#all hail the algorithm

[theterribletenno]

Aight idk what's going on but The Algorithm has decided that Destiny 2 is finally over so it's a good time to stop playing and start memorizing random lore and trivia. Any D2 players want to weigh in on this?

[gennyrthewriter]

After TWO YEARS, the sequel to The Backwater is finally out!

Check out These Other Coasts on Amazon!

(Or, as always, hit me up for a PDF. It's MY book I'll distribute it how I WANT!)

If you like colonial-era inspired low-ish fantasy with political intrigue, moral ambiguity, and a whole cast of queer characters, give it a chance!

[cleolinda]

“Progressive Jazz Metal Arrangement of ‘Rondo Alla Turca’ For Piano and Drums” is the title. A couple minutes in I was like, who is this guy, because he fucking shreds on this piano. And then also, Nyango Star.

[a11sunday]

yall. i think— I FOUND ISELDA’S EXACT PHYSIQUE

[ceoofyearning]

half algorithm, half deity - (Mafia AU) Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader (Rhysand’s Sibling)

Summary: You try to date other people, but in truth you’ve only ever wanted Eris Vanserra.

Tags/Warnings:

Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI), SMUT with plot, Angst, Modern Mafia AU, Established FWB, Mentions of past Tamlin x Reader (brief), Mentions canon typical violence, Mentions of minor character death (Rhysand’s mom and other sister)

Alcohol, Oral (M & F receiving), Rough but make it tender & loving too, Hair pulling, P in V, Overstim if you squint (please lmkif i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.5k

Links: Masterlist | My Art

Despite your father’s best efforts, you didn’t inherit your family’s propensity for violence. 

You drink your wine and remind yourself of that fact for the umpteenth time tonight. But if this male gives you another backhanded compliment or, Mother forbid, another unsolicited criticism, you might reconsider that fact. Rhys had made sure you knew how to gut a man in just three moves and you remember each precise stroke as effortlessly as a breath.

To dissuade yourself from such thoughts, you take another generous gulp of wine - your only saving grace as you listen to him drone on and on about his most recent business acquisition. For the past forty-five minutes, the man has managed to recount his entire genealogy, his academic history and recited what felt like an itemized list of all his professional accomplishments. This is supposed to be a date, you’re tempted to remind him, not a chance to whip out his dick and measure it. 

He has yet to ask you anything about yourself, of course, entirely preoccupied with stroking his damn ego. You’ve stopped trying after the fifth cycle of appropriately timed ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, seeing he doesn’t seem to need you to continue his tirade. Your pointed glares and longing glances at your wristwatch remain unnoticed too. The number of drinks you’ve had seems to be an entirely different story, however. 

"You know, you should really slow down," he remarks, his sardonic smirk exposing a set of eerily straight white teeth.

“And why is that, exactly?” You ask before taking another long sip of wine with deliberate slowness. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, his smile little more than a collection of clenched teeth. 

“You wouldn’t want to be too drunk for later.” He makes a show of raking his beady eyes over your form. The predatory glint in his eye makes your skin crawl and your hackles raise in equal measure. 

“Bold of you to assume there would be a later,” you drawl, your eyes narrowing into slits, nostrils flaring in silent outrage. 

“Oh, there will,” he declares with an impressive amount of unearned confidence. “How else are you going to pay me back for this meal, sweetheart?” He says it as though it’s a given, like your body is something he’s owed for this paltry display. Fuck, if you don’t leave now, you’re sure you’ll end this night behind bars, probably charged with manslaughter. Rhys would get you out of it, of course, but he’d be incredibly smug about it and you couldn’t have that. 

The man makes another show of tracing his slimy gaze over your body, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “I must say, I wasn’t a big fan of the dress - too revealing to be classy, in my opinion - but I suppose it wouldn’t matter when it’s on the floor of my penthouse.”

You admit that you don’t try very hard to hold back a gag. Without even dignifying him with a response, you hail the waiter and gesture for the bill in the hopes that the expression on your face is enough to convey the urgency you feel. To her credit, it only takes her a minute to rush to the table in all black and white salvation, the bill in hand. 

With haste, you pull out the cash from your wallet and slam it down the table. It should be enough to cover everything, even the tip. You give the man one last scathing glare before you rise from the table. A fish out of water - that’s what he looks like, wide-eyed with his mouth opening and closing, probably on the cusp of claiming to everyone in the room that you’re crazy, that you’re overreacting.

Before he can do any of that you pivot sharply towards the exit, ignoring the man’s indignant sputtering. Your feet protest beneath you, your new stilettos digging painfully into your skin with every step. Only when you’re five blocks away from the restaurant do you let yourself slow to a stop. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, undoubtedly ruining the makeup you spent such a long time putting on earlier that night. 

Suddenly, the dress you felt so confident in now feels suffocating. The fabric clings to your skin fat too tightly, constricting your every movement. The silken garment you had thought to fit you like a glove now surrounded you like a cage. You tug at the neckline, trying to find some relief, but the discomfort only intensifies.

Frustration bubbles in your gut as you collapse onto the nearest bench to catch your breath. You feel so stupid. Although you don’t want to admit it, you’ve been looking forward to a nice night out after an entire week of slogging through work. Instead, you ended up sacrificing what little free time you have to satisfy some asshole’s vanity. 

The city continues in indifferent chaos around you. The fluorescent streetlights overhead and the headlights of passing cars slice through the night. People bustle past, absorbed in their own lives, oblivious to your existence. At this moment, you’ve never felt more alone. 

Seeing Feyre and Rhys fall in love has been an eye-opening experience. You’ve watched them gradually find happiness in each other, watched them build a life together. There’s also Nes and Cass, Viv and Kal - all so utterly content, so in painfully love. It is a relief to know that love is possible despite the kind of lives you live. After what happened - your gun slotted in between those bright forest eyes, finger frozen at the trigger; the stumbling string of sorries, of depthless regrets; white marble tiles stained crimson by blood - happiness hadn’t seemed like a possibility. All you’ve had since then are inconsequential flings and ill-conceived dalliances, nothing that could lead to anything more.

It’s difficult to admit that you want something more.

But since you’ve started seeing other people, it’s only been a series of disappointments one after the other. What made basic empathy and human decency such a scarce resource these days? In all honesty, you’re starting to lose hope, starting to think that maybe that love just isn’t in the cards for you. 

You cared for Tamlin in your own foolish, fumbling way. He was solid ground, he was stubborn certainty. He clung to control so tightly that his nails left angry red indents on his palm. In many ways, you were his antithesis, his unmaking. He tried to be good but the both of you hadn’t been good for each other. Perhaps the two of you had been too lonely, too stubborn, too fucking young to realize not all forms of love were healthy.

Eris Vanserra is an entirely different matter. He came to you as a flicker of flame in the darkest night. He was a breath of fresh air - a lungful of ember and possibility - setting you alight from the inside out. More importantly, Eris understands you the same way one side of a coin knows the other. That, however, didn’t mean you could be together. 

Perhaps in some ways, knowing made the longing worse.

Your hand clenches around air, around the vestige of a memory you can’t seem to let go of. Your fingers itch to dial the same set of numbers you’ve deleted from your phone time and time again. You remember it anyway, though. Your mind has faithfully cataloged every memory of him - silky red hair brushing against your cheek, amber eyes crinkling in mischievous delight, arms wrapping around your body, making you feel safe for the first time in your life. 

Your body moves before your better judgment can catch up. Before you know it, the familiar set of numbers is staring accusingly at you from your phone screen. Droning rings of an outgoing call pierce the silence. On the third one, Eris picks up. 

“Firefly.” That word. You can hear the amusement in his tone. You refuse to acknowledge the hint of relief you sense there too, the note of near manic joy. It’s been months since you’ve last seen each other, since you told him that you needed something more - more than stolen moments, more than simply falling in and out of each other's beds only to be nothing but mere strangers come morning. 

You say nothing, trapping unsaid words behind teeth clenched so tightly it’s a wonder you don’t break your jaw. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Eris laughs, smooth, sensual, and utterly addicting. The sound sends a shiver down your spine. You fight the sudden urge to feel his lips shape the words with your own, to feel the vibrations of his laughter with the tips of your fingers. 

“Tell me where you are,” he tries again. You can hear him lean back on his office chair, undoubtedly working late yet again. To anyone else, he would’ve sounded perfectly calm. 

“I don’t know,” you sniff, fighting back the traitorous tears. “I’m near the Moonstone Palace.” It’s the overpriced restaurant you had been in earlier, the reason you’re going to have to struggle with rent this month. You could always ask Rhys, but you’ve long since divorced yourself from your family’s wealth.

Eris exhales, and you hear a suspicious amount of rummaging in the background. “Could you send your location to me?” He suggests, and you can make out the faint sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Okay.” It comes out as a resigned sigh. 

Before he hangs up, he makes sure, “Are you safe?”

“I am.” 

“Give me fifteen minutes.” 

Eris arrives in ten.

You’re slumped on the bench, clutching your purse to your chest as the frigid night air rushes past you. In your haste, you completely forgot to retrieve your coat before rushing out of the restaurant. But then, the low growl of an engine captures your attention. You turn to find a sleek black Benz gliding into view before coming to a halt right in front of you. 

The window rolls down to reveal Eris’s smug face, familiar and foreign all at once. His bright fiery locks, longer now, have been tamed into a braid behind his back. Loose strands frame his sharp features, highlighting the severity of his beauty. He looks paler than usual, freckles now barely visible across his cheeks. 

Eris grins, voice laced with far too much delight. “Didn’t I tell you, Love? You wouldn’t be able to stay away.” 

Your nostrils flare involuntarily, equal parts irritation and wry amusement warring in you. When he notices the redness of your eyes, however, his smile banks. The only reason you can tell he’s worried is because you’ve spent an inordinate amount of time learning his tells, mapping the meaning behind the slivers of genuine emotion that sometimes slip through his carefully constructed mask. You’ve got it down to a science, interpreting him the same way astronomers find reason in the depths of the cosmos.

Without another sly remark, he steps out of the car and slips out of his coat as he strides toward you. When he moves to wrap the garment around your body, you try to protest. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re freezing,” he insists before dropping the surprisingly heavy coat over your shoulders. The effect is immediate. Eris is a walking furnace most days and traces of his heat still linger on the cloth, thawing the ice that has gathered beneath your skin.

You groan in relief despite yourself, finally acquiescing and pulling his coat tighter around you. Eris smirks, and you shoot him a perfunctory glare in response. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t comment on the way you bury your face in the upturned lapels, inhaling a lungful of his cinnamon and woodsmoke scent.

“Fun night?” He asks once you’ve plopped down the passenger seat. 

“Obviously,” you reply, words thick with sarcasm. “I had the time of my life, really. Nothing like a date with another entitled, self-involved trust fund asswipe to liven up my Saturday night.” Eris looks entirely too pleased with this information. 

He shrugs. “Your dates can’t compare?” He shoots you a knowing look. You resent the implication, but can’t entirely deny it either. 

The truth of the matter is that you’ve never truly gotten over Eris. As brief as your explosive affairs may have been, the male has found a way to burrow beneath skin, to etch himself onto the surface of your mind. There is no washing him off you. In these last few months, all you’ve done is find fragments of him in faceless men. 

“Can’t compare to your arrogance, maybe,” you retort a beat too late.

 

“Oh Firefly, you know you love it,” the smug bastard shoots back smoothly. 

“You think you know me so well,” you grumble, crossing your arms defensively.

“Well enough.” Eris’s smile widens, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Well enough to know those men you’ve found aren’t worth your time.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he is at least vaguely aware of your failed attempts at dating. Embarrassment coils in your gut, betrayed only by the steadily rising flush of your cheeks. “Maybe one day I’ll find someone who doesn’t make me want to scream.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, a hint of mischief lingering in his eyes. “But where’s the fun in that?” He leans toward you, face hovering over yours. The intensity of his gaze feels dangerous, almost like a threat, a promise that he could easily tear down all your walls if he pleased. Memories flash - of him devouring your mouth with his own, of bare bodies intertwined on soiled sheets, of him greedily drinking in each moan from your mouth as you clench tightly around his length - playing on torturous repeat in your mind. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Your breaths come short, voice trembling. Eris’s smile widens, canines glinting beneath the warm light - a well-honed predator to and through. 

Eris chuckles. “And yet, here you are.”

You sincerely can’t tell whether you want to clock him in the jaw or pull him down for a kiss. But then, in a rare show of mercy, Eris withdraws. He simply pulls your seatbelt down and fastens it beside you before turning back to the wheel. You release a breath you don’t realize you are holding. 

The engine roars beneath you and Eris begins to maneuver the car back onto the highway. You slump further down in your seat, only to have several objects dig into your ribs. You jolt up, patting down his coat for the offending items. In your search, you produce a stiletto hidden in the inner lining and a Glock 19 in one pocket. 

“Really?” You quirk your brow at him as you drop another knife on the car floor.

Amber eyes dart towards you for the briefest second, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, before turning his gaze back to the road. You don’t doubt Eris has more hidden on his person, maybe even in this car. 

“Can’t be too careful,” he replies with a shrug, his hand flexing on the wheel. You follow the movement with rapt attention, transfixed by the rhythmic contractions of the muscles beneath, by the faint blue of the veins that run in webs up his forearm. 

Eris, the bastard, catches your preoccupation with his body. Of course, he does. 

His smirk widens into a full grin, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Enjoying the view?"

You snap your gaze back to his face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Keep your eyes on the road," you remind him, stalling, trying to regain your composure. “Perhaps you should put up a show for me, and I’ll decide then.” 

Eris chuckles at the challenge, a deep, resonant sound that never fails to send shivers down your spine. 

The rest of the drive to your apartment is spent in comfortable silence, Eris content to leave you in your corner, brooding and bundled up in his coat. You lean your head on the window, letting your thoughts drift by at the same pace the scenery slips away from view. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until you feel Eris tucking strands of your hair behind your ear.

“We’re here.” 

Your eyes flutter open, reality reluctantly coalescing into focus in front of you. There's an amused expression on the redhead's face as he watches you wake. A part of you is tempted to curl back into a ball, content to pretend at peace just a little longer. Eris has no such qualms, however. He undoes your seatbelt and tugs you out of the vehicle. His arms remain loosely wrapped around your waist, though, even as he closes the door to the passenger seat.

“I should go.” He is so close his hot breath brushes against your cheek, the scent of mint permeating the air between you. 

“You should.” 

But none of you move to part. Your hands remain tightly fisted on his otherwise pristine shirt, while his arms create a cage around you, his body pressing you against the cool metal of the car. 

“Why did you call?” Eris asks instead. His cheek rests on your temple, his nose buried in your hair like he can’t quite help but gravitate towards you. Your grip on him tightens the same way the sun pulls celestial bodies into its orbit, completely, inevitably.  

“You know why.” 

“Tell me anyway.” He pulls back just enough to look straight into your eyes, molten amber burning into you. 

“I want you.” You confess. I’ve only ever wanted you, your mind further supplies. His gaze is searching, as if scouring for all the ways he can turn over your words in his head if the new angles would reveal some hidden meaning.

“I want to forget.” You continue, tugging him down by the collar. He follows willingly and rests his forehead on yours. Lips hover over your own, breaths mingling in the scant space between you. His mask turns translucent. Joy, pain, and regret flash in quick succession across his face before you can even parse their meaning.

“As do I, Love.” 

The moment you step into your apartment, all traces of tenderness dissipate. 

Eris has you trapped between the wall and the firm line of his lithe body. He easily towers over you. With one thigh wrapped around his slim waist, only his firm grip on your hips and his thigh slotted between your parted legs keep you upright. Your remaining leg stands precariously on the tips of your toes, teetering dangerously in whichever current Eris pulls you in.

His mouth is latched onto your neck, leaving blooms of red in his wake. You should tell him to stop, tell him not to leave any visible marks. But all words and reason are lost to you when his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin in time with a particularly well-timed roll of his hips. 

“Eris!” You keen, clawing at his back in a vain attempt to find purchase. But there is no safe harbor to be found, not here. Eris is a force of nature. He is the living embodiment of wildfire, burning brightly, holding you so firmly, that it’s as though he intends to fuse your bodies together.

“What is it, Firefly?” He whispers the words against your ear, right before he catches your lobe in between his teeth. You can feel his lips curl against your skin. “What does my pretty girl want?”

“You.” It comes out as a demand, a desperate plea. 

“Use your words, love.” His movements settle into a languid pace, excruciatingly slow, pulling a whine from your throat. His single hand encompasses your entire jaw. Pads of his fingers press against the joint, his grip firm but gentle. Eris turns your face so you’re looking straight into his burning eyes. “Let’s try again, shall we? Tell me, how do you want me?” 

“I need your cock in my mouth,” you whisper your want against his lips, confessions you’d never be able to make in the light of day. Amber eyes roll back at the image your words evoke. Eris forces his eyelids shut as you continue to speak. “Then, I want to feel you inside me, fuck me into the mattress, until your name is the only word in my mind, until I can feel you for days after.” 

“Firefly.” With his face in the crook of your neck, he groans like you’re torturing him. You allow him a few short moments to gather himself - heavy heated breaths blown onto your nape - before tugging him by the hair insistently. His braid comes loose and a river of red falls in delicate curls over his freckled shoulders. Eris is an entirely different person when his head snaps up to meet your gaze.

“On your knees.” 

Electricity crackles through the air between you at the sheer command in his voice. Obediently, you sink to his feet, gazing up at him with wide hungry eyes. To his credit, Eris’s expression remains impassive, his ardor betrayed only by the tension in his jaw and the glint in his eyes. With his thumb, he presses down on your bottom lip. 

“Suck.” 

Your mouth parts to welcome him, until you feel the cool press of his signet against your lips, a welcome contrast. You swirl your tongue around the digit, bobbing your head for a few beats. Eris clenches his jaw, the pad of his thumb lightly digging onto your tongue as he pulls it out. You release it with a pop of your lips.

“Good.” 

Eris tilts his head, a silent permission to continue. While you gradually slip off his belt and undo the zip of his trousers, Eris gathers your hair in his fist. With a single push, his impressive length is revealed to you, long and heavy. Anticipation sparks in your chest, eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Go on then.” 

So you do. You flatten your tongue against the base of his cock, licking a stripe to the tip. There, you take the head into the wet heat of your mouth and suck. Eris makes an involuntary thrust, despite the tight leash he normally keeps around himself.

“Fuckin’ Hel,” he groans, grip now deliciously digging into your scalp. You moan your appreciation against him, and the male shudders in response. For a few moments, you simply alternate between lazily bobbing your head and swirling your tongue against him as best you can. Your hand twists in tandem to accommodate the remaining length of him. 

“You’re a damned tease,” he accuses. “A demon.”

With wide eyes, you blink innocently up at him from beneath your lashes. Eris scoffs, rolling his eyes, but allows the torturous cycle to continue. When you sense his movements grow more erratic, his muscles tensing beneath your palms, you slow your movements just in time to deny him his release. At the third time of doing this, Eris looks close to breaking.

“Enough.” He growls, the command reverberating through the silent room, through every fiber of your being. 

You still immediately, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you. He adjusts his grip on your hair, winding the strands around his knuckles and tugging lightly as if to test his grip. You groan at the bite of pain, your arousal dripping from you.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty face now, Firefly.” He whispers with such disorienting tenderness. “Tap my thigh twice if it becomes too much, understand?” 

“Yes.” Your too-eager reply draws a lopsided smile from Eris’s otherwise stoic demeanor. “Please,” you add as an afterthought as you brace your hands against his thighs.

Eris tilts his head once more, and you take that as your signal to proceed. Your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing out, tongue curved around his length. His thrusts begin tentatively, but it doesn’t take long for him to find his rhythm. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat with each thrust, his firm grip on your hair directing each movement. You will yourself to relax, angling yourself to take him better, deeper. For a while, all your thoughts evaporate, your entire focus simply on breathing through your nose and watching the look of ecstasy unfold across his face. 

“You feel amazing around me.” Eris pants as he pushes impossibly deeper. You struggle to take him, throat spasming around him. “My good girl,” he coos, his thrusts stuttering. You groan against him when one stroke allows him to bottom out completely. Nose nuzzling the thin line of red on his lower stomach, tears bloom in your eyes. You look up, only to find him already gazing at you. His amber eyes were wide with want, transfixed at the sight of you taking him completely. 

“I’m about to come, Love. You’ll be a good girl and take it, won’t you?” A drawn out mhm is all the permission he needs. “Every. Last. Drop.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust. 

Then, on his final advance, Eris holds you there by the head until the very last moment, until the fire in your veins has spread into each lobe of your lungs. When you swallow around him, he chokes, rolling his hips into your mouth. Your fingers curl into claws against his thighs but you don’t tap out. He moves once, twice, then he’s gone. Eris allows you a bit of reprieve by retreating into your mouth as his length pulses the rest of his release onto your tongue. 

“Fuck.” He rasps. Then, with a single tug, he pulls you off of him and onto your two wobbly legs. Eris only gives you a few seconds to catch your breath before his mouth crashes against yours for a kiss. He groans as he tastes himself on your tongue. 

“So perfect for me, made to take me.” His hands roam your body as though eager to discover every square inch of exposed skin. This is Eris in his rawest form, you realize, all control turned into liquid flame in his hands. He practically tears your dress from your body, pushing down the silk until it pools on the floor. 

“Yesss,” you hiss, clawing at his shirt and shoving it off his broad shoulders. “Only you.” Heavy thunks follow soon after - the gun holstered at his side, the knife strapped to his thigh.

“I fucking love you.” He growls in between breaths. Without giving you a chance to reply, he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at the raw flesh. 

You don’t even realize he’s corralled you into your room before he pushes you onto the bed. He pulls you to the edge by the ankle. Eris stands tall before you, rendered in sharp angles and steady lines, softened only by the warmth in his amber eyes. Then, slowly, he kneels between your parted thighs like a supplicant before their God and your body is the only conduit of worship he knows. 

“You okay?” He asks this while his head is pillowed on your thigh, as though he hadn’t just blown your mind. Eris, you’ve discovered, is a collection of contrasts - rough one second, and painfully tender the next. No amount of studying him could let you predict the direction of his passion. You don’t mind, though, you’d happily be carried away in his current.

“Perfectly.” 

“You remember your word?” He removes your stilettos, brushing over the raw skin where the straps have dug in.

“I do.” 

“Say it for me.” He lines your heels neatly at the foot of your bed. 

“Ember.”

“Good.” Eris begins his meandering path up your legs. A kiss on your ankle, lips ghosting over your leg. Once his lips reach your thighs, he starts to nibble and suck on your skin. The simple declaration of possession shouldn’t please you as much as it does, but it only deepens the pool of desire and anticipation in your gut. 

“Eris,” you whine, breathless, as he pauses at the seam of your thigh. His smirk only grows at your increasingly desperate pleas and the erratic movements of your hips.

“Use your words, Firefly.” Eris reminds you beatifically. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth,” you begin, already struggling to form a coherent string of words. “Please?” 

“My mouth?” He asks, pretending to consider it. “But I thought you said you wanted my cock?”

His taunting jolts you out of your reverie, always rearing to meet his fire with your own. You come up to your elbows to level him a raised brow. “Well, you’re already on your knees, aren’t you?” Despite knowing you’ll pay for your words later, you try to inject as much bravado into your voice as you can. The effect is dulled by your obvious desperation though.

Eris chuckles, shaking his head as if in disapproval. “What to try that again, Firefly?” He blows a hot breath towards your core, the sudden sensation sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. “I’m sure you can do better than that.” 

You clench your teeth, a vain attempt to keep the pleas trapped within your mouth. Eris remains steadfast, of course, staring you down with obvious amusement. His lips travel a languid path, teeth teasing, mouth nipping, veering closer and closer but never close enough. This is a battle you’ve already lost from the start. 

“Please?” You grit out. “Can I please have your mouth?” 

“You’re a greedy little thing aren’t you?” Eris laps at the marks he’s left, just a few millimeters from where you want him to be. Practically vibrating with need, you dangle on the sharp edge of anticipation. The bite Eris plants on the soft flesh of your thigh is what pushes you off the precipice.

“Please,” you plead, each syllable dripping with need.  “Can I please have your mouth?”

“Well, since you asked so prettily,” Eris drawls, entirely indulgent. He places your leg over his shoulder and dives in. First, he runs the flat of his tongue over your flimsy thong, lapping at your slit. You shudder at the sensation, melting against the sheets as he continues.

“You taste divine.” He growls, the vibrations making you tighten around nothing. Then, closes his mouth over your slit and begins to suck. You throw your head back, heel digging into his back, hips arching towards the pull of his mouth. Your arousal seeps into the cloth. A heartbeat, a fraction of eternity, then Eris licks the lace greedily like a man starved.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He mouths against the fabric. You feel the truth of his words as surely as the growing flame in your gut. Then, he slides your undergarments down one thigh, keeping it wrapped around the other, a mockery of a wedding garter. Finally, his lips close around your clit as he slides one long finger in you, then two, scissoring them inside. You release a choked sob. His fingers are much thicker than your own, but the stretch is a burn you’ve been craving for far too long. 

“Fuck, Firefly, you’re so damn tight.” He murmurs against your skin. He begins thrusting his fingers in and out of you, making it a point to curl his digits in just the right spot. The precision of his movements is enough to drive you out of your mind. Eris shifts between murmuring sweet nothings against your heated skin and drawing precise circles around your clit.

At some point, Eris’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers with his own. It doesn’t take long for you to climb that familiar high. Hurtling over the edge so fast, you don’t even realize you’re cumming until you’re overtaken by a wave of pleasure. It saturates your senses until the only thing that makes sense is Eris, Eris, Eris. 

He doesn’t stop. His fingers hit that torturous angle, while his tongue laps at your bud. “One more,” he demands and you whine in protest. “Just one more, Love.” 

“‘S too much-“ you try to say, but your words crack into a sob. “I c-can’t-“

“You can,” he coos. “My good girl, my lovely little Firefly.” The praise does more for you than his hands could. “Always so perfect for me.” 

Desire is a living thing inside you, an inferno building beneath your skin. You crush his fingers in your grip, while the other threads itself through his silken locks, needing something to anchor you unspool for him.

“Eris, I’m-“ your voice cracks, reality blurring around you as you spasm around him, hips gyrating, driven only by pure primal instinct. He groans, as though your pleasure is as good as his own. His fingers speed up, his tongue licking your bud to and fro with dangerous precision.

“Cum for me, Firefly.”

You do. You break into flames with his name on your lips, back bowing, eyes trained to the unseen sky. You barely even register when Eris climbs into bed with you, too preoccupied with reacquainting yourself with your body. Only when he pulls your pliant form over his chest do you meet his gaze. 

“Are you alright?” There is concern in his gaze, and you wipe the worry from his face as you run your knuckles over his cheek. 

“Perfectly.” An invisible tug calls you to dip your head and taste yourself on his lips. Eris licks the seam of your mouth and waits patiently until your lips part for him. 

Without breaking contact, you wrap your hand around his girth and begin stroking him to full hardness. Your tongues meet, and you relish the trace of your taste in his mouth. Once his cock is ready, you line him up with your entrance. 

You lower yourself onto him, slowly, inch by inch, until you’re fully on his lap. For a moment, you simply stay like that, with him seated deep within you, lips locked in a languid ebb and flow. When you begin to move, you do it together, rising and falling in question and answer to the other. You wonder if there will always be this constant compulsion to have Eris near, the need to feel his skin against yours, to feel his beating heart thump in step with your own. Somehow, against all reason, he’s managed to worm his way into your life, to make a home for himself within the chambers of your heart.

Eris becomes the ruined wreckage of a man as you slide off him up until only the tip remains, before slamming back down. Eris keeps his gaze on you as though he’d rather die than miss a single moment of this. He groans, meeting each and every single one of your movements. His one hand grips your hip, guiding and grinding, fingers digging into you. The other cups your breast, his thumb tracing over your nipple. When your thighs begin to ache, legs quaking, powered only by desire and desperation, Eris easily flips you over. 

“Harder,” you choke out, “deeper.”

“So demanding,” Eris teases but seems happy enough to comply. He places a pillow beneath your hips. You almost whine at the pause, but Eris doesn’t give you a chance. He begins with an unforgiving pace, pistoning in and out of you with abandon. The new angle is torture specifically designed to tear your remaining sanity into shreds. Your legs lock around his waist, hands clasped tightly with his own. His lips hover over yours, drinking in each whimper, each moan, like it's ambrosia and you’re the sole source. 

“Are you about to cum for me, Love?” Eris breathes. And you nod frantically.

“Tell me, Firefly, who’s making you feel good, hm?” He punctuates the sentence with a hard thrust that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“You are,” you rasp, convulsing around him as his cock nudges the perfect spot inside of you.

“My name,” he demands.

“Eris.” It comes out as drawn out moan, a plea, a promise.

“And who do you belong to?” The force of each slam has you seeing sparks, and when he begins to circle your clit with his thumb? You’re gone, utterly defeated and consumed by the flame. 

“You!” You scream, repeating his name over and over and over. 

“That’s right,” he purrs. Your thighs shake, back arching completely off the mattress. The world breaks apart around you, reality melting into a flash of blinding light. He slows down and fucks you through the throes of rapture, extending seconds into eons while you flutter around him. With one last grind of his hips, you feel his cock throb as he spills deep inside you. 

Eris collapses on top of you, surrounding you in his scorching warmth. For a long while, only your shared breaths exist in the silence. He nuzzles deeper into the crook of your neck, as though unable to help himself.

Eris doesn’t tell you he loves you again. He shouldn’t, for both of your sakes. But you feel it in the featherlight kisses he leaves over your shoulder, his gentle touch as he traces each curve, line, and ridge of your body. He does it with such ease, as though it’s an art he’s perfected through the years, through lifetimes. 

Instinctively, you begin to run your hands over his back, fingers running over the lattice of faded scars there. Anger is a flaming arrow through your chest. Beron is not an easy father to have. Eris, as the prospective heir to his empire, receives the brunt of his brutal scrutiny. What you’d give to have the opportunity to tear that old bastard’s head from his shoulders.

As if sensing your sudden agitation, Eris’s roaming hands become more insistent, kneading away all the tension from your muscles. “Relax,” he whispers against your ear. 

Although he rolls off of you, he doesn’t go far. Without letting you out of the cage of his arms, he curls beside you like a cat, each plane of your bodies perfectly aligned. With his head resting over your heart, a rumble of contentment escapes him.

It’s startling to think that to anyone outside of this room, Eris is a villain, as well-versed in savagery as his father. But you know him, seen parts of him the world would never know. You and Eris have always been two sides of the same coin. 

He understands what it’s like to endure and inherit a father’s rage, to house a mother’s bottomless grief, to be saturated with so much shame it steals your every breath. The two of you are so different and yet are hewn from the same ore, forged from the same fire. Although there are a multitude of reasons why the both of you can’t be together, it feels as though Eris is the only one who's ever truly seen you as you are. 

But self-denial is a circus act you and Eris perform with practiced ease. You’ve already fucked up before and it wasn’t you who ended up paying the price. No, it had been your mother and your sister. Their blood will stain your hands for the rest of your life. 

You won’t make that same mistake again. 

Two twined heartbeats, breaths released and taken in unison, Eris drifts off as your fingers card through his hair. You drink him in, long lashes fluttering as he flits into sleep, faint freckles like stars scattered over the ridge of his nose, and his face, for once, open and devoid of that familiar mask. You map its planes with the tips of your fingers, cataloging each detail and etching them onto the back of your mind. 

Eris will be gone come morning. He always is. The only proof of his presence would be the ache between your thighs and his scent still lingering on your sheets. But for now, though, he is yours, as fleeting as this moment may be. 

This is enough, you tell yourself. 

AN: hello this is my first smut fic in a while & this is a bit different from my usual thing so i was a bit nervous about posting this one. Let me know what you guys think!

Dialogue and banter aren’t my strong suit but i tried my best ;u;

This started as pwp fic but now there’s plot and I’m invested. I’ve got a few ideas and I kinda want to do a series of one-shots for these two.

English isn’t my first language. If you see any mistakes please let me know thru DM! Thank you 💙

[astudyinpanda]

For me, the quiz was so spot-on with non-fiction recs that I am going to give its fiction ones a chance. I would also like to read about the rogue ornithology expedition 👀

I got...

"Your ideal books are the kind that make your pulse race and your heart pound. You love stories that immerse you in danger, passion, and triumph—narratives that feel like a rush of adrenaline from beginning to end. Whether it’s a fast-paced thriller or a tale of survival against the odds, you’re drawn to stories where the stakes are sky-high and failure is not an option."

Which is funny because I cannot write that way for shit, even though I'm always trying to, and I am so picky about thrillers.

Saw this quiz on which type of reader I am and I had to do it. 3 out of the 4 book recs are authors I love, and the 4th one is on my reading list so I guess it' pretty accurate :]

What got me into this the most is the books descriptions, I need to read all of them!!

Like: An ornithologist joins a rogue expedition into the Congo to find a supposedly extinct bird—then the team starts vanishing one by one. Are you kidding me, where is the book!!

In a shattered world ruled by elemental warlords, a cursed warrior and an outcast prince form a forbidden bond that could remake the realm -> I need this book???

A surrealist artist discovers her paintings are portals to real worlds—and something is starting to come back through the canvas -> YES PLEASE

What I'm saying is: this is a fun quiz but it could also be a fun prompt generator :D

[btrzfreitas]

sometimes i wish i was really rude and just straight out asked people "are you simple?"

because why in the hell are you making people sad about luke not receiving the recognition he deserves about a petty fanwar????? and not only fanwar but actually putting these two, who so often expressed how dear they are to each other, against one another?

please, all DO hail nicola! she's a goddess, she's the moment, an icon, a legend... WE'VE BEEN KNOWN!!!!!!!! of course she deserves everything she's getting, no one is saying otherwise

and idk maybe i'm on the right side of the algorithm (that would be a first) so i never saw anyone making nic's so well deserved individual accomplishments (time100, emmys, kate spade campaign etc) about luke

but when we're talking about acting recognition in bridgerton specifically, yk, something they both did, of course we would want luke to be recognized by his marvelous work too (not more, not in spite, but as well), not bc everything they do must count the other, BUT BC THEY WORKED IN IT TOGETHER FFS

and this is not comparing them, bc, as so many had said, it's obvious they don't compete in the same category, so it's even more of a reason to hype them both up

anyway, here's wishing for nic to receive her well deserved nomination 🥂

[runawaydr3amerao3]

🎙️ Idling In the Impala and @monicawoe 🐍

Whoop whoop, new episode of the @idlingintheimpalapodcast time and it's an interview with another classic name from the Supernatural fandom, @monicawoe! 🥳

With a whopping 139 works listed under the SPN fandom on AO3, 134 of those featuring Sam Winchester, and 44 of those featuring the tag 'Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers', it might be safe to say Monica has a favourite and a type...

I suspect Kasey's Blorbo Battle Royale just got another check mark in the Boy King column, don't you? 😏

But! Just to be sure, we should dig into the episode, which also discusses the fandom and the show's history, many years of fan work collaborations, and more! You can get your links right here, however you fancy checking things out:

Listen: 🔴 YouTube 🟢 Spotify

Or if you want to peek at the episode chapters to dive in on a particular topic, check out the official Tumblr post:

All hail the boy with the demon blood! 🙌

Don't forget that likes, comments, and subscriptions on YouTube and Spotify are super helpful for the podcast in battling the algorithms. They also support Kasey @sam-is-my-safe-word and Sandra @talltalesandbedtimestories to continue bringing us this excellent content, and content creators keep the fandom turning, so let's show them all the love we can! 🫶🥰

[quartzalcoatlart]

A puddle in the void...

Furby fandom, am I welcome to join the fun?

-The texture is grainy because I added a noise filter in hopes that it will freak out any AI algorithms who dare try and snatch the beauty that is this image.-

A 1998 Tiger Electronics Furby stares at you through the blank void. Nothing but this Furby and a puddle can be seen. All else is black nothingness. The Furby's snow white fur glistens in a light that hails from above it. But above the Furby, there is no light. How can you see it? How is it bright? The Furby stares not at you, but beyond you, it's mouth opens in uncanny robotic motions. "Noo-lah" It calls out. What does that mean? It calls out again "Noo-lah", and then again "Noo-lah". The Furby continuously calls out "Noo-lah, Noo-lah." What does this mean!? Each time the Furby calls out, it gets louder and louder. Your ears are ringing and your head is spinning. You keel over and grasp at your ears. It just keeps getting louder. "NOO-LAH" The Furby screeches. At this point you're doubled over, writhing in agony as the voices keep going. "NOO-LAH" "MAKE IT STOP!" You scream. Suddenly, the voices stop. You look up and see the Furby. It's eyes are no longer staring beyond you. They are staring at you. As you stare back, you feel awful and sickly. Your stomach churns, your head aches, and your muscles grow weak. The Furby's bright blue eyes pierce your soul. You try lifting yourself up, but you topple down into the puddle, which has grown in size. Your sight grows dim. You try to move but you can't. Finally, everything grows black, accept for the Furby's bright eyes, which are the only thing you can see. "Noo-lah". You wheeze. Then the Furby's eyes disappear.

[canowhoopasshg]

This here is my own pride and joy! Best known as

COGITO ERGO BOOM

I think, therefore you explode.

This beauty here is my very own custom Monarch Chassis, courtesy of the Smith Shimano Corporation. This thing fields some of the most advanced guidance systems this side of the Long Rim PLUS the explosive ordnance to back it up. Despite its size and relative capacity for destruction, it's actually pretty quick. Being able to rapidly reposition, see over most other mechs and cover, field a wide array of high range weapons, and hack its opponents with its powerful on board computers and sensors, the Monarch makes for an excellent all-arounder run and gun mech. It's most impressive qualities are it's independently targeting Avenger Silos and its COMP/CON assisted seeking payload, a system that fires a missile at a target you can see only when it can absolutely guarantee the strike will be successful and an advanced computing algorithm that allows the Monarch to bypass all cover, armoring and resistances that it's enemies may have.

Now my Cogito is really something special. I've fitted her with some auxiliary concussion missiles of my own design, as well as a custom Smith Shimano ferrofluid paint job. She's also fitted with a good old GMS personal shield which comes in real handy (especially since the power draw starts pushing my reactor a bit which helps to fuel some other "dangerous" and "irresponsibly radioactive" personal modifications I've made to the Cogito).

As far as weapons she's fielding, We're packing a standard GMS Assault Rifle, because even with all the guided missiles in the system, sometimes all you need is a good old fashioned hail of bullets.

The next weapon is some total piece of shit I mounted before realizing that it didn't even work. Some rare piece of equipment some schmuck on the Icebreaker sold me, called it a "Verbal Gun" or something. I hooked it up with an SSC Stabilizer Mod and everything and when I took it down to the firing range to try it out, the damn thing wouldn't go off! Still looks pretty cool and had a decent camera built into the thing so I scrapped the original Monarch receptors and replaced it with that seeing as it was SSC compatible. Doesn't do anything too crazy but ever since I installed it every so often I'll get a pop up of a little guy on my hud when one of my squad mates takes a hit saying he's hungry and a button pops up to feed him some pellets. We'll whenever I press that pellet button the ferrofluid on my mech freaks the hell out and sorta... bites???? A chunk out of whoever just hit my teammate??? I've tried reaching out about it to my SSC contact but the messages never go through for some reason. Regardless, I'm gonna keep feeding him his "snicker-snacks", not just gonna let the poor little guy starve.

And last but not least. The Gandiva Missiles. Self guided rockets that lock onto anything with a computer and don't stop til they've given them a proper knock on the door if you know what I mean. I can hit anything with these bad boys, with or without my eyes closed. Each rocket is wirelessly in contact with the firing platform which is constantly sending and receiving combat data to a COMP/CON Hivemind out in the Core Worlds. In fact, I've gotten a couple messages from my sponsor contacts about some issues they've been having at the hivemind headquarters about some of their COMP/CON units getting infected with some kind of weird virus and that they suspect it may have something to do with my Gandivas in Calliope and their proximity to our unique dialect of COMP/CON (Shout out to my loyal camera man, Keith). Regardless of vocal quirks, this weapon is top of the line SSC firepower that I've been lucky enough to level at a number of Long Rim baddies.

Stay tuned for next time, where I'll be going over one of the other mechs piloted by Hell's Gate's finest.

Stay Frosty Brothbros! And remember! YOU ONLY NEED ONE ☝️😉!

[gennyrthewriter]

I'm celebrating the DEFINITIVE (second) edition of my first book being released on Amazon! If you like colonial-era inspired low fantasy with political intrigue, moral ambiguity, ideological struggle, and of course, two gay men coated in blood fighting each other with swords at the climax, give it a chance!

Click here for a link to the Amazon page

In a forgotten backwater colony, a power hungry general, an exiled city guard, a lost queen, and a rogue agent clash over the scraps that each feel they were entitled to. When those hungry for power fight, can anyone truly win?

[sonicnurse]

the fact that you can just slap some authors name on shitty poetry with an italicized punch line and get thousands of notes makes me so incredibly upset. first of all how do none of these blogs that pride themselves in their above average levels of intelligence and their studious, misfit aesthetics catch such a huge error? do they not care as long as it feeds into the algorithm that offers them some longed for form of attention and – maybe, sometimes, in certain contexts – fame? most importantly, do none of you read books? no, not even that. do none of you read the books you hail as doctrine and the authors of which you idolise as models for your moody cobblestone fantasies?

[azuronel]

Now Presenting: the Members of Ramshackle Dorm! Or the “Yuus” It’s less lonely getting transported to another world if there are others from your world also there! I wonder why there’s seven…

I know OFFICIALLY the color for Ramshackle is Black, but that’s really boring. So they get teal. Some basic information on their dorm:

Housewarden: Yen (got the position because she’s the oldest. It was a very basic way to determine who would be in charge)

Vice-Housewarden: Yvette (York turned it down as the next-oldest)

They were placed in different years based off of ages and academic abilities

Yuki is the closest to the in-game MC/Yuu, with her story following the same timeline for the most part

She’s also the “owner” of Grim

each “Yuu” was involved in a different Overblot, but others show up to help

Crowley has sort of adopted them? He let them borrow his last name for legal purposes…wonder what that’s about

because of this, they refer to one another as “brother and sister”

They are cursed to not say their “real names”, or information about Disney Films

This curse has been “affectionately” named The Algorithm

Individual posts coming soon!

Hail the herald of the return of our Seven Greatest

Find the Flowers of Evil in a Garden of Death 

Combine Flesh, Blood, and Bone

And watch our Beloved Leaders rise again

Flesh of the Strict will be found by the Bloodstained Drops of the Maze

Flesh of the Persistent will be found clawed by the Knives of Opuntia

Flesh of the Generous will be found in a bed of Stinging Calls

Flesh of the Mindful will be found with Angel’s Wings

Flesh of the Tenacious will be found ‘neath Domesticated Malevolence

Flesh of the Diligent will be found shrouded in Desolation

Flesh of the Elegant will be found caressed by Spinning Spindles

Blood of Strictness bubbles from Rage 

Blood of Persistence paces in Cage

Blood of Generosity offers sweet Siren Song

Blood of Mindful knows it is Wrong 

Blood of Tenacity stages a show to Enthrall

Blood of Diligence sets up the Hall

Blood of Elegance sends out the Call

the Bone is in the Vessel of Keys

Combine them to Unleash the Curse 

Balance the Good and Evil

Return all to the Heart

[bromcommie]

How does Pinterest see you?

search up: ~fashion ~pantone ~mood ~food and put the first picture that shows up!

Tagged by the lovely @booksandabeer @gyokujyn @village-skeptic approximately 2325 eons ago. Thanks guys!

Yep, feel like that’s about as accurate as an algorithm can get, honestly. Not to sound too millenial, but all hail Pinterest! No idea who all has already done this so apologies if there are any repeats, but: casually tagging @dharmasharks @buckrogers @painted-doe @one-eyed-bossman @camcorderrevival and anyone else who might want to join!

[westeroswisdom]

Still catching up on HotD reading. It may take a couple of months to fully catch up. 😵‍💫

This article was written after S02E04.

But as the “Dance Of Dragons”—a.k.a. the war of succession among dueling factions of House Targaryen—wages on, there is at least one bright spot delighting fans amidst all the battle and bloodshed: Ser Gwayne Hightower, played by dashing English actor Freddie Fox. Oh, sure, Gwayne—brother of Queen Alicent (Olivia Cooke)—is a total prick, though it’s his privileged smarminess that makes him so fun to hate. And credit where credit’s due to Fox for already making the character (who was newly introduced this season) a memorable one among this sprawling ensemble.

Some HotD viewers may not be aware of Freddie's career prior to his role as Ser Gwayne.

Hailing from London and the famed Fox dynasty—a family of acclaimed British thespians—his first major breakthrough performance was as the androgynous pop star Marilyn in the 2010 Boy George biopic Worried About The Boy. (Yes, he looks fabulous in a blonde wig and red lips.) In an early theater role, he played Oscar Wilde’s lover in the play Judas Kiss. And, in 2014, he starred in both the (fantastic) ensemble dramedy Pride as a gay rights activist and the prep school thriller The Riot Club which is incredibly homoerotic. But Fox’s most notable queer role is undoubtedly the “bisexual nympho” Freddie Baxter, who appeared in Queer As Folk creator Russell T Davies’ 2015 series Cucumber and its sister anthology series Banana, envisioned as “spiritual sequels” to QAF that depicted 21st century modern LGBTQ+ life. The character Freddie Baxter is an absolute riot—who happens to look fantastic in a pair of white briefs—and it seems the internet is rediscovering Fox’s unforgettable turn in the series in light of his recent House Of The Dragon arc: [ ... ] In any event, we’re thrilled that the rest of the world is jumping on the Freddie Fox bandwagon—that face card never declines—who was just announced as an addition to the season 2 cast of Netflix‘s The Sandman, playing trickster god Loki (brilliant casting).

Less relevant bonus track: Thanks to algorithms, here is Freddie participating in the ice bucket challenge a few years ago. 🥶🪣

[sillimancer]

gonna keep a log of reasons I've blocked people on tumblr this week perhaps to encourage others to block more people so I can see less nonsense on the dash in the future (fun fact did you know if someone pisses you off you don't actually have to engage and give them the attention they want)

so far reasons include:

posted some diet culture bullshit

censored a word the way they do on tiktok out of fear they will be Smote By The Almighty Algorithm (All Hail)