#and It’s only going to get more people on board

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

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Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[official-cvntified-gay]

Flight Attendant: A Pilot's Special [Abby A. x Reader]

❥ Pilot!Abby Anderson x Flight Attendant!Reader

❥ note: ugh I'm a whore for captain abby, I wrote this after I read a captain abby oneshot in ao3.

The plane was getting prepped for another day in the sky. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, casting a warm orange glow on the tarmac, and you could feel the buzz of excitement mingled with nervousness coursing through your veins. It was your first day as a flight attendant—something you had worked hard for—and you wanted everything to go perfectly.

Dressed in your crisp uniform, you made sure your hair was in place, your name tag shining proudly on your chest. You took a deep breath before stepping onto the plane, your heart thudding against your ribs as you imagined the hundreds of things that could go wrong.

"Relax, you've got this," you muttered under your breath, trying to psych yourself up.

“First day, huh?” A voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to see a woman standing tall with an air of authority, her blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, her uniform neat and immaculate. Abby Anderson, the captain. Her reputation preceded her—known for being efficient, cold, and not exactly the warmest person on board. People whispered about her strict demeanor, her professionalism that sometimes felt intimidating.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, taken aback by her sudden presence.

“Captain Anderson,” she introduced herself, not offering a handshake. Her blue eyes bore into yours, unreadable, as she nodded. “I expect everything to run smoothly.”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied quickly, trying not to let her intimidating presence throw you off.

She gave you a curt nod before turning away. You could feel the weight of her authority, the way she commanded attention without even trying. As you went about your duties, you noticed how the other crew members seemed tense around her. She wasn’t mean, exactly—just...distant. Detached. Every movement was precise, every word clipped, like she was too busy to waste time on pleasantries.

But then, something strange happened.

Every so often, you caught her glancing your way. When she passed by, there was an almost imperceptible softening in her expression, a flicker of something warmer. You thought it was just your imagination, but then it happened again—and again.

It wasn’t until halfway through the flight that she approached you directly.

"You're doing well for your first day." Her voice was still professional, but there was a teasing edge to it now, a hint of something more.

"Thank you, Captain," you replied, trying to sound as professional as possible, but you could feel your cheeks heating under her gaze.

"Abby," she corrected, her tone softer. She took a step closer, and your breath caught in your throat. "No need for formalities when it's just the two of us."

"Abby," you repeated, the name feeling foreign on your tongue.

She smirked, her eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “You look a little nervous, you know. Is it me? Because I swear I don’t bite... unless you ask nicely.”

Your eyes widened, heat rising in your cheeks. "W-what?"

Abby chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Relax. I’m just messing with you.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only you could hear. “Or maybe I’m not.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the way her presence seemed to engulf you. Was this really happening? The stoic, cold Captain Anderson was flirting with you?

For the rest of the flight, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Abby’s eyes on you. Every time you passed her in the cockpit or while making rounds, her gaze lingered just a little too long, a teasing smile pulling at her lips.

By the end of the shift, you were a bundle of nerves and confusion. You were standing by the exit, helping passengers disembark when Abby approached you once again, standing a little too close.

“You did good today,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “I like a woman who can keep her cool under pressure.”

“I-I try,” you managed to stammer, your brain short-circuiting from her proximity.

"Mm, I noticed." She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "You should let me take you out for a drink sometime. Help you unwind after a long day."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. Was this a joke? Was she serious? But when you turned to meet her gaze, the playful glint in her eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“I— uh— I don’t know—” you started, but Abby cut you off with a smirk.

“Think about it.” She winked, her voice dripping with confidence. “I’m a patient woman.”

She turned to leave, walking off with that same air of cool detachment she always had. But this time, there was a sway in her step that told you she knew exactly what effect she had on you.

For the next few weeks, Abby didn’t let up. Every time you were on the same flight, she found some excuse to be near you. She'd make a casual comment, brush past you just close enough to make your skin tingle, and offer you those teasing little smiles that left you breathless.

One day, you were struggling with a particularly heavy overhead bin when Abby appeared out of nowhere, easily pushing it into place with one hand.

“Need some help?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement.

“I had it,” you muttered, embarrassed that she had caught you in such a moment of weakness.

“Of course you did.” She grinned, leaning in slightly. “But I’m here if you need me. Always.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your thoughts spinning. You couldn’t deny it any longer—Abby Anderson had a hold on you, and she knew it.

Every time she smiled at you, every time she teased you, you found yourself falling deeper. And Abby? She was relentless in her pursuit.

She was the Captain, after all—and she always got what she wanted.

And this time, what she wanted was you.

[mariacallous]

(CNN) — Mark Robinson, the controversial and socially conservative Republican nominee for governor of North Carolina, made a series of inflammatory comments on a pornography website’s message board more than a decade ago, in which he referred to himself as a “black NAZI!” and expressed support for reinstating slavery, a CNN KFile investigation found.

Despite a recent history of anti-transgender rhetoric, Robinson said he enjoyed watching transgender pornography, a review of archived messages found in which he also referred to himself as a “perv.”

The comments, which Robinson denies making, predate his entry into politics and current stint as North Carolina’s lieutenant governor. They were made under a username that CNN was able to identify as Robinson by matching a litany of biographical details and a shared email address between the two.

Many of Robinson’s comments were gratuitously sexual and lewd in nature. They were made between 2008 and 2012 on “Nude Africa,” a pornographic website that includes a message board. The comments were made under the username minisoldr, a moniker Robinson used frequently online.

Robinson listed his full name on his profile for Nude Africa, as well as an email address he used on numerous websites across the internet for decades.

CNN is reporting only a small portion of Robinson’s comments on the website given their graphic nature.

Many of Robinson’s comments on Nude Africa stand in contrast to his public stances on issues such as abortion and transgender rights.

Publicly, Robinson has fiercely argued that people should use bathrooms only that correspond to the gender they were assigned at birth. He’s also said transgender women should be arrested for using women’s restrooms.

“If you’re a man on Friday night, and all the sudden Saturday, you feel like a woman, and you want to go in the women’s bathroom in the mall, you will be arrested, or whatever we gotta do to you,” Robinson said at a campaign rally in February 2024. “We’re going to protect our women.”

Yet privately under the username minisoldr on Nude Africa, Robinson graphically described his own sexual arousal as an adult from the memory of secretly “peeping” on women in public gym showers as a 14-year-old. Robinson recounted the story as a memory he said he still fantasized about.

“I came to a spot that was a dead end but had two big vent covers over it! It just so happened it overlooked the showers! I sat there for about an hour and watched as several girls came in and showered,” Robinson wrote on Nude Africa.

CNN is not publishing the graphic sexual details of Robinson’s story.

“I went peeping again the next morning,” Robinson wrote. “but after that I went back the ladder was locked! So those two times where [sic] the only times I got to do it! Ahhhhh memories!!!!”

In other comments on Nude Africa, Robinson discussed his affinity for transgender pornography.

“I like watching tranny on girl porn! That’s f*cking hot! It takes the man out while leaving the man in!” Robinson wrote. “And yeah I’m a ‘perv’ too!”

In an interview with CNN on Thursday, Robinson repeatedly denied that he made the comments on Nude Africa.

“This is not us. These are not our words. And this is not anything that is characteristic of me,” Robinson said. Presented with the litany of evidence connecting him with the minisoldr user name on Nude Africa, Robinson said, “I’m not going to get into the minutia of how somebody manufactured this, these salacious tabloid lies.”

CNN first reached out to Robinson Tuesday morning with evidence connecting him to the comments on Nude Africa. It took his campaign two days to respond and issue a denial.

During his interview with CNN, Robinson repeatedly said the issues that faced North Carolinians were more important than what he called “tabloid trash,” and he steered the conversation toward attacking his opponent in the race, Democrat Josh Stein, the state’s attorney general.

“We are not getting out of this race. There are people who are counting on us to win this race,” Robinson said.

A history of controversial statements

Campaigning for lieutenant governor in 2020, Robinson advocated for a complete abortion ban without exceptions. He later expressed regret in 2022 for paying for his now-wife to have an abortion in the 1980s.

Now campaigning for governor, he says he supports a so-called “heartbeat” bill that would ban abortion when a heartbeat is detected – approximately six weeks – with exceptions for rape, incest and health of the mother.

But writing as minisoldr on Nude Africa in December 2010, Robinson said he did not care about a celebrity having an abortion.

“I don’t care. I just wanna see the sex tape!” Robinson wrote.

In another thread, commenters considered whether to believe the story of a woman who said she was raped by her taxi driver while intoxicated. In response, Robinson wrote, “and the moral of this story….. Don’t f**k a white b*tch!”

Robinson, who would become North Carolina’s first Black governor if elected, also repeatedly maligned civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., attacking him in such intense terms that a user accused him of being a white supremacist.

“Get that f*cking commie bastard off the National Mall!,” Robinson wrote about the dedication of the memorial to King in Washington, DC, by then-President Barack Obama.

“I’m not in the KKK. They don’t let blacks join. If I was in the KKK I would have called him Martin Lucifer Koon!” Robinson responded.

CNN’s reporting on Robinson’s comments comes a few weeks after The Assembly, a North Carolina digital publication, reported that Robinson frequented local video pornography shops in the 1990s and 2000s. The story cited six people who interacted and saw him frequent the stores in Greensboro, North Carolina. A spokesperson for Robinson called the story false and a “complete fiction.”

Despite earning the full endorsement of former President Donald Trump and the North Carolina Republican Party, Robinson faces an uphill battle in the race for governor against Stein.

Robinson’s history of controversial remarks, including mocking school shooting survivors, his past support for total abortion bans without exceptions for rape or incest and disparaging the civil rights movement have been a consistent theme in the race. Recent public polling shows Robinson is losing to Stein.

Identifying minisoldr as Robinson

On the Nude Africa website in both comments and his profile, minisoldr offered numerous details that align precisely with Robinson’s personal history.

In his profile, minisoldr listed his full name as “mark robinson” and disclosed a private email address Robinson used elsewhere online. In 2012, a user responded to a comment by calling minisoldr “Mark.”

Minisoldr mentioned in 2008 being married for 18 years, which corresponds with Robinson’s marriage to Yolanda Hill in 1990. In 2011, minisoldr wrote he had been married 21 years. Minisoldr wrote in a 2011 post that he lived in Greensboro, North Carolina, the same town where Robinson lived at the time and currently lives.

In a post in 2012, minisoldr said he served in the Army in the 1980s, during the same time period as Robinson. In his sexually graphic comments detailing watching women in the showers in 2011, minisoldr wrote that his mother worked at an Historically Black College and University (HBCU). Robinson’s mother worked as a custodian at North Carolina A&T State University, an HBCU located in Greensboro.

Both minisoldr and Robinson often posted about the same topics online, including reviews for remote-controlled helicopters, their attraction to specific celebrities and their favorite “Twilight Zone” episode.

The email address associated with minisoldr on Nude Africa was also used by Robinson elsewhere online and social media. On the commenting platform Disqus, a user who joined in April 2011 features Mark Robinson’s photo under the username minisoldr.

Usernames and email addresses from Disqus were publicly leaked online in 2017, according to the company. CNN confirmed that Robinson’s username minisoldr on Disqus shared the same email address as the one used on Nude Africa.

Robinson’s Disqus page is also linked to the Black social networking site Black Planet. The Web Archive shows a user named “minisoldr” described themselves as 40 years old in February 2009 – the same age as Robinson at the time – and living in Greensboro, North Carolina – Robinson’s hometown.

A username often used by Robinson

Robinson has frequently used the username “minisoldr” elsewhere on the internet. On X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, Robinson once used the minisoldr username, according to a screenshot he shared on Facebook in 2018 and data in Robinson’s old tweets.

A YouTube playlist for a user named “minisoldr” features exclusively videos of Robinson. On Pinterest, a user “minisoldr” lists his name as “Mark Robinson.”

The “minisoldr” username has also posted reviews of products and places Robinson has also publicly recommended. On Amazon, a user named “minisoldr” reviewed products frequently shared by Robinson on Facebook, including remote-controlled helicopters. And the same email address and username used on Nude Africa also left reviews on Google for two local businesses Robinson later posted on Facebook that he used.

Robinson’s unique choice of language further links him to the “minisoldr” alias on the pornographic forums. Uncommon phrases such as “gag a maggot,” “dunder head,” “I don’t give a frogs a**,” and “I don’t give two shakes of it” were used both by minisoldr on Nude Africa and by Robinson on his personal Facebook page.

Robinson as minisoldr ‘Slavery is not bad’

In the pornographic forums, Robinson revealed his unvarnished thoughts on issues such as race, gender and abortion.

Writing in a forum discussing Black Republicans in October 2010, Robinson stated unprovoked: “I’m a black NAZI!”

That same month, Robinson wrote in another post that he supported the return of slavery.

“Slavery is not bad. Some people need to be slaves. I wish they would bring it (slavery) back. I would certainly buy a few,” he wrote.

In March 2012, Robinson wrote that he preferred the former leader of Nazi Germany Adolf Hitler over the leadership in Washington during the administration of Barack Obama.

“I’d take Hitler over any of the sh*t that’s in Washington right now!” he wrote.

Robinson’s comments on Nude Africa often frequently contained derogatory and racial slurs directed at Black, Jewish and Muslim people.

In a series of seven posts in October 2011, Robinson disparaged Martin Luther King in such intense terms, calling him a “commie bastard,” “worse than a maggot,” a “ho f**king, phony,” and a “huckster,” that a user in the thread accused him of being in the KKK. Robinson responded by directing a slur at King.

In October 2010, Robinson used the antisemitic slur “hebe” when discussing how he liked the show “Good Times” developed by Norman Lear, saying “the show itself was a bunch of heb [sic] written liberal bullshit!”

While discussing the Taliban, he referred to Muslims as “little rag-headed bastards” and said that “if Muslims took over liberals would be the 1st ones to be beheaded!”

Robinson also used homophobic slurs frequently, calling other users f*gs.

In a largely positive forum discussion featuring a photo of two men kissing after one returned from a military deployment, Robinson wrote the sole negative comment.

“That’s sum ole sick a** f*ggot bullsh*t!” he wrote.

[hucowboyification]

Poolverine and 10 please?

10- "We're really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?"

It'd been an easy job. Get in, stab, claw, and shoot all the fuckers in the warehouse to death, get out. No one was left alive; not even the cleaning crew.

Making a quick getaway wasnt strictly necessary; given how blood-soaked they both were, it probably would've made them more suspicious. But the surrounding area had been terrorized by that group for so long that everyone turned a blind eye to the two mutants booking it down shaded alleyways, and the adrenaline made for great foreplay, so they ran anyways.

Logan pulled Wade down an alleyway, around a corner, and then into a dead end, where a brick building towered over everything.

Deep scratch marks in sets of threes littered the face of the building; hundreds, if not thousands of sets, some clearly much older than the several months Logan had been living in this universe.

"Climb," Logan instructed, lacking anything in the way of real urgency. It was made even less urgent by Logan tugging Wade's mask off and pressing him briefly to the brick wall for a deep, but surprisingly gentle kiss.

Once he was released, Wade did as he was asked. Fortunately, Logan had the forethought to make sure that people with normal hands could get to the roof, though just barely; it was a tough climb, even for Wade, and he had to question if it was really the only way up onto the roof, or if Logan just wanted to watch his ass as he made his way up tedious hand-and-foot-holds.

"Used to love coming up here," Logan sighed once they'd both reached the roof, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against a boarded-up maintenance entrance. "Quiet. Good views. Hard to climb for most people. Back... back where I'm from, it got torn down years ago."

Wade, using the little good sense he had, didn't pry or crack a joke. He didn't particularly feel like regenerating any limbs tonight, thank you very much.

"But, anyways," Logan continued, giving Wade a sharp-toothed grin. "Thought it'd be a good place to bring you to catch our breath after a job. Be nice to spend an evening together without worrying about waking anyone up."

"Wait, do you mean-" he leaned in close, exaggeratedly whisper-shouting in Logan's ear- "S-E-X?"

"Yes, you goddamn loser, I mean fucking." Logan snorted, bumping his forehead against Wade's shoulder. "Up here, alone, under the stars."

"Aww, Wolvie, that's so romantic! We're really going to fuck here?" Wade gasped in mock surprise, bringing his hands to his face. "What if someone sees us?"

The twitching of Logan's lips gave away his attempts so suppress a laugh. "Who the fuck would see us, moron? It's the middle of the night, this is an abandoned building, and we'd see if anyone came on a nearby roof." Then he grinned. "Besides, what do you care? I always thought you'd be an exhibitionist."

"Oh, I am an exhibitionist, peanut, but you never know. There are cameras everywhere these days.

With a brief, disparaging "Jesus Christ, Wade", Logan dropped to his knees, nuzzling gently at Wade's already hard cock under his suit.

Then, the claws came out, moving towards the fabric of Wade's pants, and-

"Hey, no, no, no! Soft paws!" Wade shouted, swatting Logan's hands away and getting his fingers quite scratched up in the process. "I'm not sewing this up again! God, the knife hands are hot, but can you use your fingers to unzip me like a normal fucking person for once?"

Reluctantly, Logan did as ordered, sheathing his claws and unzipping his pants without ripping them (and Wade's skin, though that was of less concern) to shreds.

If there were cameras around (and of course there were- whatever the dicks at the TVA said, he's the main character here), they'd be getting quite a show.

Send me an ask with a number and a ship!

[dragoneyes618]

I'm reading a book on the Victorian era - How To Be A Victorian by Ruth Goodman, which I absolutely recommend. It analyzes every aspect and detail of life in the Victorian era. You can absolutely tell the the author did real research; for example, she wore a full set of Victorian clothes, corset and all, to get experience on what it was actually like to go about your day dressed like that.

Anyway, there's this part about trains and how they affected people's lives - people were able to live farther away from their places of work, it took less time to get there, which meant they had extra time in the day to be home with their families, etc - and there's this part:

"The first nationwide book of timetables was printed only in 1839 and, with a plethora of independent trail companies running lines and with no interest in sending passengers on board their competitors' trains, confusion around these timetables abounded. By 1900, there were 160 separate railway companies in operation and the Bradshaw Guide that listed all their timetables ran to over a thousand pages. Fares varied from one company to another, and were often inconsistent even along a single line. A Crouch End passenger writing to the local newspaper in 1884 (and signing himself only as 'one who was had') pointed out that if he made the six-minute journey to Mildmay Park on the North London Railway, he paid the same fare - 10d - as someone travelling to Broad Street, even though that was double the distance. In addition, if he were to use the Great Northern Railway from Crouch End to Finsbury Park, a similar journey as that to Mildmay Park, it would cost him only 4d." (page 181)

And all I could think of was that Mina memorizing the different train schedules to know which train was leaving where when to help Jonathan is a lot more impressive than it sounds.

[moodymisty]

The sentence of him liking the pressure of his armour gave me unholy thoughts.... unholy thoughts and ideas... involving both marines and primarchs. Just, not having time to do anything properly together for weeks, months on end, passing by your beloved in the halls, but only having the time to smile and greet them, your respective duties keeping you away from each other. Until boils over. It just so happens there aren't any people in this section of the ship, it jsut so happens there is a dark, narrow corridor right there, and you find yourself with your back pressed against the wall, desperate pants escaping you as you dry hump each other like your life depends on it, your wetness soaking through your pants and him having to walk around with his spend coating the inside of his armour... (*cough*titusgadrielchaironguillimansa'kancalgarliterallyeveryone*cough*)

Anyways. How is your day going?

You already had me on board but the part about drying humping eachother in a random hall somewhere had me sweating

Just missing them for weeks and only getting glimpses as they go about their duties and when they finally have more than a second they strike...

my day is going good thank you ;3

[witchofsparkles]

Simon was having a fairly quiet evening. In a bar like theirs, it was mostly empty anyways. The place was hidden at the end of a dark alley, making it hard for people to find and the ones who found it would turn around and leave because of its place. Who would open a bar there? Probably people who are not up to no good.

And like that, in time, the place became somewhere really shady. They offered them a silent environment and a promise to be not listened and watched. For that, Price put Simon as the bartender. He wasn’t a talker and would wear a black balaclava all the time. The business people wouldn’t know him if they saw him outside and Simon didn’t care what the hell was going on between them. He eavesdropped once passing by a table and heard a rugged man asking for a hitman to hire.

Simon left the table almost running.

Price, the owner of the bar, Simon the Ghost and Gaz the upright man were all friends from military. They served together and they got expelled together when the big brother heard that they went against the orders trying to rescue a bunch of kids from the warzone. To Simon, it was an honor of badge, but military saw it as a dirt under their shoes and kicked them out. The whole thing was infuriating but they were also happy to be out. Simon got his share of horror for a life time.

Simon raised his head when he heard the door opening. It was only 8 pm and he knew they weren’t expecting anybody. No hitman bargain, to his knowledge. And the bar was completely empty other than himself. Then he saw the man coming in.

He was looking no more than a college student, really. He wasn't young, no. But there was an air of carelessness on him. His hair was wet from the rain, which Simon only noticed now, and he used to have a mohawk. Before it got glued into his head because of the wetness. Then he noticed the sea blue eyes looking around like he’s searching for something. Simon stared at them an ungodly amount of time and averted his gaze before the man could realize. Simon’s eyes moved down to his face, stubble around his cheeks and a pair of purple lips -which probably because of the freezing cold. Then he, with sort of amazement, saw that the man was give or take a head shorter than him but broader. In what universe? Simon thought cheekily.

“Hey, mate. Have something to warm me up a bit?” Simon narrowed his eyes with suspicion. He had a Scottish accent under that soothing voice. He didn’t answer. The man was in a bar, he should know that he could order every kind of warmer there.

Instead he just walked up to the counter while leaving wet footprints and scattering water droplets around. Simon felt his eyebrow twitching, he was the one who going to clean these.

“Not much of a talker, are ye? Well, it’s pishin it doon out ‘ere and I’m freezing. Scotch?” Simon hoped he didn’t show it on his face but the only bit he got from this man’s talking was his order. He turned to fill the glass and heard the man talking again.

“I mean it’s raining hard. I could see the gears turning through your eyes. Well, that’s about the only thing I can see. Is wearing a mask come with the bartender job or did I walk into a robbery?”

Simon rolled his eyes while his back was still turned to the man. He served the drink and turned to leave but the man stopped him again. “How much?”

Simon pointed to the board. The man clicked his tongue. “Even the money doesn’t get you talk. Are you mute? Am I being inconsiderate and rude?”

Simon thought about playing mute. He wasn’t planning on talking to customers soon. But he shook his head to indicate that he could talk but he chose not to. Not to him, anyways. And that found its way to the man too. He downed the Scotch and put the money under the glass. There was a crooked smile on his face. “Well, till the next rain then.”

[ringsreforged]

Season 2, Episode 6 - Nat's Rambles

Okay – SO – Paulina is still on holiday, and I’m obviously DYING OVER HERE (Natalie, in case you hadn’t guessed) so TUMBLR. I HAVE RETURNED.

Truly though, I don’t think I’ve done this since S4 of The 100 which probably aired 100 years ago at this point…what has this show done to me…

ANYWAY. My immediate thoughts on Season 2, Episode 6: WHERE IS HE???????

Paulina Voice: All opinions herein have nothing to do with me, so only judge Natalie for them.

Important Note: I have only watched once, in a haze of stress and emotion, so I reserve the right to delete all of this later if I change my mind on any of it.

Arondir – Hello! Nice to see you! Glad you’re joining us for the battle!

I did like the detail of confirming that not all the orcs are on board with Adar’s war, but I was mostly laughing that ‘running through the trees’ is how the show has reminded us a character exists for two weeks in a row.

Rhun – I think this was the first episode where I was like GO AWAY, RHUN, NOT NOW. Though, I want to stress that I am super excited to see the conclusion of this, probably in episode 8. The Dark Wizard, the Gaudrim, the fate of the Stoors (honestly, I’m assuming they’re all going to be massacred tbh…which…the optics…but we’ll worry about that later…). In today’s episode, it just felt a bit like ‘hey, these characters still exist.’

I did love the little snippet of Tom and the Stranger, though I felt like it could have just been included in their previous scenes. He is 1000% Gandalf, and I stand by my opinion that this isn’t supposed to be a twist or a surprise. It’s just the narrative telling the story. Destiny or friend is super intriguing to me. It’s very Luke and Yoda from Empire, but I do wonder if his destiny IS to choose his friend…and in so doing, THAT is how he finds his staff…

Nori talking with the Gund was very sweet, and her willingness to give herself up to protect everyone was super in character. Poppy and Merimac were cute (I pray to all the gods that THIS was the kiss Morfydd teased but I doubt it very much…), and Poppy wanting to fight for the Stranger made me pretty emotional. However, I have some bad news…

Guys…I think I’m adding Poppy to DEATH WATCH. And I HATE IT. BUT I CAN’T UNTHINK IT.

Moving on…

Numenor – This continues to be the choppiest of storylines this season, but I do think the broad elements are super on point. And, actually, where we end up makes the Eagle sequence make more sense in retrospect. Pharazon didn’t have things locked down, Miriel is very much still a player on the board, and Mr. Eyebrows is THE BIGGEST HYPOCRIT.

Then again, if you told me I’d see Halbrand in the Palantir I’d probably touch it too…

Ahem. Loved that detail by the way! Part of the reason I felt like Halbrand would be his Numenor form was the small scene he shared with Pharazon back in S1, while Galadriel was taking out the guards. A connection was formed then – perhaps his eyes even bored a hole – and if Halbrand rocks up as an enemy of the elves, that’ll only make him more appealing.

Everything with Miriel and Elendil was absolutely stunning. He was willing to give his life for her, she was willing to give hers for his. WHAT ABOUT MY HEART. Honestly, from the way Owen and Cynthia talked about this season, I felt like they weren’t going to get anything at all romance coded. But I’m just starting to think people in TV only see active kissing as romance, because HELLO?? THAT’S THE SCRIPT????? THAT IS ABSOLUTELY ROMANCE????

I’m very excited to watch the sequence with the sea worm again, and to really let it wash over me (heh), because I was starting to get time anxious at that point in the episode (my brain starts panicking ‘don’t end, don’t end.’ Honestly, my brain SUCKS). But it was incredible, the implications were wonderful, Elendil’s relief was beautiful, and so was Pharazon’s rage. Also, the whole sequence was UTTERLY STUNNING, WOW.

Note for the show overall, or maybe just for myself, though – PLEASE stop spoiling so much of the season through promotional material. My biggest gripe with this episode is that I felt like I’d already seen/put together 90% of it.

Anyway, I’ve left Earien until last because this was a MUCH better episode for her (though, not letting her have any reaction to Valandil’s death was CRIMINAL). To the point that I’m now reforging (heh) my thoughts on last week – who directed her to have such bratty energy last week? Weird.

Anyway, we saw much more of her conflict and fluidity in this episode. She isn’t Faithful, she believes the new order is the way to go, but she’s also struggling massively with it. Her desperate hug with her father broke my heart, I had instant tears in my eyes, but then I also cheered when she brought Miriel in! What a great surprise that was! I’m REALLY interested to see where she goes from here…I’m assuming in the finale? I was sure she was locked onto a super dark path, but she witnessed Miriel survive the Valar’s judgement…will that sway her back around?

I’m going to finish this section with something that’s maybe a bit controversial…Elendil sucks as Earien’s father!!! Now, I’m willing to put this on pacing/editing issues, because I don’t think the show really wants us to feel this way. But good god, man. HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH YOUR DAUGHTER. I really enjoyed their cell scene, but sweet lord baby jesus, these two needed a deep conversation in episode 3. Watching him turn to go when Miriel walked in, and just forget Earien was even there hurt me man…even though I enjoy the Miriel aspect VERY much…

Like, I know you’re mad at her, but you’re all she’s got left…and your pride might mean she watches you die…can you be a little kinder to her???

Dwarves being dwarves, AKA perfect – Flawless. No notes.

The initial sequence with the Durin’s and Annatar was PERFECT. Annatar being rejected (that Balrog glimpse was SO EVIL), and Baby Durin’s flicker of hope. But then the reveal that Daddy Durin is deep in the shit because he’s really just being greedy. My gooooodnesssssss. The show has done SUCH A GOOD JOB setting this up, because we know Daddy Durin isn’t this way! We feel Baby Durin’s pain!

Then Daddy Durin has his IT’S MINE moment with the ring and swats his son away. Anguish. And the anguish only anguished harder when we cut to Durin and Disa. Disa talking about her love for her father-in-law, and her own father, and then DURIN’S TEARS. UGH. UGH. UGH. I was weeping, honestly.

I feel like Durin being suss of the rings this early on is a pretty big change (don’t quote me on this) but I’m for it. Watching Disa turn back Narvi and the others (poor Narvi) was beautiful and then that I LOVE YOU. UGH. UGH. UGH. PERFECT, I SAY.

I doubt Disa has anymore bats to summon, though, so IDK how the heck they stop what’s coming next. Is Durin going to get drawn away by his desire to help Elrond, leaving Disa alone and vulnerable?

I REFUSE TO PUT DISA ON DEATH WATCH, SHOW. I REFUSE. DON’T YOU DARE.

Adar and Galadriel – I wish we’d gotten more, especially because they released a clip yesterday that I obviously couldn’t resist watching, but what we got was JUICY.

I felt that Adar knew Halbrand was Sauron back in the premiere, or at least suspected it. Getting that confirmation paints their scene with the talk of the wine, the tears, and the kneeling in such a different light. TASTY.

I’ve seen people question this, because why did Adar not try and kill him there and then? To my mind, that’s pretty straightforward. He killed him once and it didn’t stick. And last time he had the element of surprise. He knows that Sauron is powerful enough to get out of his chains/to not get caught by orcs, which means he’s here for a reason. If Adar tries to kill him, best case scenario Sauron is off the board for another few centuries, but he’ll likely take down some orcs with him on the way out. And for what? For him to just come back again?

I think Adar decided to play the long game. I think talk of Eregion and Galadriel let him know that something more was going on, and he was biding his time to act.

So, Sauron promised Adar children. Honestly, the Adar/Sauron/Galadriel dynamic that played across this episode was the stuff of my dreams. Adar is holding his own relationship with the fella up against hers, and there’s so much subtext for both dynamics. Was there romance between both? Was it solely manipulation for both? Is Adar what Galadriel might become if she succumbs?

Galadriel definitely wasn’t being entirely truthful with Adar when she mentioned that Sauron promised an army, because that was more what she thought she could get out of Halbrand. And yes, sure, Sauron might have nudged her that way. But Sauron’s true offer came later on the raft, after the army had been delivered. Adar even acknowledges that she’s not being truthful, that she needs to let go of her pride. I feel like we’ll see that play out over the last two episodes for sure…

The line that really stuck with me from a Hal&Gal perspective was Galadriel finishing Adar’s line about the world with Sauron being full of colour, and without him it’s a dull grey. It fits with how Galadriel has come across to me this season. Since Elrond shut her out, she hadn’t had anybody to open up to, and she’s certainly not being fully honest with herself yet. That dull grey speaks to how she’s mostly been…quite contained? The only moments where she’s truly come alive were with Nenya, and when she was fighting.

Later in the episode, she DOES put aside her pride. She calls Adar Uruk!!! She opens up and sees the possibility of an alliance. And I think this goes back to Sauron too. She’s had a taste of darkness and the temptation of it, she knows she’s not secure from succumbing, and so her perspective of Adar – who was once an elf – has massively shifted. However, when he asks if he and his children will be able to return to their home…we all know the answer to that.

I actually never stopped to consider that Adar would be the one manipulating/tricking Galadriel, which is silly in retrospect. Because this much better explains how she ends up in a cage facing the elves (sorry guys, I don’t think she’s bait for Sauron…she’s facing the wrong way…). I’m looking forward to watching this bit again, as I feel it was a bit rushed on first watch. I would have liked to see these two chat for a good two scenes more, honestly.

Adar is falling into the trap, which is pretty devastating, and Galadriel is the one seeing through it. Honestly, I really don’t know how things roll out in the finale. I flip from it making no sense for it to be a S1 rehash, to being sure she’ll defiantly resist, to being sure the show is setting her up to not be able to. I JUST DON’T KNOW. I wish I’d never seen those stupid leak spoilers…the promo makes me think they are real, but then we MUST be missing full context.

Adar is still on DEATH WATCH but like…a little bit less than before, honestly? Mostly because I don’t see how we have time to get ALL the confrontations into the last two episodes. When Adar goes out – and he will – he deserves the biggest death.

Random aside: I am pondering sharing something of a Haladriel ramble/rant but I’m also like…IDK if I want the hassle, so we’ll see.

Celebrimbor and Annatar

Oh, Brimby. My heart aches. The sequence with him forgetting Mirdania’s name was so heartbreaking and watching Annatar isolate him so completely was chilling. First, by taking away the other smiths, then with the illusion.

I actually don’t think I have a lot to say on this section, because it’s been rumbling along all season and we’re just about to reach the climax. Sauron is Sauron’ing his hardest in this episode.

I am now quite convinced that Mirdania is not Celebrian (I already didn’t really believe it, but it’s firmer now) and I do think she’ll die. I think she’ll either be killed by Sauron himself, or she’ll be caught in the crossfire of the siege, and as she dies she’ll make eye contact with him and he’ll just coldly leave her. I feel like there has to be some sort of climax to the whole…you look like Galadriel thing, but I’m not really sure what that could be?? I don’t think there’s going to be a lot of time next episode, so maybe that really was a one and done so the viewer understood he’s thinking about her…

Celebrimbor trying to snap on Annatar, and that flash of true rage in Annatar’s face…oh god, next week is going to be soul destroying. I honestly can’t wait and dread it at the same time. Celebrimbor has fought so hard but then comes the illusion, then comes the lure – more talk of the Valar, of his work, of Feanor and the Silmarils. CELEBRIMBOR. GET OUT, PLEASE. GET OUT.

Sauron was then absolutely buzzing at the end there, as war came, and I wonder if there are more twists to come or if things play out fairly straightforward from here. We know the elves will charge the orcs. Does that happen straight away? Is there any communication? Because it’s complicated, isn’t it? On one hand, let Adar and the orcs try to take our Sauron…but then, you know innocents are being killed. You have to save them, surely?

And that’s that, I think? PHEW.

I must say, it’s harder to get through this season being in fandom because I KNOW SO MUCH MORE and I WANT SO MUCH MORE and people STRESS ME OUT. But, at the same time, it feels nice to love something this hard again?

Let’s get episode 7 and [redacted] out of the way fast, though, yeah?

[nera-forest]

NOELLE FALLEN ANGEL

-SNOWGRAVE CONCEPT-

Okay this is a lil old but tryna use tumblr more and I used a fair amount of my brain for this concept, since I really like the idea of snowgrave making noelle a crazy powerful boss from Kris' influence kinda pushing her too far. any way I wanna break down my thought process a lil (even if a bit messy) so if you wanna hear me yap (warning, im really not the best at formulating words outside my head) read on. if not...mood board I made at bottom

TW// BLOOD, SHEDDING IN MOOD BOARD- might make people uncomfortable The main things I wanted to show in this design was the angel look and Christmas theme, all while pushing a more sad, hollow and evil look as i feel the juxtapose to "happy Christmas vibes" would make for a more tragic kind of feeling (with what we know of Noelle's character so far). getting the Christmas look was the fun easy part, I knew for a fact i wanted her silhouette to look like a Christmas tree. maybe because subconsciously a pine tree shape and look quite powerful or be kinda spooky. Much like a Christmas tree I wanted to implement the decorative aspect, tinsel, and baubles, but also got inspired by those paper snowflakes id make as a kid. the tinsel I put around the trim, and treated the baubles like reindeer harness Christmas bells, the snowflake like a lace trim but also draped like a head piece around the antlers (this is actually shed reindeer velvet) naturally angels and Christmas go hand in hand but i wanted to push the elegant look...and put a halo on her, like a decoration at the top of the tree framed by her antlers. oh and another thing being the star shape on her torso? i wanted another strong shape within the tree silhouette to draw focus a bit more (especially with the red...but ill talk color in a bit). a great segway to that actually is the ice/snow aspects, the reason i wanted this is ice naturally is another thing that can be both pretty and dreadful. for the design I like the idea of the more she uses her powers the more she gets covered in frost (im a sucker for character corruption) . i wanted to have the antlers go from cute to dangerous, I drew them as velvet shed antlers first, but also wanted to keep a little of her past on her design, so adding the ice shape in a way to allow the red of the antlers to show the old shape worked well by me. some more ice/snow i added was around her hoofs, hands and muzzle. the hooves frost shaping to be like a high heel shoe much like how reindeers have white fur close to the base of their hooves too. her hands fully frosted over not only because of main power direction source but to kind of look like elegant gloves. the frost on her face was mainly to add variety to her face while considering reindeer fur coloration, it also helped frame her red nose which helps draw focus to her face a bit more. general color summery, i wanted colors that contrast and give a feeling of cold and bad. but also red for Christmas yippee how fun!

last thing I guess is the pose. with this i had my silhouette first but realized I could do a sort of angel opening arms. which is naturally a welcoming and caring gesture, but in the context of the design kinda makes the vibe more creepy which....of course that worked for what i wanted to go for so i did that but uuuh yea, that's my thought process with it...there was probably more but I didn't write down stuff in the moment of making it. here is a very minimal moodboard. again

TW// BLOOD, SHEDDING IN MOOD BOARD- might make people uncomfortable:

[f-imaginings]

how goes the next chapter of KMKY? i am super keen for more, but obvs take your time!

hi bud! I am 43 pages into the next chapter and it's going well! Here is a tiny sneak peak of the D&D scene!

Having set up a rudimentary game with the graph paper lying around in the lab, Stanford was having an excellent time.

Dipper had brought the board game downstairs, with the rule book, and several key decision cards scattered around the gridded board on the dirt floor of the lab. Having just completed their character sheets, the adventure was about to begin.

“Okay, so my character is a human wizard slash artificer - battlesmith and order of scribes respectively - with an archivist background and I’ve juuust finished my ability scores.” Dipper scribbled on his character sheet, before throwing the sheet down between them. “Boosh!”

“Is that what the kids are saying these days? Boosh?” Ford queried idly, picking up Dipper’s character sheet to read through it.

“Oh, uh, Wendy – I mean, someone really cool said it once and I guess I just kind of picked it up. It’s not like everyone’s saying it.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to play it off.

“It was hard enough keeping track of the popular slang back in the 80s.” Ford rubbed his chin, impressed by Dipper’s clever allocation of his ability points. “I guess a lot can change in 30 years. I like that you chose artificer for your class. My old friend Fiddleford used to choose artificer too, but he was always more of an alchemist than a battlesmith.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” Dipper frowned, looking down at his notepad. “You two were really close then.”

“As thick as thieves.” Ford confirmed with a nod, filling out his own character sheet. “Before everything with the portal came to a head of course. And – there, that’s my character sheet done.”

Reaching over to read through it, all thoughts of McGucket set aside in favour of the game, Dipper blinked at Ford’s character sheet, surprised.

“Warlock/Fighter multiclass? Really?” He looked between Ford’s ready grin, and the character sheet, squinting at the details. “Shouldn’t your charisma stats be higher than intelligence if you’re playing a warlock. Charisma is the spell modifier.”

“I’ve never really understood why it’s not an intelligence class myself, but given the scope for multi-classing, I can leverage both classes and become an eldritch knight. There’s not a lot a good eldritch blast can’t take care of, in my experience. It’s just like a laser gun!”

“Fair enough.” Dipper shrugged, moving his character piece around on the board. “Great Uncle Ford, how did you get other people to play this game with you? I keep thinking Mabel would love to play this, but I just can’t convince her. I get the feeling she would be a bard, if she gave it a shot. And Wendy could totally be a Ranger!”

“Stanley mentioned Mabel is musically inclined.” Ford rubbed his chin, considering his past attempts to get others to play with him. Stanley never did, choosing instead to mock him, and the only other person he successfully coerced to play was Bill, but he never truly committed to the experience. “You could always try bribery, that sometimes works.”

“And bribe her with what?” Dipper shook his head, before sighing. “Never mind. At least I get to play with you.”

“Are you ready?” Ford questioned, bringing Dipper’s focus back to the board, picking up the 38-sided die and rolling it between his knuckles.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Dipper said gamely, crossing his legs more comfortably beneath him.

“Alright.” Ford waved his hand across the board, sitting behind the cardboard cut out of Probabilitor the Annoying, setting the scene. “The reigning monarch of the land of Mathematica has put out a call for mercenaries across the land to take up a quest to rescue his daughter, Princess Unattainabelle from the devious clutches of the King’s arch enemy, Probabilitor the Annoying, the worst wizard in all of the land. Your task, should you prove worthy, is to gather your party and venture forth into the Algebraic Swamplands, to Probabilitor’s castle deep within his dominion, and brave his radius of evil to find the Princess and rescue her from his sweaty clutches. Your quest’s probability of success is –“

Ford paused to roll the 38 sided die, the die landing on 21.

“Not bad. Could definitely be worse.” Dipper remarked.

“You’re telling me. Once Fiddleford rolled a two.” Ford barked a laugh, remembering the campaign fondly.

“Now that’s playing on hard mode.” Dipper grinned. “21 should be a walk in the park, comparatively.”

“I like those odds.” Ford shared a grin with his great nephew, delighted at their shared conspiratorial joy with the game. “So, you’re in the tavern on the edge of the Swamplands, your character has accepted the quest. What do you do now?”

[theamazingannie]

We can’t get a functional healthcare system or a solution to school shootings or a federal minimum wage above the poverty line or the fucking ability to expel actual fucking nazis from our congress but somehow we can get a near unanimous vote to equate antizionism with antisemitism, something that is only going to harm Jewish people even more than they already are. What a joke country this is

[casualavocados]

im gonna break down my last gifset: the second half of the ep12 intimacy scene, because nat and louis are such good actors ive been rendered slightly braindead more than once due to how well they SOLD this scene and SOLD ai di and chen yi's love for each other through their physicality.

WARNING: if you read this and then use the words top or bottom to describe anything going on here, i will deadass block you. ♥️ don't even think about it. ♥️

this is gonna be unhinged but the mix of horny and pure adoring each other is an ever-crisscrossing line that is simply underappreciated from what ive seen in previous posts of this particular part.

so they've been making out for a while with ai di in chen yi's lap and chen yi decides to push them over… i did not cut a single frame of this btw.

starting with the first two gifs:

i love the way ai di's hand comes to rest perfectly at the nape of chen yi's neck during the impact. then there's a brief "are we gonna kiss?" half of a second before chen yi goes for ai di's neck. and ai di responds appreciatively: with his head tilted back, his hand in chen yi's hair… you see in the second gif his fingers curling a little, to gently trail his nails down chen yi's neck, wordlessly telling chen yi to keep going. and he does, moving from ai di's neck to his chest.

and here we get a moment of ai di going oh. his mouth literally opens a little wider—

—and he lifts up his head as if to check that that's really chen yi doing this to him. all the while his hand has moved from chen yi's neck/hair to rubbing chen yi's shoulder. again in a reassuring "yes that's good" way, and also, i imagine, just for the sake of touching chen yi too.

he looks at chen yi and then full body relaxes into feeling it, while still rubbing chen yi's shoulder. i cant get over ai di's face here, i can't. the whole shot is art, with chen yi kissing just below his ribs.

bc chen yi is so focused on adoring him, on pouring all this love he has for ai di into these gentle kisses and the way he's touching him, too: sliding his hand up ai di's chest to grip his shoulder in return. (also notice ai di's sweatshirt from four years ago hanging up in the background. chen yi has been waiting so long for this too and needs to show it.)

and then— WELL. then ai di slides his hand back up into chen yi's hair…

and chen yi responds to the feeling of it immediately. it's almost like ai di is saying yes, that's good, now come here, and you see chen yi's eyes open and his body immediately follow that cue. perfect wordless communication. ai di's hand is literally pulling him closer (with barely any pressure) and chen yi instinctively responds to it by making his way back up with another soft kiss.

and ai di is watching him, waiting for him. chen yi's hand is sliding along ai di's chest again… you even see ai di's legs open a little at the end of the gif to make room for chen yi to take that space again.

and chen yi does. he really does:

and he does that on purpose. (it's like he's responding to ai di's satisfaction by saying, "let me make it feel even better". while also saying "i love you this much".)

and ai di responds by intentionally adjusting himself to feel more of it:

chen yi moves back from the neck kiss and ai di really said with his body: no, don't you dare take that pressure away.

there is so much going on in those two gifs. starting with the former: you can see ai di leaning back for the neck kiss, and then his hand moves down to chen yi's hip the instant he feels the pressure between his legs, in such a perfectly instinctive movement you can literally see his fingers tighten in chen yi's hair and his toes curl at the edge of the gif. he is completely 100% feeling it. he lifts his head to look.

—& i can't get over the way ai di is always trying to see, to watch chen yi doing this to him. it's chen yi. he has to make sure it's real. he has waited for and wanted this for so long and he isnt dreaming anymore.

and then in the latter: ai di tilts his head back again a little before his shift. his very intentional shifting of hips that physically lifts his back from the bed a little to align them more comfortably and to keep the friction. this movement stops chen yi from kissing ai di's neck again, bringing him to his mouth instead— but not until after ai di's hand on the back of chen yi's neck slides down to cup his cheek. (as if this whole gif says, not only "yes, that feels good, don't stop", but also, "i need you to know i love you".)

they kiss like that: pressed together, looking at each other, ai di cradling chen yi's face with one of his hands. you can see his thumb holding the base of chen yi's jaw in the next gif:

while chen yi in turn pulls his arm out from underneath ai di to prop (only) his chest up a bit higher for the express purpose of just looking at ai di. feeling ai di touching him like this, too. both of them gentle and needy, adoring and eager; all of that fully communicated through their body language.

there is not an inch of them that isnt feeling this moment and isnt completely tuned in to both themselves and the other. it's so intimate and vulnerable and so intentional. and the fact that they are taking their time, always looking at each other, is what makes it so loving and sweet and is also exactly what makes it so hot.

it's chen yi's turn now to check that this is real. to soak this all in and breathe. that's ai di beneath him. against him. loving him.

and it takes a full gif but ai di allows maybe 2 seconds more of looking at each other before reaching up and pulling chen yi into a deeper kiss. he's waited for this for so long—

although first you see ai di's eyes flick down and back up. and let me tell you— he's not looking at chen yi's lips.

chen yi's hand perfectly supports the back of ai di's head and neck as ai di surges up to wrap chen yi in his arms—cup the nape of chen yi's neck in his fingers—pulling himself up and chen yi closer in the same movement.

and this is when and why the camera pans away. because those kisses are getting deeper. they are locked in, they're attached, they are feeling all of it, everything is intentional and loving and very clear about where this scene will be going next.

i just— this is a lot, for me. because it is so intensely loving. and also so intensely horny. like, i've seen some good sex scenes, but it takes some really incredible acting to pull off seeming so fully, devotedly, in love, and be able to show that alongside and through attraction. personally? i haven't seen any bl actors do it better than nat and louis in this scene right here. please notice, as well, that all thirteen of these gifs are of one, continuous, shot.

simply put, it's a very. very. well done scene. AND I NEED TO CHEW DRYWALL.

(final note: a reminder of my warning at the start of this post bc i am serious. there are too many infinitesimal things happening in this scene for these characters to be reduced to stereotypes that, frankly, do not matter in real life. ♥️ no need to respond to this warning either… feel free to focus on what the post is saying instead.)

and that's why chen yi and ai di are better and more real than every other bl couple in existence. ok bye.

[hella1975]

would you like to talk about how bad the mha ending was hella

as much as i would love to give like. a comprehensive response i genuinely dont think i can get my words together just yet without it being a constant unintelligble stream of 'AND ANOTHER THING-' and bc it's become quite torn in the fandom on if the chapter was good or bad i want like. an actual coherent response here. so i will reblog this if/when i can word it but know IM NOT FUCKING HAPPY

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

I strongly agree that there are world events that deserve much more news coverage and resources than the Titan because frankly it should’ve been immediately assumed they were dead when sonar couldn’t find them and communication was lost.

However, I don’t necessarily think it’s fair to compare the EU coast guard and the US and Canada's various first response teams that responded to the Titan. Because they’re separate entities.

Do I think people should care more about the refugee ship that capsized due to alleged incompetence of the coast guard? Yes. I do. And I hope more survivors can be found because that was a genuine tragedy.

Do I think that it should be getting the same kind of attention as the Titan? Not really. Because people are just memeing on the Titan, and the average tumblr user has around $0.20 to their name and maybe 400 followers so this isn’t a very good platform for getting meaningful help for those affected by that situation.

This isn’t even a “you can care about two things at once” situation, because again with the Titan you should be very amused by 4/5 of those deaths whereas there’s nothing funny about what happened to that fishing ship. These are very different niches in cultural awareness and your ire should be towards media companies over random people on social media.

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

i think what's really getting me about kozma claiming to have blown up the moon and also claiming to "be" the breach and basically equating "breach collaborators" and "my allies" in the same speech is that. the breach operative we've known since season one, the person who "is" the breach as far the story's concerned, is saskia. and midst is saskia's HOME! she built the black candle with her own two hands (metaphorically, at the very least), she LOVES it there and she loves those people :( and if we take kozma's story at face value, she just threw the "centerpoint" (according to imelda) of her own operation entirely under the bus and endangered the lives not only of innocent people but also of a bunch of her own operatives without their knowledge just to destabilize the trust and frankly that makes me kind of hope she IS telling the truth simply because that's the kind of betrayal i find absolutely delicious,