is? I dont fucking know he doesnt have one he was kind of just dead weight the entire story!!! He was basically there just to help Nico pick some fruit and have dialogue with. I feel like Will was potentially supposed to represent how the "average person" would feel on this adventure but personally I feel if that is the case that I may be one of the worst people to understand that perspective as I have a peculiar and poetic love for death and dying.

- Plus when they're wandering through Tartarus's digestive tract (if you're reading this and you haven't read the novel yet or you didn't yet finish it, yes this is a thing that actually happens) and Will starts struggling with his memory, I would have loved to see the effects of that situation on Nico explored more as I would assume amnesia and people forgetting about him/leaving him would be a very difficult thing for him to deal with yet instead we're just told they passed stories back and forth and that made everything all right + not sharing much of those stories with the audience was again a missed character building moment for Will and a missed relationship building moment between them!!

- Them cuddling in the hut together and Nico wanting to wake Will up to share his nightmare was kind of cute though I will admit to that much

- I also hate how they put all this time and work into saving Bob and then Bob just fucks off into the sunset like everything is normal?? He just fucking dips like nothing even happened??

- Also people have been saying Will kissing Nico when he found out Jason was dead was wrong, and look idk if I'm personally going to go that far but I do think as a first kiss it's definitely weird than cute?

- I think Will's background and childhood could have been expanded on a lot more to make him an interesting character- we learn some about his life with Naomi before camp (and its nice to see her as a complete person and I think she has cool mom vibes for real) but I feel like the only adventure we get to hear about is him and his mom being in New York for concerts… what about other places around the country? what about the life he had with her when she wasn't touring?

- Along this same vein I feel like Will's behavior in the story not only doesn't match his behavior from the previous appearances he's made, but that for someone who seems to have spent a lot of time on the road getting to experience lots of different places (even if it was just the US, that's still pretty significant) I once again truly cannot understand his weird behavior about dead people and the underworld- its not only inconsistent with previous behaviors and beliefs he's exhibited but if he's been show so much diversity from a very young age he's probably naturally curious and inquisitive as well as naturally adventurous and outgoing- yet instead he basically just sticks his nose up at everything underworld-ish?? It not only weakens the plot, his character, and his relationship it also makes no sense with previous set ups AND it has no true culmination by the end of the story because we never truly see him accept or enjoy the underworld and what it has to offer he merely endures it.. so again, what was the point of him acting like that?

- Unpopular one: coco puffs are very cute but i find them unnecessary and completely over the top even for pjo and i can see them becoming annoying later on but that's just me personally.

Okay, I'm going to call it quits here. There's probably more I'll think to say later on but I feel this is a good summary of my initial thoughts. Weirdly enough, despite the negativity here, I would still recommend people read this book? I feel conflicted about whether or not the book belongs among my favorites, and it would certainly be the worst book among my favorites and/or recommendations for novels if I do end up feeling it belongs there. I have to say even despite as much as this book fails, I admire what it was attempting and I think like so many works in pjo before it there was a level of unrealized potential here amongst the text that will always be mildly infuriating. I feel very strongly that this book is a whole new era in Riordan's pjo verse, despite some aspects being "cringe" or some things being literary flops and emotional failures in my opinion, i do think this novel may be one of the most "mature" pieces in Riordan's collection- even in his and Oshiro's failure to bring MOST of their narrative full circle or to tie up their loose ends I can see what they're going for and I think having a taste of that potential really did something for me. I have read lots of books that leave me staring at the ceiling for hours in wonder and awe with a feeling i cannot describe as anything other than a "readers hangover" a desire to hold onto that book and to keep it beside me for a long time just to remember reading it, and I would pick it up many times through the following week or two just to rediscover certain parts, i have to say this book has definitely not been that. However I did spend a long time looking at the ceiling pondering it, and I do think I will reread it in the next week or so- but I have less a desire to return to the events of the novel and more a desire to simply upturn more stones in the landscape and find what I am missing. I want to say I hate the book, that it has no redeeming qualities, that everyone should simply leave it behind because of how awful and excruciating I found this novel- that wouldn't be accurate. I think this is the greatest book I have ever had the misfortune to read, I have never cared so deeply for a book I cannot stand. I absolutely adore this awful thing. I feel comfortable saying that for me, personally, percy jackson will never be the same again and that this book has completely changed the field and depth of my experience. I am literally failing to put into words how this book makes me feel. I suppose this book is my most wretched child and I shall cherish it dearly.

[yet-another-heathen]

Prying at Loose Fangs - IV

3,081 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. 

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Chapter Warning | desert whump, epic worldbuilding, demonic pirates and the sandships they sail, defiant whumpee, captured and manhandled, non-con drugging (aphrodisiac, repurposed as a sedative), fear of noncon, language and cultural barriers, food & acute starvation, graphic depiction of a wounded foot that is beginning to fester, brief mention of predation

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpvp @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump  @whump-queen

Nadeem’s arms were going numb, back pressed hard into the scales of a date tree. 

Twice. Twice in barely a week he’d had his hands bound and useless, and his frustration was the only distraction he had from pure, unbridled panic. 

The morning light cast cold shadows against the side of the ship, the terrible monolith of the mast looming against the sky and casting shade across the remains of their camp. 

It wasn’t like he couldn’t see the ship from where he had hidden before, but experiencing it up close was still so, so much worse. His eyes slid nervously over the hull, painted in grey that ended where the sand met the behemoth's brass-coated underbelly. Brass glittered at the feet of the rails, in the rigging where ropes swayed in the breeze. Mirrors hung from the railing in a dazzling display that cast reflections of light back across the camp, sometimes catching on the thin wisps of smoke that rose from the shoulders of the crew.

Under the prow of the ship the bronze figure of an oryx bowed its head, spiral horns tilted forward. Nadeem stared for a long while into the unnerving emptiness of its eyes, then lowered his gaze back to the sand.

The ship was at least three times bigger than the largest he had ever before set eyes on. Bigger even than the great caravan leaders whose hulls cut so deep into the sand that they could not come to port in his village's shallow harbor. And this ship hadn't just been built, it had been made terribly, painstakingly beautiful. 

That, even more so than its size, unsettled him deeply—if these pirates had enough wealth and time to spend decorating their ship like this, how much time did they have to spend on him?

The ifrit had spent the morning loading the rest of their belongings back onto the boat. Half a dozen men and women worked to fill massive copper urns with water, hoisting them onto the deck as if they weighed nothing. Each time they passed him their attention lingered, a few even daring to reach out and prod at him with their clawless lower sets of arms. The casual violation made him so furious he could barely breathe.

The big one that had caught him did more touching than the rest, and there was nothing Nadeem could do to stop it. Hands tugged at his shirt seams. Nudged his back. Lingered on his shoulders. 

It was studying him. He knew something was on the edge of going terribly wrong, and helpless anger raged in his chest with every unwanted touch. He narrowed his eyes when the ifrit now approached, skin crawling when it knelt in front of him. It said something, then its chest came within inches of his face as reached around to undo his ropes. 

He was so shocked by the sudden invasion of his space that he simply froze, heart racing as it began to haul him to his feet.

As soon as it had him standing it coaxed him toward the ship, corralling him back toward the ladder. Nadeem limped backward, seething. His voice was low and dark, “I am not getting on that boat.”

Two minutes later he was dumped unceremoniously onto the deck, the air whooshing out of his lungs as his shoulders hit the wood. The ifrit stepped over the railing and muttered something at him, then tossed him over its shoulder like he weighed no more than a sack of saltwheat.

His empty stomach churned as gravity shifted. The sudden increase in elevation made all his muscles tighten quickly enough to make him squeak. 

He fought to catch himself in the fabric of its sash, a terrified little groan escaping him when it started walking. He could feel every weightless drop and jostle of its long strides. It felt like he was about to be dropped.

The floorboards swayed beneath him, the shadow cast by the loosened sail gliding across the deck like a snake. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding on as tightly as he could.

They descended into a hold below the main deck of the ship, ladder creaking beneath their weight as they descended into the darkness. A sudden bolt of panic raced through him when he realized there was no one else in this little room. Nadeem couldn't think of a single good thing that could come from being taken somewhere alone. 

He was dumped onto something soft, and immediately pinned down by a massive, clawed hand. His heart was already pounding in his chest.

"S̴̟͘t̵͉̓à̸̢y̴͎͒ ̶͎͝w̵̯̎h̴̳̄e̷͕̎r̵̥̆e̶̬̾ ̸̣͑y̷͙̎o̶͉͐ư̷̠ ̸̖̽ä̵̬́r̶̞̈e̶̟̿.̷͇̅" 

He didn't have to know Qururaq to know it was an order to stay put. 

The hand lifted off him very, very slowly, nails prickling at his clothes, before the ifrit released him.

"Ỉ̶̦ ̷̩̌w̴͛͜i̵͔͘l̷̟̔ĺ̵̯ ̶̺̑l̸͙̊ê̶͓t̷̺͊ ̵͔̈́t̴̙͝h̴͔͒e̸̩͗ ̵̳̂ṙ̴̯é̶͎s̶̚ͅt̷̯̿ ̶̹̌o̶͜͝f̷̤̄ ̶̠̒t̷̟̑h̸̻̿e̴͇͗ ̷̙͑c̷̦̑r̴̤̈ę̶̌w̷̙͌ ̷̰̏h̵̻̊â̸̹v̸͇̐e̴̦̒ ̸̦̐t̶̞̿h̴̪́e̴͈͘i̸̲̾r̷̛͙ ̶͙̉f̴̡́u̴͔͘n̵̜̽ ̴͎͝ẘ̷͖î̸̬t̷̯̕ḣ̵̰ ̴̫̈́y̸̘̿o̴͕̚u̴̯͗ ̴̲͐ȋ̴̯f̵̘͆ ̷̺͛ŷ̷͜o̴̹̅u̶͖͋ ̵̝̍t̷͈͒r̵̼͝y̵̞̏ ̸̞̆t̶̺͐o̶̥͛ ̴̯̊r̷̆͜u̷͍̓ń̶̺.̸̦͝" 

It was infuriating. This ifrit knew full fucking well he couldn't understand what it was saying.

It began digging around through the items lining the low shelf that encircled the room, stripping off its sword belt. Nadeem eyed the wicked curve of its blades, sinking further away as it set them aside. 

Unlit lanterns hung overhead, clanging against the wide curve of its shoulders as it moved in the dim space. The room smelled of incense, as though years of use had caused the scent to seep into the wood itself. The bunk he’d been dumped on smelled strongest of all. It swayed under his weight, then dipped when the ifrit sat at its end.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. Nadeem coiled to fight, starvation and injured foot be damned, but in the next moment the ifrit turned away to grab something off a nearby table.

Food. 

All the gods below, that was food. A half-loaf of bread, the dark crust split like clay after the rain. His stomach suddenly felt like it was trying to eat itself alive. 

His expression must have given away too much, because when he glanced back up the ifrit was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. It broke off the heel, and held it out to him.

Despite his fear, despite the black talons it was balanced between, he didn't hesitate. He craned forward and took it, then retreated immediately back out of reach.

He even managed to wait long enough to make sure that the ifrit wasn't planning to follow him. Then he tore into it like a scavenger into a ribcage. Nothing in the world mattered but his hunger. 

It had been more than four days since the last scrap of food the merchants had given him. And while that was far from the longest he had ever gone without a meal, never before in his life had he traveled as far as he had over the last few days. His body was starving. 

He knew this was something he should take slowly. But as soon as his teeth sank in, he didn't have the willpower to stop. And though the ifrit didn't make any move to come closer, he had already learned his lesson about giving a captor enough chance to take his food away from him.

Soon he'd eaten all he'd been given, almost breathless from it. The ifrit still hung back at the edge of the bed, watching him with those dark eyes. And then he held out another piece of bread. Smaller this time, but just as freely given.

Nadeem glanced between its hand and its face, then inched forward again. He took it, and immediately drew away.

And so it went, the ifrit breaking off small pieces and handing them to him one at a time. Although the bread wasn't warm, the crust was still flaky and the inside not yet hardened from the dry desert air. These weren't just discarded scraps—it couldn't have been made more than a day or two before. In all likelihood, he was being given the ifrit's own breakfast.

After the first few pieces hit his stomach, Nadeem managed to slow himself down. He felt almost boneless with relief. But it wasn't nearly enough to earn the ifrit his trust. He kept himself just out of arm's reach, casting sideways glances its direction.

It was one big fucking ifrit. Not just in the 'so much taller than me I feel like a child' way, but built like an ox, too. It was more nude than not, its chest bare save for the black sash it wore from shoulder to hip. Its limbs were adorned with jewelry, brass circling its wrists and hanging in delicate chains from its neck. Even the symmetrical braids that patterned across its scalp were woven with polished metal. It wore no turban, its shoulder-length hair as brazenly exposed as its skin.

…thank the gods it least it was wearing pants.

He had been wrong about its skin being grey. Or....almost wrong. Rather than the red or coppery undertones he had seen in other humans his whole life, the same dark brown skin had a muted undertone of violet. The effect was still so close to grey he could think of no other word for it. It was just more...alive. The tips of its fingers were soot black, the color bleeding up into its hands in a gradient that spread all the way to the elbow. And it's talons—although he could think of no other word for them—weren't…actually talons. They had the same shape, but he could see no seam to indicate a nail. It was as though the tips of its fingers simply hardened into those claw-like tips.

The ifrit seemed to be being careful with them. It was surprising how delicate it managed to be, always holding up the offered bites between the tips where Nadeem could take them without being touched.

It was making no move to pull him out of his corner. He knew that didn't mean much—if it wanted to grab him it certainly had the reach to do it. And he still was all too aware that the ifrit sat between him and his only way out. But it seemed they weren't planning to eat him, at least. If they had they wouldn't have bothered feeding him first. 

After his fourth bite of bread, the ifrit passed him a wooden cup. He drank eagerly, downing over half of it before stopping for a breath. 

They weren't planning to eat him, but that still left at least a dozen reasons why they might be keeping him alive. And Nadeem was not optimistic that just because he'd avoided one awful fate that he wasn't destined for another.

He raised the cup to his lips again, and stopped.

That….wasn't water.

The liquid inside was cool and clear, and had been completely tasteless on his lips. But whatever it was, the surface of it wasn't right. Looking at it was like watching the sunlight glittering at the edge of a spring, shifting facets of light more radiant than even the Purratu back home. A million silvery, fragmented colors.

"What is this?"

The ifrit's expression told him what words didn't, and his blood went cold. It knew it had been caught. It reached out and took the cup back from him just as it almost fell from his fingers. And then Nadeem was pushing himself backward across the bed.

"What did you give me?"

The ifrit stood, returned to the ladder, and reached up to swing the trap door shut. Then dark eyes turned back to him.

Oh, gods, please. There was nowhere for him to go. Nadeem felt his breaths beginning to come short. And then it took a step closer.

He flattened himself against the wall, "Don't. You stay away from me, or I swear I'll rip you to pieces!"

The ifrit just settled into a chair near the foot of the cot. Nadeem's eyes were burning with tears that he refused to let fall. It was settling back in to wait. 

Domos help him. What had been in that cup?

"What did you give me?"

The ifrit's eyes gave away nothing. They just studied him the same way he had studied it, though with no attempt to hide the way it was taking him in. He was going to be sick.

"If you lay so much as a finger on me—"

"S̶̤h̢͕hh͏̭," it made a sound halfway between a hush and a purr—from a cat just happened to be half the size of a house. It made every hair stand on end. "S̨҉͚̣a̦̠̕͜v̙̻́͞e̢͎̠͡ ̸̶͎̯y̙͙͠͡o̷͏̥̲ù̮̲͡ŗ̸̯̻ ҉̶͉͕è̛̱͇n͏̴͙̩e̡̨͍̥r̛̭̯͜g̢͍͈̕y҉̡̩̳,҉̠̳́ ̸͕͉͡j͓̜͡͠ą̜̜͟c̢҉͙̠ķ̡͚͓a̴̢̱̪l̢̨͈̺.̧͉̩͞ ̟̳͜͞Y̧̩̟͡o̶̢͉͎ư̷͖ͅ'̛҉̳̗r̸̴͇̤e̤͓͘͟ ̜̬͘͜g̶̩̞̕o̸͎̺͡i̢͏̰͇n̸̫̺͠g̜̱͢͝ ̴̛͉͉t̡̧̪̟o̶͇͇̕ ̷̨͈̯ṇ̲́̕e̻̝͢͞e͞͏͕̳d̻͖͜͞ i͕̣͢͠t̡҉̭̗."

He wanted to weep. What was he going to do? There was no way he'd be able to move quickly enough to get past it. And even if he did, with his foot so hurt there would be no getting back up that ladder before it grabbed him again. All he had were pillows and blankets, nothing even remotely viable as a weapon. 

He had his nails. But compared to the ifrit's claws, his blunt little fingertips would barely even leave a scratch. His teeth were nearly as useless.

What was he going to do?

The minutes passed by quickly, but the ifrit didn't move. From outside he could hear the sound of cargo being shifted, voices calling back and forth to one another. Footsteps creaked directly overhead, but Nadeem didn't look away from the monster for even a moment.

It began slowly. A warmth that started in his belly and spread gradually up his spine. His fingertips tingled, then his lips. And then his head began to swim.

Please, no. Please.

He swayed and caught the wall. 

His insides felt like they were turning to liquid honey. His breaths started coming slower, deeper, despite his rising panic. Everything that touched his skin seemed to hum.

The ifrit was watching him closely. When it spoke its words were slow, measured. "Ỳ̰͖͞o̵̤̪͜ụ̯͟͜'̸̮̫͞r̴̥̱͝e̛̮͖͞ ̵҉͔͖g̷͔̪͢o̵̢͇̦i̵̸̦̫n̷̞̭̕g̸͔̝͝ ̸̳̥͢ṱ̡̳͝o̢͏̺̹ ̸̗̗͢ḅ̼́͝e̳͍͜͜ ̛̣͉́a̧҉̥͖l̴̬̘͠r̷̝͇͠i̶̷̙̥g҉͙̼͢h̴̨̹͈ț̴̳͠."

"What's going to happen to me?" His tears began to fall.

The ifrit let out another of those rockslide-purrs, and reached out to grab the end of the cot. It began to slowly rock the bed back and forth. 

Nadeem shuddered. His grip on the sheets went knuckle-white as the cot swayed, trying to keep himself upright. But soon the waves of dizziness were overpowering. He lost his balance and suddenly found himself sprawled on his side. The world was spinning, and it only worsened when he tried to get back up.

The motion turned the buzzing of his head into an almost-euphoric dizziness. Nadeem could barely open his eyes, even to try to find the ifrit again when it spoke.

"A̴̗̮͘ļ̮̰͘l̶̼̺͠ ̢̢̼͚ỳ̧̜͔o͖̯͠͞u͏̣̺͠ ̡̲̪͞h̭̲͞͡a̛̙͕͢v҉͇̩͡e̢̧̞͈ ̴͏̦̝t̴̟̲͡o̸̢͖̣ ͏͎̦͠d̴̢̘̘o̸̹͈͞ ̛̺̼͢i̛̖̠͡s̀҉̮͕ ̵͈͈͟r͓̣͘͞e̡̦̘͝l̷̶͈̜a̴҉̹̺x̣̞͢͞."

A hand closed around his throat. It applied no pressure, just pressed him down into the sickly softness of the blankets. More hands captured his wrists, tangling them together as it held them above his head.

"No!" Nadeem sobbed, trying in vain to kick up into its stomach. His uninjured foot caught on its hip, but all the strength in Nadeem's body was not enough to pry it off of him. "Get off of me!"

"S̶̤h̢͕hh͏̭." This close, the purr made his head swim. The ifrit's skin was fever-warm, steady and unyielding even as he arched off the bed trying to escape. "T͏̦͚͝h̨̖̬͢a̴̧͇̼t̸̖͓̕'͖͈̕͟s͏̷͇ͅ ̨͙̥́i̸͏̲̹t̶̳̜͘.̵҉̙̹ ̵̡̖̟Ṭ̴̡̹i͝҉̦͇r̷̜̪͠ȩ̗͈͞ ͎̩͜͞y̮̲̕̕o̷̩͙͡u̡͕̬͠r̸̳̮͠ş͈̰̕e҉̸̠̘ḽ͔́͘f̸̡̪ͅ ̷̧͇̹o͇̪͢͟ų̻͙͠t͎̫͜͝."

"Please," he sobbed. Gods, please, he couldn't survive this again.

Another hand shifted down to press his leg against the sheets, closing around the ankle of his bad foot. It held him there, even as the rest of him twisted and thrashed.

"Ị̢͚͘ ̼͑́n̴̺ͥe̵̪̓e̷̗̍d̡̅ͅ ̒҉̖t̛͇͗o̷͙͋ ͚̌͜ṱͫ̀a̖ͥ́k̴͇͋e͌͏͚ ̲̌͜aͩ͏͇ ̴̉ͅl̨̙ͤơ͚ͨo̹ͭ̕k͇̉́ ̸̪̋å̷͈t̶̹͌ ̧̫ͭṯ͊͘h̥̽͡a̶̹̿t̤͆͞ ̢̻̑f̣̍̕ỏ̧̰ȍ̻͝ť̰͡,̛̺̉ ̨̜͊An̺̄͘d͇̑͞ ̶̳͑b̴̩̌o͇ͮ͠t̝̏͘h͔̍͠ ̴͇̚o̪̍͞f̡̗̀ ̡̖ͭù͚͟ṣ̅́ ͖̓͢k̶̍ͅň̶̫ö̱́̀ẉ̷͂ ̣̈͘y̺ͦ͜o̝̒͡u͍̿́ ̧͍̋á̺͠ŕ̨̖ȩ̪ͥń̶̮'̼̓̕ṯ͋͝ ̸̣̀g̜̅͝o̲̅͞i̸̯͒n̶͍̋g̓҉̻ ̱̅̕t̛̥ͣo͖ͧ͝ ͔ͦ͡l̮̈͡e̴͚̿t̫͋͟ ͚̉͝ḿ̠͢ḙ̵̓ ̢̹̽d̺̎̕ọ̈͘ ̪͛͢i̩̾͡t͙ͥ́ ̪ͪ͟w̸̤ͩi̶̼͑ḻ̶͗l͍̓͢i̫̅͞n̷̮̚g̝ͭ̕ĺ͕̚y̶͔͒." 

Nadeem's strength was failing him. His nails dug into the hand at his wrist. But if it noticed the little pinpricks, it didn't even react.

Through his tears he could still make out its face. Just watching him. The utter surety that it had him where it wanted him and there was nothing he could do.

"T̴̖̜̍̈́͢h͈̮͊̌͟͞e̛̗͙͂͗͡r̺̠̂̂͜͡e̷̤̹͌ͮ͜ ͒̉͏̛̫̠y̡̲̘ͨ͒̀o̗͇̾̚͢͠u̸̲̘͋̀͝ ̡̪͇̈̓͢ğ̢̼̗̚͡ő̧̹̫̄͝.̴͔̞̌ͧ͝ ̳̹̃ͦ́͡Ǵ̨̠̟́͟i̢͉̳͊̓̀v̨̗̳ͪ̉͝ḛ̻̓̑́͝ ͒͌͘͏̗̰ṷ̞͐ͣ͘͞p̢̘͕̈́͛͟."

He started to sag in its hands, crying helplessly. All he could do was press himself down into the sheets, keeping his leg against its stomach to try to keep it away.

"T̴͈̩͞h̡͏̹̩á̱̻͘t̪͕̕͢'̡͈̼͠s̨̢͚ͅ ̶̟̯́b̶̛̼̩e̡͙͓͡t̜̞̀͟ṱ̵͔͟e̶̪̠͡r̜̤͟͠.̪̳̕͘ ̨̭̟̕B̲̬̀̀ŗ̞͖͢e͖̱̕͟a̵̛̯͍t̵̗̯̀h̸̘͖͘e̴̷̮̼."

His mind was a mess. His thoughts were coming in fragments, golden warmth thrumming across his skin. The coil of sensation in his stomach had only settled deeper, despite every other part of his mind trying to shove the feeling away. He couldn't think. 

The hand on his ankle shifted. The ifrit leaned back, keeping him still while it murmured something and turned his foot to look at the wound underneath.

The flesh around the wound was puffy and red, like angry gums around a missing tooth. The edge had a thin line of white and sallow green where swelling turned to wound, a mess of dried red and black that smeared up between his toes. Sand was caked into dried blood, the very center of the wound still weeping red where he had damaged it in his struggles.

His ankle was swollen, too. He had twisted it when he had fallen, and he hissed as the ifrit turned it carefully in its hand. It almost looked like it winced in sympathy.

"Y̴̛̤̰o̵̵̥̝u̵̫̹͢'̨̢̩͙ŕ̵̘͕è͏͉̦ ̧̙̼͡l̴͏͖̻ừ͍͎c̴̜͖͝k̨͔̀ͅỳ҉̭̬ ̛҉̦͚ỵ̨̫͢o҉̧̦̯ų̨̲̱ ̷̡͍̰d͇͢͠ͅi̢̡̺̰d̮̹͢͞n̛̖̠͝'͏̮͇̕t̨͏̳̰ ̷͔̞͢b̥͚̀͠r̖̠͜͞e̸̡̬̥á̻͓͘ḱ͉̱͝ ̭̪́̀í̞͉͡t̛̝͉̕,̵̬̜͡ ͘҉͇̣ļ̩̞͠i҉̷̪͎ṭ̸̮́t̢҉̺̼ḽ̸͜ͅę̧̭͚ ̨̺̖͢o̷̳̰͞n̻̤͢͟e̸̝̤͞.̹̟͠͠ ̧̝̞͝Y͏̦̞͘o̯̬͟͞u̧͏̗͍'̴̣͔͠v̨̡̲̯e͉̱̕͟ ̷̵͚̘b̶̺͚͞e̴̗̣͞e̳̣͟͞ņ̵̤̠ ̶̫̩́h͏̛̬̝i̧̢͎̼d̨̫͓͞i̴̶̙̜n̵̢̪̼g̴̺̠͞ ̘̤͜͡t̶̕ͅͅh̵҉̥̜i̵̝̭͝s̨̩̼͢ ̨̨̖̳b̷̡͈͈e̴̪͔͞t̷̶̠̞t̵̖̹͞e͔̭͢͞r̛̫̯͟ ͏͙̯͟t̷͉̠̕h̟͈̕͠à̳̣̕n҉̷̣͙ ̴̤̖͞I̢͎͚͞ ̛̟̗̀t̶̸̘͎h̛̩͈́o̷̯̹͝u̧҉̦̻g̢̲̲͠h̷̥̝͟ț̻́͟ ̢̲̹͞ỳ̯̦͘o̸̸̪̖u̥̩͟͡ ͍̜͘̕ç̹̰͞o̵̴̹̝ư̖͖͟l̶̲̮͘d͏̶̰̺." It sighed, "I̜̙͝͡f̷̠̝͡y̵̸̲̥a̡̨̤̬ạ̷͡ͅ ̢̳̲͠i̸҉̟͖s̴̵̥̝n̸̢͍ͅ'̷̵̗̮t͏̬̬͞ ̷̦̜͘g̴̛̬ͅo̸̘͟ͅi̧̺͎͟n̶̴̲͉g͙͜͟ͅ ̧͙͈͟t̕҉̦̣o̶̗̟͠ ̡̥̫̀b͎͈́͟e̶̪̙͟ ̴͏͚̦h͎̼͟͠à̙̞͝p҉̳̪͟p̛͏̤͓y̫̜͢͝ ̦̱́͝w̡҉̙̺h̠͎́͟ę͎͙͜n̨̮͕͟ ̶̢͉͕h̸̨͉̘e̸̞͙͝ ̴̘̼͡s͠҉̯̖é͇̫͠e͖͖͝͠s̷̱͞ͅ ̶̮̳͡t̛̛̝͍h̢̲͓͢e̸̶̘̞ ̨̛͉̳ș̸̛̺t̲̣͠͞a̵̝̫͞t̡̛̩̟e͞͏̗ͅ ̡̯͙̀ó̢̟̘f̻̟̕͞ ̀҉̖͍i͔̘͞͠t̢̢̩ͅ."

Nadeem was trembling.

"̡̭̹͢N҉̵͙̞ò͖̘͘,̳͟͝�� ̳̠͢͢y̨͏͔ͅó̴̲͚u̢̹̤͠ ̷̖͘ͅa̵͎͓͡r̸̛̙̻e͏̰̳͠n̡̖̺͟'̷̡̘̯t̨̝̩̀ ̢͚͞ͅg҉͙͡ͅǫ̴̺̗í̡̞̟n̛̞͙͠g̷̯̣͞ ͏͏͖̫t̴̠͇̕ó̳̲͟ ̧͚̩͠l͙͎͢͠i҉̛̻̣k͓̲͞͠e̸҉̱̣ ̶͇̟͟t͏̡̯̻h͏̢̦̜i̶̢̤̺s̛̭̝̀ ̢̡͕̲p̡̨̲̗a͇͍͜͟r̸̼̹͠t̵̶͇̦,̸̧͉̹ ̴͎̺͡e҉̱̳̀į̶͕̻t̩̪́͢h̵̸̲̩e̛̱͚͟r̢͈͕̕.̧̟̙́ ̧̛̟̮B͏̷̮̪u҉̗̼̕t̼͙́͞ ̸̝̗͡ị̵̴͚ṯ͕̕͘ ͏̛̘̥ẁ͔͍͞ì̩͠ͅḽ̜͡͠l̝͓͘͘ ͎̼̕͟b̶͈̮͢e͢҉͚͇ ̥͍́͝o̻̲͢͠v̢̬̪͠e̡͖̜͜r̨҉͎͖ ̵͚̠͠ș̶̢̘o͡҉͉̻o̵̲̦̕ņ̺̟͠." The ifrit lowered his leg back to the cot, looking to his face. Nadeem flinched when it reached down, screwing his eyes shut with a whine as it brushed knuckles down the stubble of his cheek. "W̵͈̣͡e̶̡̪̥'̢͕̼̀ļ̛̠̟l͏̡̙̟ ̷̡̺͍s̶͙͉͝p̵͖͚͘ę҉̳ͅń̴͔̦d̘̱͘͢ ̢̯͙͘ą̼̮͜ ̙͇͡͞f̺̬́͢e̷̷͉͚w̨҉͈̺ ҉͔͠ͅḑ̵̰̬a̷̸̦͔y҉̤̩̕ş̜̜͟ ̢͚̱͡h҉̴̮̖ą̹̖́v҉̩̯͜i̴̵̥̰n̶̛͙̣g̡̪͈͡ ̨͉̣͝ó̷̙͙ù͈̮͠r̦͎̀̀ ̦̮̀͡f̴̛͈̮u̧͓̜͟n̝͇͜͡ ̸͔̠͢w̩̝͘͞i̲̮͟͠t̙̀͘ͅh̨̠̼̀ ̢̤͕͘y̸̴̠ͅo̸̳̜͢ù̵̥͕,̶̺͙͟ ̮͈̀͡ų̸̪͇n̨͕͎͡t̷̳̣́i̠̯͞͞l̶̛̞̠ ̦̰́͢w͓̹͢͟ȩ͏̹̤ ̡͉̜̕f̴̡̼̜i̟̬̕͞n̝͎͢͝d̨̝̮́ ͔̱́͡a̴̻͟ͅ ͇̞̀͞h̨̛̺͓u̶͕̻͘m̨̫̰͞a͞͏̻̻n̢̨͙͖ ̷͏̣̗c̨̳̯͟ì̞͠ͅţ̩̩͢y̴̛̯̥ ͙̳͡͠t̶͏̹̰o̢̜͇͟ ͔̜̀͢l̷͔̝͝e͏̵̲̩a̕͏͚̩v̧̳͕͞e̶͇̼͝ ̴̱͉͘y̯͘͠ͅo͖̖͘͜u͕̣͜͢ ̸̴͓̩i̸̡͕̥n̡̳̱͢.͍̟͘͡ ͉̟͢͝F͏̴̙̗ŗ̺̤͘ó̶̲̼m̶̳̖͘ ̣̫̀͡t̺̘͢͞h̶̪̼͠e̛̼͕͝r̨̪̯͞ę̮̱͠,̨̡̱͈ ̴̧̘̻y҉̣̺͟o͜͏͉͍u̴͉̞̕ ͢҉̥̺c̛̜̹͡a̡̙͙͘n̛͙̪͢ ̶̸̠̜f̢͍̯́i̺̱͟͢n̡͏̫͇d̢͎͞ͅ ̵҉͇̘y͓̝͡͞o̷̜͝ͅu̳̻̕͠r̛͏̱̣ ̨̞̤͠w̶̠̙͢ą̵̗̱y̴̨̳̺ ̵̝̠͟b҉̩̝͜a̱͟͡ͅc̶̸̗̝k̛͍̩͡ ͏̢̤͙t҉̹̺̕o̷҉̦̰ ̨͓͖̀w̸̱̗͢h̢̨̲͙ȩ̢̙̜r̢̗̥̀e̴̛̞͈v̵͔̰̀e͓͉͜͠r̢̡̫̗ ̯͔̕͠y̶͉͈̕o̸̘̣͝ú͉̜͢ ̘̩͠͠c҉̗̙͞a̶̯͈̕l̺̥͜͠l̮̲̀̕ ̸̧͇͕h͞҉̟͍o̵̙͔͡m҉̧̱̙e̴̼̖͠."

He took a shuddering breath. The touch sent ripples of sensation blooming across his skin, leaving him breathless. 

"I̴̬͎͟'̵͔̺͟m̷̨̤̝ ̷̲̮̕s̨̪̘͘o̷̲̞̕r͠͏̝͉ŗ̛̯̜y̛̛̱͓ ̵̪̳̕f̹͕́͡o̷̴͍̼r͓͈͝͞ ̵͕̳͠h̢̖̻́o̶͍̭͞w̶̧̙̦ ̴̨̺̜ḿ͏̞͚u̧̙̪͝ç̳̜͟h̵̶͉̯ ̗͇̀͡t̙̖́͠h̝̝́̀i̴͉̠͡s҉̡̬̭ ̸̵͇̭ị̵̴̩s͍̬͞͠ ̶̢̟͈g̷͏͉͈o̴̷̻ͅi̵̬͙͜ņ̵̪̣g҉̰͚͝ ͖̣̕͢ţ̳̗͞o͘҉͓͕ ͏̨̬̻h̸̫͔͘u͢͏̯̼r̢̟̗͘t̵̯̣͠."

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[journalofanobody]

Struggling just to keep posting, I become a traitor.

As I've been recovering from surgery these past two weeks, I've been trying hard to keep posting, to give something, however little, to my friends and followers here. Quite frankly, many times while posting I have battled a terrible tiredness while simply trying to post an interesting mix of things for those who have faithfully continued to look at my blog and my poor little poems.

Sometimes the fogginess nearly gets the best of me but, at the end of each evening's posting, I feel pretty good about what I have done here. Not great, just pretty good. And for now, that's plenty.

However, mistakes occur, as I learned this morning. A follower whom I was actually beginning to see as a potential friend, wrote to thank me for all the support and advice I have given her during her persecution by trolls here and then revealed to me that she noticed that I had reblogged something from one of them. This, she concluded, is evidence that I was now one of that group of her "enemies" who were "tightening the noose around her blog." I was shocked.

Often, in my current state, I am completely absorbed in just finding aesthetically pleasing content, and barely notice who the original blogger was, and this, I guess, was my undoing. I was now a "betrayer" of a friend and thus belonged to the enemies and internet trolls she claimed were pursuing her. Needless to say, I was hurt and disappointed that she could not consider the context of my trying very hard to post even while recovering from major surgery.

Funny, even as I was reading it, I was ready to apologize and ask her to point out which post it was so I could remove it but, alas, I found that I had been blocked and her blog deactivated. Judgment had been rendered and no appeal was possible,

Now, sitting here, thinking about this, I recall the small herd of trolls I had to deal with when I first started this blog. Some of my friends here were following and reblogging from some of those people and, when I mentioned it to them, they said it's just reblogging of images, nothing to do with our friendship or "sides" being taken. And I thought it made sense and got over it.

I didn't speak out in defense of her trolls, or even reblog a lot from them. One image got through and, even if I had noticed it's origin, it would have seemed wrong to deny the source of it. And so what?

I'm not up for this sort of nonsense right now. I feel like I'm back in high school with warring cliques, or in Donald Trump's circle being forced to care about whether the boss feels betrayed. But this person I was dealing with was no high school girl, or some prickly fascist, this was a well-educated, cultured, kind person, and this is precisely why I find it more disappointing and sad than all the sorts of people I usually imagine behaving this way.

It's a small bump in the road of my recovery, a wee ding on my spirit, and it makes it all that much harder to trust people on this site, but then, who cares? Society unravels even at its upper reaches, among people from whom we would reasonably expect better.

I think I am just going to take a few days off from posting here. My time might be better spent just reading, sleeping, and trying to get myself fit to work again.

A weary good night from a slightly sadder Nobody,

Michael

[feralkwe]

my family lost someone last night.

she's not someone anyone in the family liked very much, though many of us spent portions of our lives loving her. many of us still do in our own way. she was very sick for a very long time and that sickness caused her to do many selfish things that hurt many people. she leaves a legacy of wreckage behind her, for sure. i personally did a lot of work repairing some of the damage left in the wake of her illness. she was for the most part estranged and in almost every way possible it was for the better.

but she died horribly, in a way that no one deserves to, not even if it's partially of their own making. like i said, she was very sick. i spent some time this morning talking my mother and brother through some complicated feelings about her, because i am the only person in my family who has worked to develop tools for dealing with feelings. i endeavored to remind them that while death does not make someone a saint, and that you're not required to forgive a person the wrongs they've done against you, it's okay if you still need to grieve for the love lost. for the person you loved. and also i had to talk them through the fact that she wasn't actually a terrible monster, either. that the thing everyone hates her for doing was, in fact, an act of love. it might be, in my hard won opinion, the most selfless and loving thing she'd done in her too-short life.

it's easy to look at an action someone takes and only see the ways it hurts you while losing sight of the selflessness of the act. almost my entire family hates her for what she did, but through a lot of therapy and talking it through with my besties (ilu both so much!), i've spent several years quietly thanking her for that choice. it gave me things i will always be grateful for, even if it also hurt and still hurts me in many ways. but it was a loving gasp made in a moment of clarity, and something only she could have given.

in her good times she was sweet. funny. she reminded me, both in appearance and style and manner, of avril lavigne (which may be what attracted my brother to her). she liked to team up with me in lovingly dragging my brother, a beloved pastime of mine. she gave us two beautiful boys who were my entire world for quite a while (and in many ways still are). those boys are still too young to understand her illness and the gift she gave them, but i hope that i can guide them toward doing so one day.

it's tragic that her life was cut short in such a horrifying way. no matter what anyone thinks of her, she deserved better. every human being does. we did not speak for the last many years, and i don't know if that was a good thing or not. i certainly could not have prevented what happened. i can't undo it. terrible things sometimes happen for no reason. we can do nothing but continue on.

what i can do is remember her. i can remember she lived, that she loved, that she lost, and that in the height of her illness she did the right thing, even if that thing continues to leave painful ripples through my family. and i can and will do my best to remind people that no human is all good or all bad. that sometimes things hurt so they can heal. that it's okay to mourn someone you loved even if they harmed you, and that doesn't mean you have to forgive them.

i don't need or even want any sort of sentiment extended to me for her loss. we were not close anymore, and like i said, i'm not sure if that was good or bad. i will quietly cry it out and grieve the person i believe she was, and my life will remain largely unchanged by her loss. what you can do for me, if you are moved to do anything at all, is to help me spread the reminder of the complexity of humanity.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #38: Hallowed King, but make it HotD

One of my favorite - sadly unfinished - fics is Hallowed King by SpicyReyes, in which Severus Snape and an adult Harry Potter travel back to the events of PoA to prevent the Second Wizarding War. There's a lot to be said about it, but my absolute favorite part is that Snape and Harry are mistaken early on for a couple and have to keep up the charade.

So, naturally, since I've been on an Aemond/Lucerys kick lately, I thought: what if Aemond and Lucerys were both sent to their childhoods to prevent the Dance of the Dragons?

For clarity:

I lean more towards House of the Dragon than Fire and Blood here.

In this AU, Aegon II is two years older than Helaena, who is two years older than Aemond, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena; who are two years older than Luke and Daeron; who are three years older than Joffrey.

But just imagine it:

Luke dies at Storm's End as in canon. He watches the events of the Dance from the afterlife, as does Aemond after he dies over the God's Eye. This continues until Jaehaera throws herself from Maegor's Holdfast to power a spell of undoing.

Luke and Aemond wake up - alive - as children in their beds in the Red Keep, approximately half-a-year before the events that cost Aemond his eye. (Let's call them about 11 and 13 respectively.) They don't immediately realize that they've both time traveled, but confront each other within the first week of their return.

Naturally, they disagree - vehemently - on the best way to prevent the Dance, but they eventually come to some semblance of a plan that involves 1) getting Rhaenrya on throne, 2) getting the lords of the realm to want Rhaenrya on the throne, and 3) combatting the (self-)destructive tendencies of their various kin.

Their plotting involves a lot of sneaking off and whispering in dark alcoves and/or sneaking into each other's bedrooms to plot, and bickering like an old married couple.

After about six months of this, their family confronts them regarding the sneaking around - but have naturally come to the wrong conclusion. The entire royal family believes that Luke and Aemond are trying to carry on a secret relationship, or at least as much of a relationship as two young teenage lovers can have.

Luke and Aemond are horrified by this idea, but Aemond runs with it, as there's no way they can tell their family the truth. It is such an Oscar-worthy performance - or so shocking that no one can look away - that no one notices Luke gaping like a fish throughout Aemond's confession of undying love.

Viserys is the only one actually pleased by this development and orders them betrothed. This might work better in an a/b/o 'verse, or one where Targaryen magic allows for children from same-sex marriages, but Viserys might very well force the Faith to allow a same-sex marriage with no hope for children for his beloved grandson if it unites his family.

Pretending to be madly in love is... strange at first, but they both fall into it more easily than they could ever have imagined. After all, though Luke would never have admitted it, he spent most of his first life with the most embarrassing crush on his uncle, even after things soured between their families... and Aemond's obsession was equal parts love and hate by the end. (He will, reluctantly, admit he lost the plot a little bit after Luke's death.)

They eventually actually do fall in love with each other, though it takes a while - mostly because they're both idiots who think pulling on pigtails is a love declaration, but they eventually get there. It would be painful to watch if anyone realized their relationship was fake to begin with.

...and that's all I really have. They should succeed in avoiding the Dance and, preferably, reluctantly unite both halves of their families through the power of love and communication.

Bonuses include 1) Laenor being around for the initial love confession and being so very proud of his son for choosing to come out of the closet. This should be the most awkward conversation Luke ever has with his father, and should lead to Laenor choosing to come out of the closet as well and having his marriage with Rhaenrya legally dissolved. He retires to Driftmark with his current lover, Rhaenrya remarries, and there are no suspicious murders involved; 2) Aegon, 17, giving Aemond, 13, quite detailed - and unasked for - relationship advice. This should possibly be made worse by Daemon interrupting with his own advice, worse, advice. It should rival Luke's conversation with Laenor for level of embarrassment; and 3) The usual level of Targaryen family drama, but about half as much the usual amount of murder and maiming.

And that's it. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[seventeendeer]

i will provide a question: did you ever get to play the oxenfree sequel? if yes, thoughts?

I did indeed! I had a good time with it. I don't think it comes anywhere near the brilliance of the first game, though, and in certain ways, it diminishes the impact of the original imo.

I think the first game played to the genre and writers' strengths extremely well. the tight focus on a handful of kids exploring a spooky island is inherently vulnerable, which is great for a horror game, doubly so for a very emotionally impactful horror game. the characters being snarky, petty and immature a lot of the time makes them feel like real teens trying to be cool in the face of some crazy shit. I found the entire cast incredibly likeable, which was super important, since the majority of playtime is spent having conversations with them.

by contrast, the sequel has a bigger scope, the main characters are adults, and they have a lot more resources at their disposal. the dialogue feels stilted and juvenile coming out of adult characters - one or two adult characters sounding like teens would be fine as character traits, but when every adult character sounds like they left high school yesterday, it breaks believability. with so much help, information and tech at their disposal, the scares also seem less like a threat and more like a challenge ... and since you really have to go out of your way to fail most of the scenarios, there's precious little left to create real tension.

a big drawback of the sequel is also just that ... we're stuck with two main characters who have negative amount of chemistry. the first game had a small web of complex relationships already laid out for the player to explore. the characters' motivations for wanting to know each other on a deeper level were rock solid. on the other hand, the protagonists of the sequel are work colleagues who have never met before, forced to work together by circumstance. there's no reason for them to try to open up and bond the way the kids do in the first game, so the long conversations about childhood trauma and whatever else comes off forced. this is a big problem when 90% of the game is just mucking about in dialogue trees while walking from place to place.

another problem, I think, is that the sequel leans too far into building lore that ultimately goes nowhere. it does a whole lot of explaining that serves no thematic purpose and is generally uninteresting. by the time everything is explained, the story is over and precious few elements come together in a meaningful way. the first game did well at not getting in its own way, simply explaining just enough for us to understand the context in which the characters exist and the framework on which the themes and emotional gut-punches are built. it feels more immersive because it doesn't stretch believability further than what is needed to tell the story it's telling.

I really wanted to love Oxenfree 2, because it's protagonist is fun, faceted narratives surrounding parenthood are in terribly short supply, and the visuals and vibe are all great.

unfortunately, I feel like everything about it is too ambitious for the limits of its genre and the skill level of its writers. it pulled a Stranger Things season 2 and took a "more is more" approach, instead of realizing that for character-driven horror stories especially, "more" is often less.

I still love the original game a ton, though the way the sequel wraps up that story is unsatisfying and anticlimactic to me as well. it honestly kind of kills the vibe to watch a beautiful tragedy play out and then it's followed up by a little final toot of a fix-fic ending. I think finally getting to undo the tragic ending of the first game could have been an incredible emotional journey for the player ... if, again, there was actually a real risk of failing, and the themes and emotions of the narrative were given room to breathe, instead of being crowded out by everything else.

but yeah, that was my experience playing! a perfectly fun romp for the spooky season, but ultimately forgettable compared to the absolutely legendary first game.

[jess-moloney]

For The Anon Who Seems To Think Non-Alcoholic Wine/Beer is "Safe" For Alcoholics:

Here's a whole bunch of sources explaining why it's not.

Source one

So, are Non-Alcoholic Drinks Safe for Alcoholics to consume? The short answer is NO! Because it is virtually impossible to get drunk on non-alcoholic beverages, it is easy to assume that they are safe for the alcoholic. However, since they do contain small amounts of alcohol, they can trigger the release of endorphins–the “feel-good” chemicals in your brain. For someone who has spent substantial amounts of time drinking, the release of this feel-good chemical may be enough to trigger the desire for the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th drink. Or worse–a full-blown relapse.

Source Two

Though it’s nearly impossible for non-alcoholic beer to make you intoxicated, the drink can be a powerful trigger, creating cravings that set up the circumstances for a relapse. The risk is not worth sacrificing your sobriety over.

Source Three

Some of the dangers of consuming alcohol-free drinks include: Triggers. Even without the alcohol content, the memories associated with consuming this type of beverage can be an addictive trigger. Alcohol cravings and triggers can increase the risk of relapse. Low-alcohol is not no-alcohol. Alcohol-free beer and alcohol-free wine are slightly misleading in their names, as they do contain small amounts of alcohol. While this may seem like an improvement over prior consumption, using these replacements during recovery is risky and can lead to relapse. A slippery slope to binge drinking. Self-awareness in addiction recovery is crucial. When one is aware of their triggers and has set boundaries for their addiction recovery, relapse is less likely to occur. Using alcohol-free drinks may be safe at some point during recovery for those who are no longer triggered by this type of influence, but it should be approached with caution. Consuming mocktails or alcohol-free beer and wine too soon could result in binge drinking.

Source Four

Many recovering addicts find they need to make new friends who don’t drink or use drugs and who help them support their sobriety goals. After all, as the studies cited above show, a few sips of non-alcoholic beer might be all it takes for some people to undo all the hard work they did in their recovery program. As a recovering alcoholic, going out to a bar with your old drinking buddies is a slippery slope. Even if you don’t get drunk, you will probably feel the temptation to drink, and that can be a powerful relapse trigger that pulls you back to a time when your life centered on alcohol misuse.

Source Five

Substance use disorders do not discriminate. If you begin to activate old habits, thoughts, and patterns when it comes to drinking, even if you only drink non-alcoholic drinks, your brain and body may begin to fall back into addiction, causing you to act more compulsively and crave alcohol making this one of the Dangers of Non Alcoholic Beer When alcoholics drink non-alcoholic beer, it acts as a behavioral crutch. When in recovery, you should be moving towards creating new habits, meeting new friends, going to new places, and doing new activities. If you go to the same old bar with the same friends and order a near beer, you are placing yourself in harm’s way, inviting cravings and urges to trigger you into drinking again.

On top of all of this, Jamie just a few months ago posted he did not feel supported in his sobriety. Someone who feels they are still struggling that much should not or would not want to be surrounded by these things and their alleged partner should not or would not want to have them around it. I never said Jamie is going to smell one drop of booze and go insane, I said it's a very slippery slope and could lead to a relapse. He's spoken out on this himself, which I guess (much like Jess) you'd prefer to ignore because you'd rather defend the toxic behaviour of his terrible girlfriend than face the reality that none of this is right. Before giving me a lecture on this again, do some research, it takes about 30 seconds.

[caspi-snz]

Happy Birthday, K/aeya! (Pretend this isn't 5 days late, I ran into a lot of physical and technical difficulties oops...also, this is the first fic I've posted on here. To be honest it isn't my best work and feels very rushed, but I'm just happy to have something to put out there😭. I have a couple other first I'd like to post as well, when the time comes! Pls be nice<3 the art has mild nudity, the fic only has a suggestive(?) Moment but shouldn't have anything too weird in it)

Kaeya should have seen it coming, in all honesty.

The evening before was an obvious warning sign, or at least it should have been, If only the captain was just a bit more concerned with his own well being. When he’d got back to his apartment the night before, he noticed for just a moment the curious itch that haunted the back of his throat, as well as the dull ache behind his eyes.

He’d spent the day on patrols through the valleys of Mondstadt, ignoring the rapidly chilling air and the clouds that gathered overhead. He wound up caught in more than one rainstorm that afternoon, and barely found shelter each time. Luckily enough for him, everyone else was incredibly occupied(oddly enough, several knights were out with a nasty head cold that appeared to be rising up the ranks. The ailment was putting many of the best men and women of the Favonius out of work, and their jobs accumulated onto the shoulders of everyone else),and ended up dismissing the damp clothes Kaeya continued to wear, he himself far too busy to change into anything else.

Then, while filling out some last minute paperwork in the dim light of the evening while sitting peacefully in his office, an unexpected tickle overran his senses and had him sputtering, a quill shaking in tandem to his slender hand. For some reason, the feeling caught him unaware, and had the captain releasing two breathy, barely covered sneezes into his unoccupied hand.

Kaeya got rather irritated after the spell, but ultimately ignored the causes and every single incredibly obvious sign.

He was getting sick.

The next morning, upon opening his eyes, the Cavalry Captain was met with an awful weakness in his limbs. Fatigue coursed through his body, and a chill swam throughout him, his warm body shivering in tune with each wave of cold. Other than the fatigue, all he had else was a runny, incredibly itchy nose and a dry throat, so he chose to go to work anyway. No point in making more work for the Grand master and their subordinates. 

It started out manageable, all he had to tackle were morning patrols and assigning what few people they had left to different areas in order to cover as much ground as possible before the afternoon patrols were assigned. Despite his strategic use of teams, there was ultimately a large span of area that Kaeya had to cover for himself, due to how stretched thin the knights were in the moment.

It wasn’t going to be that hard, was it?

And at first, it truly wasn’t. But then it just kept getting worse. Every stifled sneeze resulted in clouding his vision and a pounding strike to his skull, every slice with his blade pressing unnecessary strain onto his arms, and every single parry against the sword pushing him backwards and nearly to a vulnerable and possibly deadly position. It was a living hell, if he was being honest. His headache molded itself into a migraine the longer he stayed in the sun, his itchy throat turning into a tedious cough, and his previous fatigue turning into terrible muscle cramps. At last he’d covered all the ground for the morning, and with sweat pouring down his face, he plopped down beside the Statue of Seven at Windrise, basking in the heavenly shade of Vanessa’s tree. With his eyes squeezed shut, Kaeya felt down from his chest for the end of his opened shirt with blindly guided hands, undoing his corset and releasing a sigh of relief as it pulled away from his sweat-dampened undershirt. 

“HrkSHgt!HehKehSHKkt!” Kaeya sneezed twice, squashing his wrist into his face out of habit, his exposed breasts clenching together with the action and shuddering back into place with the sigh he released afterwards. 

“Fugk” He breathed out, his voice wavering. 

The afternoon sun beat down on Kaeya’s immobile body, but the man had no intention of getting up. It wasn’t worth it, he thought. It would be a total waste of the little energy he had.

Between shivers and the occasional cough and sneeze, the Captain found himself constantly dozing, nodding off to hazy dreams that he immediately forgot each time he jumped awake.

“h…HaATCHeEw! IhScHTCHEW! hah-Ksh!shAaTCHEew!” Kaeya was shaken awake once more by an irritating sneezing fit that tore through his burning sinuses with a ruthless passion. Of course, the fit caught him unaware, and he was ultimately sneezing into the area in front of him, crystal flies that often congregated in this area frightened by the sudden noise and departing to higher ground.

One glance to the sky above him was alarming, the sky nearly pitch black albeit dimly lit by the moonlight and the scattered fires from campsites. He’d been asleep all day?...unlikely. And yet, it had happened. Maybe he was sicker than he’d initially thought-

But that wouldn’t stop him.

Kaeya came to a consensus, at last standing up against his shaky legs, bracing against the tree he slept upon mere minutes before. He took a stroll back to the city, the cold autumn breeze shaking his already sick, shivering body.

A drink. A drink would do him good.

And so he’d found himself turning(whether from habit or an unconscious urge to seek help), to the entrance of the Angel’s share.

Through the cracks of the door one could observe the warm, orange-tinted light that crept through, lighting the outside tables which were all deserted, possibly due to the chilled weather. 

Upon entering, the light beat against Kaeya’s face, and forced him to flinch back with a hiss. He brought a hand to cover his eyes, seeking shelter in a shady corner that was relatively unoccupied. 

The cavalry captain plopped onto a seat and rubbed at his temples. This is hell.

“Huuh…hUKSHGT!”

A sneeze wracked Kaeya’s frame, catching him unaware yet again.

“...Bless you” A familiar voice caught the bluenette’s attention, bringing his eyes up to the person accountable, only to be met with fiery red hair pulled into a tight, high ponytail and a face painted with a blank expression(and was that a slight twinge of concern? Unlikely, given the man who was talking-but maybe…), with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m afraid we do not desire the sickly in this establishment. You may see yourself out and to bed in your own home”. DIluc spoke, his voice ever monotone. 

Kaeya responded with a breath of a laugh and a silent sniffle. “M’afraid this is just a break. I’ll be on my way to the headquarters as soon as the urge hits me”. Diluc regarded the sentence as nothing more nor nothing less than another promise backed by nothing at all. He huffs to himself and turns around, seeing two more customers before returning to the counter and preparing a slew of drinks.

Kaeya saw himself back to the table he’d already been moping upon, and lowered his head onto his arms. A flurry of memories swarmed by him in what felt like a moment of unconsciousness, dreams of his family-his old one, that is-embracing him in the colder weather, their arms wrapped around him in a protective shell. Would he ever feel that way again? Adelinde’s cooking, him and his- ‘brother’ playing amongst the vineyards with no care in the world. And then-his birthday, at the end of November, the people of Mondstadt busily decorating for the end of year festivities-When Diluc, Crepus and Adelinde would sit him down for a feast, followed by a highly decorated cake to celebrate. Unfortunately, they’d almost never eaten it by the end of the night.

.

An overwhelming feeling of moisture suddenly assaulted his cheeks, and had him raising his eyes to meet the assailant. 

The target was steam, emanating from a mug that was recently placed before him. And, to the captain’s surprise, the culprit stood over his immobile body with a hand hesitantly hovering just over Kaeya’s head.

Kaeya’s vision was terribly hazy with possible fever, so he’d barely processed that the figure above him was checking on him until a clammy hand felt beneath his bangs and pressed comfortably against his forehead. 

“Mmf…” Was all the protest that the captain could manage against his rapidly declining health. “Sh. I swear, he’s too stubborn-” another voice pipes in, and then a flurry of voices warp in and out his ears. It would seem the whole bar was now aware of the captain’s predicament, and while anything audible swam together and melded in his head, he was sort of glad he wasn’t in the correct state of mind. And perhaps you can finally rest.

Alas, every voice and color he’d been exposed to mere seconds before swirled before him, grabbing and clawing each and every thread of light until everything flooded into darkness.

“...He’s out”.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

November 30th. The day his brother was supposedly born.

Almost twenty years ago, a young boy soaked in the summer rains appeared on their doorstep, one eye carefully hidden from view and his frail, scrawny body covered in a dark cloak. 

The young child remained silent the first few weeks, hiding in his dedicated bedroom while Adelinde took it upon herself to bring him food and water. Crepus, their father, then started to sit with him while he moped. And after a while, at last, the two boys were introduced to one another. Diluc was elated that he at last had a new playmate, but Kaeya hardly shared the sentiment at first. It took him a while, but soon Kaeya had adjusted to the family, and they all lived as strangely as they’d met and been acquainted, but it was a peaceful life.

It was a happy life. 

And it was strange, how the scene before him felt so strangely reminiscent of those past memories. Kaeya lay in his bedroom once again, his chest rising and falling unevenly while he slept off the illness that inflicted him. His cheeks were flushed from fever, his nose red and chapped by the awful sinus trouble he seemed to be undergoing.

Adelinde came in and out, often to hand feed him soup or help him drink tea and take medication. Jean and Barbara would visit every now and again to ‘observe his condition’, and even Klee and Albedo came to see him once. 

“You idiot”. Diluc muttered to himself. It had been three days now, since Kaeya staggered into his bar sick as a dog and collapsed upon a table. Diluc had meant to wish him a happy birthday in a subtle way, a free drink and perhaps treat him to a meal; what he hadn’t expected was for his… “brother”(?) to be ill, seemingly forgetting to care for himself despite the ongoing colder months and the wet weather; Diluc then placed a mug of hot cider before Kaeya’s seemingly resting body, leaning over to check his temperature. He was clearly burning up, and his constant sniffling and ragged breaths confirmed the other’s suspicions.

 Evidently, Diluc wasn’t the only person who shared the sentiment of surprising the cavalry captain with a gift at the end of the day, a rather sizable group approaching the two. The group consisted of the knights and various others of Kaeya’s acquaintances, but barely four feet from the blue haired man they were stopped. Diluc met Jean’s eyes and hesitantly shook his head. “Something isn’t right with him. Chances are he doesn’t even remember it’s his birthday” The redhead crossed his arms, gesturing for Jean to approach the table. She knelt over and whispered to him, finally rising and nodding to Diluc. “He's out. Get him home. Everyone, leave your gifts to me, I promise he will receive them”.

…

He did get them, by definition. The various packages were placed upon the table beside Kaeya’s bed-albeit the perishables(some gifts were neatly wrapped candies and others were miniatures cakes, a couple bottles of wine, etc). 

“hh…hiHSCTHEW!” Kaeya suddenly sneezed roughly, a string of breathless coughs wracking his body while the redhead’s thoughts were interrupted and discarded into the past.

“Bless you”. Diluc sighed, knowing he spoke to no one but the empty room. Force of habit, he supposed.

“Thagks” A congested, nasally voice responded. Diluc jumped at the response, observing his brother’s face a little closer. Kaeya was now awake, but apparently very irritated. “Why am I here?” He snapped, eyes screwing shut. 

“Take a guess”. Diluc retorted, copying the other’s attitude. 

“No, i gh-get it. Get being in a bed’n all. bh-KsTCH!” Kaeya attempted to swallow back the sneeze, but ultimately failed, a fist smashing against his nose with an awkward stifle. “Guh. Why m’ I not in my home?” That stung a bit. It shouldn’t have, given how Diluc was the reason the younger felt this way. He hurt him and cast him out, constantly turning back and prodding the brand he’d seared upon Kaeya’s face, every attempt he’d made to reconcile venomously turned down by the redhead in a petty rage. 

“...I’m afraid-I do not know where your current residence presides”. Diluc quietly responded after a moment. 

“Huh-KShgt! KgsHt! Ugh-fugk!” Kaeya huffed in frustration, attempting to stand up. 

Now Diluc was on his feet, grabbing Kaeya’s shoulders and pushing him back onto his bed. Kaeya struggled in his grasp, face rapidly growing more and more red, the flush reaching even to his ears. The blue-haired man twisted to the side now, and then continued in his attempts to get his older brother off of him.  “Let-Let me go”. He tried, his voice weak as he was ultimately wrestled back into place. Diluc huffed, trying to catch his breath while Kaeya’s body stilled in defeat. “You will not leave until you are fully healed of your ailment. I will take it upon myself to achieve this goal-To take care of you, Kaeya. I won’t abandon you again. Kae-” 

a tear ran down Kaeya’s cheek, his lip wobbling. Whether it was the fever, the regret, the overwhelming feeling of weakness and defeat-It was difficult to decipher which, if not all of these factors resulted in his state. Diluc felt a new sense of duty, the day before he’d realized it was soon to be Kaeya’s birthday. They were getting older, weren’t they? And what was the reason for them to remain in this constant state of sidestepping one another at each and every turn, when it would seemingly bring them no closer to the goal of reconciliation? 

“h…’Luc-” Kaeya’s eyes fluttered close, his chest rising with every breath he took, swiftly and violently turning his head to the side and burying his face into the pillow that lay there, and-

“Huh-HSCHtX! HSTCH-guh, w-huh? Hih! ESCHT! gHTCH! kHSTCHew!” Kaeya stifled the oncoming fit, and after a while he pulled away from the now violated, soaked pillow. 

“Damn-I’b sorry” he managed, his muscles releasing as he melted into the blankets. 

“...Bless you”. Diluc paused. “But also, gross”. He jumped down from the bed, removing the contaminated pillow and tossing it into a nearby laundry bin. 

“Bh-bnot my fault”. Kaeya replied, offended. “I understand this. Gods…I’ve forgotten how dramatic sick Kaeya is”. Diluc laughed, retaking his seat at the other’s side.

“hip!-ISTCH!” Kaeya stifled again, groaning miserably afterwards. 

“Bless you. Hey-how long have you been ill?” Diluc leaned backwards, his query meant to break the awkwardness that settled between the two.

“I don’t b’know”. Was all he could reply.

The silence stretched between them, finally broken once again by Diluc. “I-I’m sorry”. 

This surprised Kaeya, the man turning to the other. "What for?" He managed at last.

"Everything. I know, it isn't enough- 'enough' would take years to achieve, it would take extensive talking and the like-Archons, I'm bad at this-". Diluc replied, trailing off in the end with awkwardness.

"No, I get it. You wish to bh-be brothers again?".

"Correct" Diluc tried a small smile, and Kaeya reciprocated a slightly larger one, dimmed only by the suppression of his bodily functions.

"Well. It's wh...HSHgt! Kshgt!-snf! guh...worth a shot, I think".

And so the two conversed, and for the first time in long while, Kaeya felt hopeful.

[ultfreakme]

IFYLITA ep 9 thoughts

The thing that really stood out to me was the solidarity between Fongkaew and Ueang Pheung. The first few episodes pitted them against each other, these women have caused pain to one another but it is made clear to each other and the audience that it was never their fault. They are women living in a world where they are constantly oppressed. They cannot be on different sides. I love Fongkaew's tremendous development and the grace with which she's navigating everything. Ueang Pheung I think is a lot more emotional and shows her displeasure, while Fongkaew cannot afford to do that.

I loved that Maey got rescued by Fongkaew and Ming, and that Ming holds no ill-will towards Ming because she doesn't like him romantically. Love isn't just romance and I'm sure they will be good friends. Maey was so heartbreaking but I sighed from relief seeing her free.

The Maey rescue operation start to finish was about how the oppressed are coming together to help one another and face the true enemy here; the patriarchal values as represented by Robert.

It was amazing to see all of them working together and getting along! In my head, Fongkaew, Ueang Pheung, Maey and Ming are all one big group and I hope they fight and triumph in whatever way they can. Every moment in the past episodes spent highlighting the class struggle, misogyny, homophobia- it all culminates into these people finding solidarity.

On that note, suppression under those values has not always brought community. Yai's mom had very little screen time but my god, did she nail her scene during the measurements. You could TELL she does not want this for Yai and that she hadn't even wanted the marriage for Ueang Pheung. You can see the pain in letting her two children down this bad, forcing them into misery. But she can't do anything! She can only watch as the man in their life decides everything for them.

Yai and Jom this episode broke my heart. The scene before the engagement where Jom tells Yai to let go of him nearly had me in tears. Both the actors did a wonderful job of portraying the sadness.

Yai talking back against his father and declaring that he loves Jom, that he wants to make his own choices and being angry was so good. It was cathartic, it was reflective. It made me angry on his behalf it was such a good scene and I'm glad Yai talked back. Which makes the end of the episode even more miserable because he protested so much but it takes a lot of courage to break free. More than is possible at times.

Jom weeping into Prik's shoulder, losing his love once again to heteronormativity, being kept a secret once more, was heart wrenching. He trusted his heart again to Yai and Yai broke his trust, hurting him exactly where it is fatal. Hearing the way he spoke and asked what wrong he did, what he did to deserve this really hit hard. It's how queer people are made to feel. No matter what we do, a lot of the times our love and identity is shunned. We are demonized, told we are fundamentally wrong. It is terrible to see Jom, who seemed so confident in himself and his love in EP1, a man of the 21st century who is supposed to be more secure in himself ask that question.

What is wrong with me?

It's not even because it's the 1920s because I suspect Jom's had this insecurity since Ohm cheated on him. He's only saying it out loud now. The story is showing the progress, but it's also showing that we still need to undo a lot of things fundamentally.

So watching Jom apparently accompanied by NUEY, bringing their "secret life" right into the open in sunlight, making the family see exactly what they are and being proud and loud about it is going to be absolutely amazing next episode! I thought we'd never get to see Nuey again I'm glad they're back!!! It's especially impactful because we witnessed a ceremony and a dining table conversation that so forcefully insists on heteronormative bs.

Honestly? Watching the engagement scene was very difficult. That's not some fantasy distant thing for me. This shit still happens in a lot of countries. This is still the reality for many queer people and often time, it's reinforced with a lot more violence and cruelty.

Every IFYLITA episode is so filled with meaning. It's a given, the episodes are an hour long. But I feel like so much is done that the hour feels extremely well used.

This series tackles with systematic issues in a historical context with such....grace and care. I don't think I've ever seen a thai drama that's done stuff like this. With every episode, I love this show even more.

[chloristoflora]

"You spent so many years at Clerres. As a child, you laboured long in the scroll-rooms. Your own dreams were stored there. You feel nothing?" Prilkop asked quietly.

"I feel many things right now. Relief is one of them." Beloved stared coldly at the falling walls of Clerres Castle. "Satisfaction that what was done to me will never happen to another child."

"And the children that were in there?" Prilkop was outraged.

Beloved shook his head. "This is the vengeance of dragons. No one can stop it." He turned to look at his friend and his voice was terrible. The voice of a prophet. "I spent him, Prilkop! I plunged FitzChivalry into death, a dozen times! No one can know what that cost me. No one! This is my future, my path, chosen by me, as the White Prophet of this time! Are you so blind? He and I, we did it all! We brought the dragons back into the world." He turned away from all of us. Arms crossed on his chest he shouted, "SERVANTS! You made this path! Long before I came into the world, you set us on this rutted route to this future. When you killed and destroyed for your own comfort, when your own wealth and power were all you cared for, this is the path you created! You delayed this reckoning." His voice dropped lower and suddenly he was coldly calm. "But my Catalyst and I have won. The future is here, and the vengeance is greater than even a prophet could predict." His voice, so grand a moment before, cracked and broke as he said, "Bought with his death."

The sea wind blew past him and his pale hair stirred slightly in its passage. I did not have to touch him to see that he had been a nexus. For one instant, all the possible paths that had been shone around him. Then they moved, converging into one bright way before it, too, exploded into a thousand, thousand paths. They dazzled my eyes and I could not look away. But abruptly, he dropped his hands and he was just a slender pale man as he asked on a sob, "Do you think I would undo one moment of my Catalyst's work?"

He knew, as I did, that it all had to end. Beloved was as much the Destroyer as I had ever been. Pull out the deepest root of the weeds. I did not know I was going to do it, but I stepped forward. I took his gloved hand in mine and we stood, staring at Prilkop.

Assassin's Fate, by Robin Hobb (Fitz and the Fool Trilogy #3)

[cassynite]

Do you have any PF:WotR (or Kingmaker) OC's? I'd love to hear about them.

Aaaaah thank you so much for asking! I do have OCs, but I'm not terribly used to talking about them, hopefully this is entertaining! I have two main OCs that I like to write about in WOTR.

The first is Sparrow, who's my main Knight Commander. After she was kidnapped and sold into slavery in Cheliax as a child, Sparrow spent most of her life as a bodyguard and body-double for the young Lady Evaethi of House Arvanxi, a Chelish noble house that had fallen out of favor with the queen. Her main job was to keep Evaethi safe during events deemed low-risk for Evaethi, and to pretend to be Evaethi at events where it was considered too dangerous for Evaethi to show up at all.

A few years before the Fifth Crusade, Evaethi and Sparrow were sent to Mendev as part of a diplomatic envoy. Evaethi, out of her controlling father's immediate sphere of influence for the first time in her life, ran away for a life of freedom and adventure with only a written half-hearted apology for Sparrow to find. Sparrow, now on the line for the missing lady but unable to run away herself due to a tracking spell placed on her, pretended to be Evaethi in Mendev to keep Evaethi's family from finding out she ran away. While doing so she looked find a way to undo the spell on her that allows Evaethi's father to track her wherever she goes.

She was traveling to Kenabres to meet with an artificer who had offered a solution to her problem for a hefty fee. She ends up never meeting him; on the way there she is attacked, and the next thing she knows she's waking up in Kenabres with a wound on her chest :3

Sparrow is a quiet aasimar woman of about twenty-three years old. She has rather muted coloring for an aasimar, with straight brassy hair and pale brown eyes. She doesn't trust easily, is cautious almost the point of decision paralysis at times, and is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Her first instinct is to follow the advice and directives of those around her to avoid conflict, and her first instinct in the face of conflict is to go silent and endure until it's over. She is terrified of the exposure she gains from becoming a public figure and resents the series of events as well as the people that placed her in such a position of power. When she lets her guard down, though, or comes across something or someone she cares for very much, she can get incredibly emotional and passionate. And when she decides to commit to something--as she eventually does the duty of leading the Crusade--she puts her all into it.

Uuuuuh she's a Sword Saint who wields a scimitar, goes on the angel path, and romances Daeran <3

--

The other main OC that I work with is one that I imagined mainly as a companion in wrath. Kallesto Voness, called Vonzi, is introduced as a woman without a past, an oracle with incredible abilities over cold and frostbitten hands, but difficulty communicating and concentrating. She has little memory of who she was before the start of the game and only knows that she came to Kenabres to do "something important." She also ends up staying on the Crusade as the Commander's powers end up helping her mental state, giving her periods of lucidity where she is shown to be a forthright, carefree person with a dry sense of humor.

Her big thing is that her abilities over cold are actually just a byproduct of her real powers, given to her by a rogue Aeon--she can travel back in time, but doing so takes a toll on her body and mind until she loses her "grip" on the time she traveled to and "snaps" back into her present, undoing whatever she had done while existing in the past. The only way she can ever make changes to the past permanent is by continuing to exist in that time, which slowly destroys her mind and body, and dying in the past, which keeps her from snapping back. She traveled back in time to stop her entire family from dying while working for the Crusade and her mental state is due to her powers slowly breaking down her body and her brain as she forces herself to remain in the past. With the KC's help she can save her family, but ultimately the KC will have to choose whether to let her die from the collapsing weight of her own abilities or let go of her family and what happened to them, causing her to reset the timeline and kill them all over again.

She's an Oracle, Wave Mystery, with additional plot powers and a homebrew variation of the burned hands curse to fit with her theme of cold. Most of my thoughts with her involves her past growing up in Sargava and her relationship with her family, which is Very Complicated.

[annakendrick47author]

Literary Adventures

Prompt sent by Anonymous!

Beca had always been one of those closed off girls, didn't have many friends, spent the majority of her teenage years in therapy to undo all the damage from her parents' divorce. But when she joined the Barden Bellas back in her Freshman Year at Barden, she didn't expect it would mean having so many friends she considered her family, much less moving in with two of them to a tiny studio in Brooklyn.

But here she was.

Beca had gotten so different, she felt completely free with her two roommates - she even shared a bed with Chloe - and she wasn't that shy about things like personal space anymore. The size of the apartment made it impossible for her to care about such things.

So one afternoon after work, Beca felt awful and all she wanted to do was lie on her bed and watch some crappy show Chloe seemed to enjoy. Her roommates weren't home when she got there, though, so she changed her clothes and threw herself onto the bed she shared with Chloe, closing her eyes with a sigh. 

After a while she opened her eyes, looking at the redhead's side of the 'room'. She had a few pictures, one behind the other, only Chloe knew what they were because they were covered by each other. But the thought of the redhead wanting to have pictures out to remember people she loved made the brunette smile. Chloe was always sentimental, happy. Just your ray of sunshine.

With a frown, Beca saw a pink notebook with the word JOURNAL on it in yellow. It didn't even have a lock in it, which Beca would expect from a journal. She bit her lower lip, trying to convince herself not to, but she felt her curiosity boiling up and, before she could form a decent argument against herself, she'd grabbed the journal from Chloe's bedside table.

Chloe was such a free spirit, she didn't care about personal space either, having walked into Beca's shower many years ago to get her to join the Bellas before she even knew Beca's name.

Beca, however, was a different story. She respected people's personal space, she didn't invade them unless she had permission to do so. She never would've done something like walking into someone's shower, much less change in front of them like Chloe did so often. So Beca thought Chloe owed her that much.

Ignoring the little part of her that was telling her that it didn't work like that and to just drop the fucking journal, Beca sat up and opened the journal to its first page, seeing it was dated to a few years ago, back when they were already in college, in Beca's Junior Year. 

Dear diary,

I went out with David last night and I'm still thinking about it today!

Sorry, this is my first time writing something like this, I only saw it last week in a magazine article and decided to give it a try.

Well. About David.

Didn't seem much at first, kinda quiet, but he was cute and had muscles. And he paid for dinner, which really pleased me. But damn, when he invited me over to his dorm I was MORE than a little surprised, to say the least!

He tore my clothes off (literally, I had to hide them from the Bellas so no one would tease me, but he ripped my shirt and my underwear) and he had this aggressive side which I immediately liked. God, it felt so good to just give up control for a night!

Beca stopped reading, keeping her index finger on the paragraph she was at. This can't be.. Can it? 

But then again, only Chloe would keep such a thing. 

"Get on your knees, you little slut!" David said to me after he'd taken off my clothes. I was already wet, which made me feel a little embarrassed.

But as I looked up at him, he unzipped his fly and lowered his pants and boxers and boy, I was surprised! Pleasantly surprised, I didn't think his cock could be so BIG! And just the very sight of it made my mouth water and I immediately took it in my mouth, looking up at him again.

Beca shut the journal with a squeak of surprise. She was alone but she felt terribly embarrassed by reading something like that because all she could do was picture Chloe.

Chloe on her knees.

Chloe on her knees sucking some dude's cock.

Beca shut her eyes, trying to shake the images from her head. She couldn't think of one of her best friends like that. She was going to put the journal back and pretend she never saw it.

But… how does one look like that? 

All Beca was going to think now when she saw Chloe was how dirty she could be and the contrast it was to her bubbly personality.

Beca looked down, she was still holding the journal. She shut her eyes again and cursed mentally when she automatically opened the journal to the first page - the one she'd been reading - and her eyes instantly found the part she'd stopped at.

David held me by the head, forcing more and more of his cock in my mouth. Thank goodness for Bella rehearsals and my skilled mouth! I was able to deep throat him, making him throw his head back in ecstasy.

I stopped what I was doing because of how horny I was, I didn't want him to cum in my mouth. He looked at me in confusion but it quickly went away when I got up and laid back on the bed, spreading my legs. His eyes grew wide and his dick twitched in anticipation, which almost made me chuckle but I held it back. I didn't want to ruin the moment.

David took the rest of his pants off and grabbed me by the waist, turning me around with quite some force, which I didn't object to. I looked back over my shoulder to see him rolling on a condom and bit my lips. He grabbed me by my hair, pulling at it and making me gasp.

God, diary, I'm so wet just thinking about it!

Beca shut her eyes again. Suddenly the air around her was very hot despite it being November. She groaned and cursed out loud, trying to push the image out of her mind. She couldn't help imagining the scene that was described in the diary. Though the brunette was denying it to herself, she was picturing herself as the guy, David. 

No matter how hard she tried to push that very thought away, she could also feel a not so welcome heat start to pool between her legs.

You can imagine, diary, that David was not so gentle about thrusting his cock in me for the first time. Not that I'm complaining, the noise that left me can only be described as animalistic. I like being treated like a slut from time to time ;P

David held me partly by my hair and partly by my waist and he thrusted so hard, I was forced to bite my lips to keep from screaming. With the way he was pulling my hair, my head was up and I couldn't rest my weight on my elbows to drown out some of the noises. But that was okay, he was pounding good and hard and that's how I liked it.

David at last let go of my hair, grabbing onto my waist to thrust even harder. I was so close and I could tell he was, too. I moaned, feeling my walls start to close around his dick and I bit my lips to try and suppress the moans.

HOLY SHIT, diary, my orgasm was so intense and powerful, I was afraid I was going to black out for a minute! But after that, I collapsed on David's bed, catching my breath.

After that, there isn't much to tell you, I slept over then I went home the following morning.

Beca bit her lips. She was drenched by now and couldn't keep lying to herself. She put the journal back where it was and shoved her left hand down her pants, gasping at just how wet she was. She shut her eyes as she easily entered herself with two fingers, the other hand was quick to start rubbing her clit. 

The sudden fear that either Chloe or Amy could walk in at any point hit Beca and it made her thrust faster and rub her clit harder. It was electrifying, the fear of being caught made her even more turned on, making her groan out loud.

All Beca could do was close her eyes and picture Chloe, imagining herself fucking Chloe the way she described in her journal and, within minutes, she felt her walls closing around her fingers and she was hit with a powerful orgasm, one almost like the one Chloe wrote about.

Beca collapsed on the bed, feeling exhausted and her eyes opened again. She caught her breath, looking around the room. She knew what she just did left no evidence behind, but she felt extremely guilty now that the journal was closed and her shorts were drenched. She groaned again, covering her face with a pillow before getting up. She was uncomfortable with her wet underwear and shorts, she might as well take a shower.

By the time she was done, she threw herself on the bed again and felt exhaustion take over. She closed her eyes and decided to take a nap, waiting for her roommates to come home.

oO0Oo

It had been a few weeks since Beca found Chloe's diary and looking the redhead in the eye was quite hard after that. Not impossible, but hard. For the first couple of days, Beca knew Chloe noticed something was wrong but the redhead didn't push it. She knew Beca well enough to know the brunette would come to her if something was wrong in her own time.

Since that evening, Beca never saw the diary again and she didn't go looking for it. She wasn't that kind of person, no matter how hard she wanted to read another one of Chloe's entries.

And it was one Friday night, Fat Amy was on a date and Chloe was working at the urgent vet care clinic. Some Fridays she came home very late, like 1 to 2am. But she liked what she was doing and she was happy about it, so she never complained.

Beca came home from work to an empty apartment and, once more, saw the pink diary on Chloe's bedside table. She bit her lips, taking off her jacket and scarf before sitting on the bed. She tried not to look so eager - yes, even to herself - and took off her shoes and pants. She threw on her dark gray shorts and t-shirt she used to sleep in and sat back, grabbing the diary. She opened it and went to the middle, wanting to skip a few pages, and came to an entry dated to the year they graduated from Barden.

Dear diary,

Kinky Chloe is back 😛

Well, by now, you know I sleep with both men and women. So last night, I slept with a woman.

And God, what a woman! 

She was short, brunette, had a bit of an attitude. She reminded me of Beca. That wasn't a bad thing, either.

Beca's eyes widened. She took a few seconds to register what the redhead had written before she went back to reading the diary.

Her name was Darla and if I didn't know Beca so well, I'd say they were sisters. 

Anyway.

I hadn't slept with a girl in so long and as soon as I walked in the club, I knew Darla was going to be taking me home! She had that look that she knew what she was doing. And I liked it.

Cutting a long story short, we went to her place. We were making out on her couch before we moved to the bedroom. Darla asked me if I was okay with using toys and who am I to say no? 

I was quick to strip and get on the bed while Darla looked for something in her closet. When she turned around and saw me, she smirked and God I felt guilty because Beca popped in my mind.

Darla was holding a maroon drawstring bag and she approached the bed, putting the bag on it before removing her clothes.

"You're this wet already and I didn't even touch you yet? That's encouraging," Darla said to me, taking off her bra and boyshorts.

I bit my lip, "I'm just really horny."

Darla smirked again. Damn it! Everytime she did that, I saw Beca!

"There's something I wanna use on you, but I wanna know if you're okay with it," Darla said.

I didn't say anything, she withdrew something from the bag and showed it to me. It was a black plug. I raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

"Of course," I said.

She smirked, getting a small controller that matched the plug and that got me puzzled.

"This is an e-stim plug," she explained. I was still confused, "electric shock toy."

My face must've been fun because she chuckled.

"It's cool if you don't want to," she said.

This girl was making me picture Beca and that was starting to scare me a little, but I wasn't about to stop. Beca's attractive and had we been in the same situation, I wouldn't turn her down. So I threw caution to the wind.

Beca had to blink a few times and rub her eyes to make sure she'd read it right. 

She had.

Dang, the ache between her legs was getting impossible to ignore and she immediately shoved one hand down her shorts to tend to it.

"That's awesome, actually," I said to Darla, who smirked again.

"Awesome," she said, retrieving lube from her bag before setting it on the ground.

Darla set the toys aside before she grabbed me by the waist. 

"Scooch," she said.

I did, so my head was resting on one of her pillows and she was quick to throw my legs further apart, making me gasp in surprise and pleasure. 

God, I'm such a horny girl 😛

When Darla attached her mouth to my clit, I bit my lips and moaned out loud. Looking down at her, I could only see her hair and part of her forehead, which made it easier for me to picture Beca. I moaned again, throwing my head back.

Beca moaned, moving her fingers from her clit to her entrance, teasing herself a few times before entering herself with two fingers, making her gasp. She started thrusting, closing her eyes and picturing the scene.

Knowing Chloe had had sex with someone and she pictured her made Beca feel a little less guilty about reading her diary and, ahem, masturbating as she read her entries.

God, did Darla have a skilled tongue. I wondered if Beca also did. The very thought made me moan again, but Darla withdrew, looking at me with yet another smirk.

"Brace yourself," she said, grabbing her plug and the lube. 

My heart was beating wildly in anticipation as she lubed up the toy and my butthole.

I like anal, diary. Of course you know that by now, but it's not common for me to find other women who like to sleep with women and anal. I'm sorry for the fucked up sentence, I'm wet as fuck as I'm writing this! But you know what I mean.

As Darla eased the butt plug in, I moaned. As it went in, she grabbed the controller in one hand and rubbed two fingers against my wet pussy with the other, smirking again.

I bit my lips to keep from saying Beca's name and gasped when she thrust her fingers in and felt a small shock from the plug.

Damn!

I had never used those kinds of toys before and I didn't know what I was expecting but I was pleasantly surprised! The shock wasn't painful and it made the feeling of her fingers in my pussy even better.

God, I'm so fucking wet now just thinking about it.

Darla kept thrusting and she pressed a button on the controller, making the shock a little more intense and I moaned out loud again. Fuck, this felt SO good.

I was embarrassed by how close I was to orgasming, not that Darla seemed to mind. She started thrusting harder and faster, the shocks were now more frequent, which made me bite my arm to stop from nearly screaming. (I'm vocal, what can I do?)

"Cum for me," Darla said. "I know you want to."

I didn't even need to be told twice, that's the good girl I am. I shut my eyes and my orgasm hit me hard. The shock from the buttplug made me feel so ridiculously amazing, it was by far the most intense and powerful orgasm I've had. It left me absolutely breathless and numb, like there was nothing I could do.

Darla smirked upon seeing me in that state and she must've turned her plug off because I was no longer feeling the shocks.

"Wow," she said.

"That was incredible," I said, out of breath still.

Darla removed the plug, getting up to wash it, I presumed, which gave me time to recover. I mean, I wasn't about to fall asleep and leave Darla all high and dry. Plus, I wanted to get a taste of her myself. Going down on a girl is much better than going down on a guy.

Beca had to put the journal down when she felt herself reaching her orgasm, forcing her to shut her eyes and moan. When she'd come down from her high, she caught her breath before grabbing the journal again.

There was no way she was going to leave the rest of the story for later, that was by far her favorite.

Not that she read that many entries anyway.

When Darla came back, I was already feeling like myself again and I was the one to smirk this time. She climbed onto the bed and we kissed. She was a great kisser, but right now I didn't want to have my mouth on THOSE lips *wink wink* 

I started descending down her body , so eager about reaching my destination and the fact that Darla reminded me so much of Beca got me even more eager to eat her out. 

Fuck, I'm so dirty! 

Now, I do feel kinda bad for it but the moment I took Darla's clit in my mouth, I started wondering if Beca tasted like that, or if she tasted better.

I felt Darla's hands on my head, keeping me closer. I learned a lot over the years how to manage breathing when there's a pussy buried in my nose. This is a skill that comes in handy.

God, I loved licking Darla's folds and picturing Beca. I mean, I was already so deep down that hole, I might as well enjoy it, right? At least with her clit in my mouth I'm not in danger of moaning out Beca's name, am I right? ;) 

With Beca in mind, I took Darla's clit in my mouth and sucked on it before flicking it with my tongue. The way Darla held me so strongly pushed me to keep going, so I used two fingers in my right hand to run through her folds before my fingers swiftly entered her, a bit roughly so and boy, did she like that.

Do you think Beca also likes it rough? Damn, what I would give to find that out… it makes me wet just thinking about it; my mouth on her clit, my fingers in her tight wet cunt as I make her cum over and over until she's shuddering and can't move.

I might be in some sort of trouble…

Beca barely noticed she'd started touching herself again, she only registered when she was already on the brink of another orgasm. She closed her eyes, not bothering to finish reading the entry before she was seeing stars behind her eyelid.

This orgasm hit her as intense as the first one had, which surprised Beca, she usually didn't reach orgasm as intensely the second time. 

Catching her breath, Beca set the journal aside, waiting for her heart to stop beating so erratically and for her breath to become more even. She also waited for her clit and for her pussy to stop throbbing, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasms.

The brunette shut her eyes, wondering if she was wrong for reading her friend's diary. 

Her best friend's diary.

Her best friend who had once pictured her while having sex with another girl.

When she thought about that, part of the guilt started washing away, but then she remembered: Chloe had had merely a fantasy, which she wrote about in her private journal. 

Beca bit her lips, feeling the guilt wash over her all over again. With a sigh, she put the journal back on its place before stripping down and beginning to strip so she could shower.

oO0Oo

Chloe had texted Beca to let her know she'd be home for dinner but she might be home late, while Fat Amy told them she wouldn't be coming home that same night.

Beca was relieved when she came home to find the empty apartment. She enjoyed being in the silence, doing absolutely nothing after the horrible day she just had. The brunette threw herself on the bed on her back, sighing and closing her eyes. 

She bit her lip, her eyes opened and she dropped her head to Chloe's side of the bed and there she was: the journal on her bedside table. Sometimes when this happened, it made Beca wonder: she didn't find the journal out on the bedside table everyday, it was only on sporadic occasions, so did that mean that whenever the journal was out, that Chloe added a new entry? Beca never read the most recent ones, she always went right to the middle.

Sitting up, the brunette threw caution to the wind and picked the journal up, opening up to a random entry once again, already feeling heat pulse through her body, up to her cheeks, neck, chest and right down between her legs.

The entry was dated to the year they moved to New York, a few months after they'd settled in.

Dear diary

I moved to New York a few months back and the move is already behind me so the dry spell is starting to hit me, so I'm going out to find myself a hook up ;) 

Since our apartment is in Brooklyn and close to a pub, I decided to go down and see if the New Yorkers and transplants such as myself are worth my time.

Before Beca could finish reading the entry, she heard keys in the door and it opened before she could put the journal away. Her redheaded roommate had come home earlier than expected, but then when she glanced at the clock in the kitchen, she saw she was a little later. 

Damn, where did time go?

When Chloe turned around, her smile faded quickly and her eyes widened comically. Beca could only imagine what she must've looked like: her eyes wide like a deer in headlights, sitting on the bed, her journal open and one of her thumbs holding the pages open.

It felt like an eternity had gone by and neither girl had moved. Beca felt too self conscious to even put the journal back until Chloe had at least said something, which she half expected to be a scream, anger, for her to become red with embarrassment, for her to yell at Beca for violating her privacy like that. 

When Chloe finally moved, she closed the door, every movement was careful, like she was the one self conscious this time. She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, looking down at her feet, clutching her oversized bag tightly against her shoulder.

"So you found my diary," she said, her voice small.

"I did…" Beca said carefully, watching the redhead's reaction carefully, finally finding it in herself to put away the journal, setting it next to her on the bed.

"I guess by now you know what kind of diary it is?" Chloe asked, looking up briefly to see Beca nod, still watching her carefully. "How much did you read?"

"A few entries…" Beca admitted before sitting closer to the edge of the bed. "I'm so sorry Chlo, I found it weeks ago and I know I shouldn't have but I started reading it and I couldn't stop-,"

"- You read it more than once?" 

"I did and I'm sorry, I know there's no excuse for it, I violated your privacy, if you want to yell at me-," Beca said.

"-Did you like it?"

Beca figured she might look like a fish, opening and closing her mouth, wanting to make sure she heard what she heard. She looked at the redhead before slightly tilting her head to the side in confusion.

"Did you like it?" Chloe repeated the question, seemingly reading the brunette's question.

"I mean.. I.. yeah…" Beca said, wincing, expecting Chloe to become angry.

The redhead, instead, smirked, a small spark appearing in her bright blue eyes, something that Beca had only seen once in her life. It was sort of a predatory look, the same one she had when she burst into her shower many years ago.

"Do you want your own entry?" she asked.

Beca had to blink. She looked at the redhead even more confused than she had been. At first, she thought the redhead was kidding or that she misheard her friend, but when the smirk on her face and her predatory look didn't change, she knew she had heard it right.

"M-My own… My own entry?" she repeated as if to make sure.

Chloe only nodded with her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"I mean…" Beca said. She couldn't say the idea didn't entice her, if the growing throbbing between her legs was anything to go by. "Yeah."

Chloe put her bag down by the door, her smirk only growing bigger. She stepped closer to the bed, making Beca gulp, somehow fearing what might come out of this, but the fear came with an immense need to find out what the redhead would be like in bed.

"Anything in particular you had in mind?" Chloe asked. "Because I had a few things I pictured myself doing to you."

"You did?" Beca asked, finding her voice hoarse.

"Oh yeah," Chloe said, straddling Beca's lap, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl's neck.

"Like what?" Beca couldn't help but ask and bite her lower lip.

"Like what your delicious cunt tastes like," Chloe trailed, running her index finger over the waistband of the brunette's pants, placing a soft kiss against the brunette's neck, "what those talented fingers of yours would feel like pounding me until I'm begging you to stop."

Beca visibly shuddered. Truth be told, she'd never been with another girl before, she never thought she'd be attracted to girls, despite knowing she'd always find her best friend attractive. Well, not just attractive but hot. And reading the entries on her diary, picturing her doing those sorts of things with other people did something to her.

Chloe licked and nibbled on Beca's neck, her hands went under her shirt, finding her bra line and running her fingers over that, feeling the brunette's breath against her ear.

"I also wanted to know what you would look like all tied up and blindfolded, your legs spread wide as I fuck you," Chloe said, earning herself a squirm, making her smirk again. "Any of those things interest you?"

Beca only nodded, knowing the redhead could feel her. Instead of an answer, Beca felt herself being pushed back against the bed. Chloe stood up and undid the buttons on the younger girl's pants, swiftly pulling them down her legs, letting them fall on the foot of the bed. She ran her hands up her legs, biting her lower lip as she did, a hungry look on her face as she took in the sight before her. She then ran her hands up the brunette's thighs as she climbed to hover over her.

"I can already smell you, y'know?" Chloe said, making Beca bite her lip. 

Chloe then took the girl's shirt off, leaving her in her push up bra and panties. She hummed approvingly as she set eyes on the girl's red lace bra and, surprisingly, red lace boyshorts.

"Did someone plan this?" Chloe said with a teasing tone.

"No! I just… I just put this on, I like matching underwear sometimes," Beca said.

"I'll pretend I'll believe you," Chloe said and Beca couldn't find any strength in herself to argue back. 

The redhead sat back and made a show of taking her blouse off, throwing it beside her before she got up to take her pants off. Unlike Beca, she wasn't wearing matching underwear. In fact, she wasn't wearing any sexy lingerie, just a plain baby pink bra and blue panties. But the confidence with which she displayed herself made Beca see her as this incredibly sexy woman, which, of course, she was.

Climbing back on top of Beca, the brunette found herself at the mercy of the redhead and she knew she absolutely loved it. She wasn't scared of anything she was going to do, in fact, she was very much looking forward to it.

"You are so hot, Becs," Chloe said. 

Beca squirmed in place, making the redhead chuckle. She sat on her thighs and moved her bra up to reveal her breasts without taking the garment off. She lowered herself and took her right nipple in her mouth. 

Beca gasped and arched her back, her hands instantly found Chloe's head, holding her firmly in place. She let out a moan when she felt the redhead's tongue against her nipple before she took the hardened nub between her lips and sucked hard on it, using her other hand to pinch her other nipple kinda hard, making Beca wince, but the pain was quickly turned to pleasure.

"Shit, Chlo," Beca moaned.

The redhead pulled apart with an audible pop, giving the brunette a wink, sitting up again. She eyed the brunette and sighed.

"Wow," she said. "Sit up, Becs, I'm dying to see you naked."

Beca hummed, closing her eyes and biting her lip before sitting up. She unclasped her bra and let Chloe discard it, letting it join the girl's pants on the floor. She then ran her fingers over the girl's folds over her boyshorts and smirked.

"You're so wet, Jesus," Chloe said.

Beca bit her lips.

Chloe then grabbed Beca's boyshorts by the waistband and slid them down her legs, also discarding it near the rest of the girl's clothes. She set eyes on the naked girl, her breath already uneven, her chest heaving and her eyes dark with arousal and desire.

"I cannot believe you shave everything," Chloe said, grabbing the girl's legs and pushing them apart. She looked at the girl beneath her and she had a look of… was it embarrassment? There was a blush creeping up her cheeks and she let out a hoarse chuckle, covering her face with her hands. Chloe merely smirked, prying her legs even wider apart with a hungry look, "I mean… I can see every little bit of you."

"Chloe," Beca whined a bit.

Instead of answering, Chloe ran her fingers up and down Beca's soaked folds, humming upon feeling the brunette's smooth bare skin beneath her fingers. When she removed her fingers, she looked at them glistening, humming.

"Chlo," Beca said with a soft whine. "Please?"

Without warning, Chloe all but plunged her fingers inside the brunette, causing her to gasp loudly before moaning, throwing her head back.

"Fuck," Beca said.

"Such a potty mouth," Chloe said, lazily pumping her fingers. "God, you're so tight, I've dreamed about fucking this pussy for so long."

Beca bit her lips and hummed, grasping at the redhead's forearm tightly, digging her nails into her skin.

"I can see your clit there begging for attention," Chloe commented, sinking a third finger into Beca's wet center, angling her hand so she could rub her thumb against the hard nub, making Beca moan loudly through her lips. "Moan for me, Becs, I wanna hear it."

Beca shook her head, biting her lips in defiance.

"You said I have," she closed her eyes and moaned, "a potty mouth."

Chloe frowned, pumping her fingers harder and faster against her, leaning forward and grabbing her by the chin with her other hand, holding her firmly.

"I want to hear it," she said. She slid her hand down the girl's neck, squeezing it tightly but making sure Beca still had room to breathe.

"Fuck," Beca said. "Fuck me, Chlo, fuck me good and hard."

Chloe smirked in approval and removed her hand from the girl's neck, her hand pounding the girl hard, slamming her fist against her, making Beca grab her forearm tighter, her nails leaving marks against her skin.

"That's it," she said. "You like it good and hard, huh?"

Beca nodded, her eyes closed and her bottom lip between her teeth. She felt tears forming in the corner of her eyes and she moaned again, feeling slightly embarrassed by that fact.

"Look at that," Chloe said. "I fuck you so good you're crying."

"Shit," Beca muttered. "That's so good, Chlo."

Chloe started pounding even harder, curving her fingers and easily finding the girl's sensitive spot and hitting it every other thrust, making her buck her hips in an obscene way.

"Are you going to cum for me?" Chloe asked. 

Beca nodded, moaning out again, still thrusting her hips up to meet the girl's hands.

"Then cum for me," Chloe said. 

As if her body had a deep desire to obey Chloe's command, Beca felt herself come crashing over the edge in ecstasy. She arched her back, her head moving to the side as she moaned, seeing stars behind her eyelids. 

When Beca finally came down from her high, she was breathing hard, trying to make sure she actually lived what she thought she did. Was she just fucked by her friend? Did her best friend just make her cum?

"Spread your legs," Chloe demanded after Beca had recovered from her orgasm.

Beca spread her legs again, blushing at the wet spot she left on the mattress, but Chloe didn't seem to care. She delivered a slap to the inside of the girl's thigh, close to her spread pussy, which made her wince and yelp in surprise.

"That's for reading my diary, you insatiable slut," Chloe said, slapping her other thigh. 

"I'm sorry," though Beca didn't sound sorry at all.

"Did you touch yourself when you read it?" Chloe asked, raising her eyebrows, making Beca know she meant business.

Beca bit her lips in shame, though that only lasted so long before she was slapped again on her thigh.

"I asked you a question," Chloe said.

"I did," Beca said and yelped when she received a slap directly across her pussy lips, making her thrust her hips up. The sting brought pain but it made her wet, it surprised her how much she was enjoying the sensation.

Chloe delivered another two slaps against the girl's inner thighs before slapping her pussy lips again, making the girl moan. She smirked.

"You're such a dirty girl," she said.

"I want-," Beca bit her lips as she received another slap on her pussy lips. 

"-Dirty girl, with that bald pussy, so exposed," Chloe said. "So wet."

The slaps were starting to sound wet from Beca's arousal, making the brunette squirm and moan.

"I want to fuck you," Beca said. "Please."

"I'm not finished with you," Chloe said.

Beca moaned, arching her back.

"Get on your stomach and tuck your knees beneath you," Chloe said.

It took Beca a while to figure out what the redhead meant but when she did, she got into the position, waiting eagerly.

"Wow," Chloe said, running her fingers through the girl's folds. "Look at that, your asshole is bald, too."

Beca found herself blushing. Despite choosing to wax those areas completely, she felt self conscious - and incredibly aroused - upon hearing her partner point them out. It made her feel more exposed. And more aroused.

"Look at yourself, all spread open for me," Chloe said with a sigh. 

Beca gasped when she felt two of Chloe's fingers entering her cunt. She closed her eyes and bit her lip but couldn't hold in the moan deep in her throat. That new position felt so good, even better than the other one. She rested her head on her forearms, moaning.

"Fuck Chlo, that feels so good," she said.

"I know," Chloe said with a chuckle. 

"Please-," Beca said but bit her lips, not being able to finish her sentence. 

"What do you want, baby?" Chloe asked.

Beca moaned and chuckled despite herself. 

"I want you to… please," Beca said. "Please… my… my ass."

Chloe was surprised. She moaned herself, never having imagined the brunette to be one to enjoy a finger up her ass. She gathered some of Beca's juices with two of her fingers from her left hand, coaxing them with her wetness before she moved her fingers to her asshole, applying some pressure. Like she predicted, she was met with resistance but upon hearing the girl moan and thrust her hips back to meet her fingers, she was able to push through, easing the fingers in the girl's cunt so she could enter her asshole. Once she felt the girl start bucking her hips, she began moving both hands in perfect rhythm with each other. 

The noises Beca made were something Chloe never thought she would hear. They were loud, coming from deep within her chest. Up until now, she never thought she would enjoy another noise coming from Beca that wasn't her singing. 

"Oh… Fuck, Chlo, that's so good," she said, biting her lip, sucking in a breath. "Fuck me, I'll cum so hard for you."

Chloe obeyed, enjoying this way too much, thrusting her fingers hard against her holes. She curved the fingers in her cunt, finding the girl's sensitive spot again, earning herself an even louder noise from the girl, who slammed a fist against the mattress.

"Chlo!" 

Feeling the girl's walls start to close around her fingers, Chloe curved her fingers and hit the spot over and over, until Beca was moaning out her name, her hips moving erratically. When the brunette finally came down from her high, she collapsed against the bed on the position she was in. Chloe eased her fingers out, wiping them on the mattress for good measure while she admired the girl.

"Fuck, that was so good," Beca said. "But I wanna do you now."

Chloe raised her eyebrows in amusement. She hadn't expected Beca to sound so sure, considering the way she started the night. 

The girl quickly turned and sat up, grabbing Choe's face and bringing their lips together in a heated, passionate kiss. She was quick to run her tongue over the redhead's lips and she immediately opened her mouth to allow the younger girl to explore. She ran her tongue over Chloe's in a dominating kiss that made Chloe's knees weak and arousal pulse through her body.

Beca flipped their positions and pushed Chloe so the girl was lying on her back. Now she was the one to shoot Chloe a predatory look that made the redhead visibly gulp, gripping the covers tightly beneath her fingers.

Beca removed the girl's bra and panties with no hesitation, humming when she laid her eyes on the redhead's body.

"You just love flaunting that gorgeous body around," Beca said, running circles around the redhead's nipples, "and you leave your sex diary out for anyone to see, how can you expect me not to read it?"

Chloe bit her lips when Beca grabbed her legs and threw them spread, pushing them back.

"You've got no one to blame but yourself," Beca said. "After all, you've left me so eager to taste that pussy."

"I'm not gonna say no to that," Chloe said.

Beca threw her a smirk before lowering herself. Chloe expected to feel her hot tongue against her pussy but instead she felt the brunette's nose against her clit and saw her take in a breath with closed eyes.

"So wet," Beca said before taking a long lick over her folds, going all the way up to her clit. "So good."

Chloe moaned. The brunette licked her again, paying special attention to the girl's clit, flicking it with her tongue before she began licking her folds again. The rhythm was erratic but Chloe absolutely loved it. Her hands went to the girl's hair, getting tangled between her chocolate locks.

Beca hummed against the older girl's cunt, not minding at all that she was being held tighter against her. She wrapped her lips around the girl's clit, sucking it hard, using her tongue to flick it while her middle and ring finger sunk into the girl's cunt.

Chloe gasped audibly, amazed at the girl's ability to multitask, her rhythm on her clit and inside her cunt never faltered, in fact, her tongue and fingers moved together, bringing Chloe closer to orgasm. 

"Fuck… Beca!" Chloe moaned. "Don't stop, baby! Don't stop!"

Beca momentarily removed her tongue from the girl's clit to look up at her, locking eye contact.

"Cum for me, Chlo," she said before reattaching her lips to her clit.

Chloe arched her back, her body rocking in delicious waves in ecstasy. She enjoyed one of her most intense orgasms to date, absolutely marveled by the way the girl kept her movements, helping Chloe ride out her high until the redhead collapsed on the bed, panting, trying to regain her breath.

"Fuck," Chloe said. 

"I'll totally want another entry," Beca said. "Just to watch you cum again like that against my mouth."

Chloe chuckled despite her erratic breath, opening her eyes to look up at the brunette with a moan. Her lips were swollen and her chin was wet with her arousal.

"How about you get your own diary?" Chloe said, biting her lips. 

Beca tilted her head in confusion.

"I mean," Chloe said, sitting up, bringing her lips to give Beca a kiss, "how about we start a story of our own? Just the two of us?"

"You mean… like girlfriends?" Beca asked.

"Exactly," 

"I like that very much," Beca said with a smile. Chloe brought their lips together again.