#and all three of them look functionally identical

[paradoxcase]

Right, so, after reading some error logs, obtaining a copy of the objects.package that shipped with the Sims 2 rerelease, and talking about this with Lazy Duchess, I have a conspiracy theory about why the rerelease is so damn broken

So first, I looked at an error log that was happening in the Enthusiasm Tracker. It was coming from the function that signs sims up for a magazine subscription after they choose that option on the phone. It's a very short function, all it does is 1) check to see if the family has a magazine subscription token, 2) create one if it does not already exist, and 3) set a property on the token regardless of whether 2 was necessary or not. All three of these actions make use of the Manage Inventory primitive, which controls not just sim inventories, but also tokens like this, memories, and gossip. I compared all like five lines of this function to the one in my objects.package, that I have from the Ultimate Collection, and they were exactly the same. But for some reason, in the rerelease, this throws an error. There is no explanation at the level of this function. I kind of scratched my head and thought, maybe they changed how the magazine subscription token works in this version, and forgot to update this function? Or something?

Next, there was an Too Many Iterations error log that had a very obvious cause: for some reason, the active family had over 500 tokens in its inventory. The family inventory isn't listed in the error log, so have no idea what those tokens were, or how there came to be 500+ of them. BUT. The aforementioned magazine subscription token is a token that goes in the family inventory. Maybe these two problems are somehow related. Are those 500 tokens all magazine subscription tokens, or something?

And then there is the infamous error that the game now throws when a sim goes to get abducted. I didn't see an error log for this one, but I was making a post on MTS listing all of the known issues with the rerelease, and someone mentioned there that the issue is not so much with the abduction as it is with other sims reacting to the abduction, and if there are no sims on the lot to react to the abduction, the error does not occur. Someone else then mentioned that the Abduction Reaction Fix mod that I made actually fixes this error. I made that mod, I know exactly what it does. What does it do?

Well, you see, objects in the game all have what is called a tree table, which is a table of interactions and the functions that need to be called when those interactions are triggered. One of the interactions on the telescope is the interaction to run to the telescope after someone has been abducted. But, in the Free Time expansion, a lot of new interactions were added to the telescope, and for some reason, EA decided to renumber all of the functions when they did that. They forgot to update the tree table, which references functions by their numbers, and as a result, the function that was called when sims were supposed to do the run-to-telescope interaction was actually the function that gives sims credit for discovering a new planet. In my mod, I fixed this, so that when sims are supposed to run to the telescope, the proper run-to-the-telescope function is called instead.

So, the error happens when my mod is not installed (when the planet discovery function is being called erroneously) and not when it is (when the run-to-the-telescope function is called instead). So the error must be coming from the planet discovery function. What is in the planet discovery function? It is almost identical to the magazine subscription function. It checks for the planet discovery token, adds it if it isn't there, and then modifies a property on it, using Manage Inventory. So this is exact same bug. And other people are reporting that some sims cannot gain memories - another game function that is handled by Manage Inventory. There is also an error that happens after a sim cooks food - one thing that happens at that point is that tokens and memories are added to the sim's inventory marking that they have successfully (or unsuccessfully) learned to cook that food.

So at this point, my theory is that EA somehow broke the Manage Inventory primitive. It's used all over the code, to do all sorts of stuff, if you break something that ubiquitous and fundamental, of course it's going to cause a whole lot of seemingly completely unrelated errors. Manage Inventory is now going hog-wild, throwing errors, adding hundreds of extraneous tokens to inventories, refusing to give sims memories, and who knows what else. I can feel it, this is the answer

[ruinix]

Quinn getting a huge baby fever after he saw you hold your little cousin (or whomever baby)

Hello, lovely…baby fever… yes, baby fever. Ummm, I fear I have…gone overboard again, so it took me a bit. I had to bring out the big guns (my AO3 thots with my fictional men). He almost turned…dark 🤨🙂‍↔️

Trouble

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Masturbation, a dash of Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex (use protection, lovelies), Brief Choking, Use of ‘hubby’ (some doesn’t like it so...🙂‍↕️), Quinn being pathetic as he gets hit with an extreme baby fever

Count: 2914 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You are trouble. So much trouble. Quinn had to lock himself in a bathroom stall as he stares at his phone, his fingers tapping the video over and over and over again. It feels like a loop. A loop of you and that little baby.

Who is that? Who? But the identity of the baby is the second thing in this mind. You’re the first thing.

Quinn can’t stop watching. Can’t stop hearing your little coos for the baby you got in your arms. Can’t stop seeing the way you brush your cheek against the top of the baby’s head. Can’t stop the squeeze in his chest as you smile at the camera, the light shining behind you so perfectly that you appear to have a halo. Can’t stop feeling your happiness in this ten-second-long video. It makes him happy. Too happy that he had to cover up the little one’s face because he’s…his pants tighten up. Fuck.

Before he could type his reply, you send over a text that had him, leaning back against the door which creaked from his weight. His legs and hands shake. His soul shudders. It feels as though he’s not there. This must be a fucking dream.

Your text says, “When we have a baby, will they look as cute as this little duuuuuude?”

‘When. We. Have. A. Baby.’

When. Not if. When. Like you are stating the inevitable future. Like you are looking forward to it. Like you want him to give you children—or child, fuck, he’ll give you any number of children.

It’s just a simple thought, but it feels like a magnitude ten earthquake causing destruction. You destroyed him in the best possible way. Rattled him so much that he can barely function. He got practice for fuck’s sake. He can’t even tease your extended ‘dude’. He can’t. He can’t think straight.

All Quinn’s thoughts are questions.

‘You want a baby with me? When do you want to have a baby? Do you want to start making one now? Next week? Next month? Next season? Next year?’

‘Are you sure you want a baby?’

‘How many babies do you want? One? Five?’

‘Do you want them a year a part? Two? Three?’

Shaking his head to clear it, his tongue feels dry, his heart beating and ramming against his chest. He could barely ask who’s the little dude, barely understand that dude is your friend’s baby, could barely read every paragraph you sent after about little dude. Of course, he still reads it, despite not being able to process them, because he needs to hear you—at least—as he tumbles down the rabbit hole.

More like plummets.

His mind is clogged with images of you. Your tummy barely showing to fully rounded and full of his baby. You eating for two. You being all clingy or irritable with him—he’ll hug or console you either way. You wearing maternity clothes. Most especially, you holding his baby.

Quinn’s done for. He fucking is.

When you send your “I love you”, Quinn’s hand is already wrapped around his cock, your name escaping his lips in a plea, a revelation descending and dawning upon him.

He needs to have a child with you.

That’s why—for weeks, six weeks to be exact—Quinn cannot stop imagining and wishing the babies he sees in the streets, in social media, in the arena during games to be yours and his.

He has…baby fever. He realized that a week in. It’s weird. Quinn doesn’t think about kids or babies. His plan was to be with you. Just you and him without a doubt. Then after some time, he’ll propose. Then you will marry. Then you two will talk about kids, because even if having kids was not yet his focus, he wants a family with you.

You’re his endgame. He’s sure of it, so he’s moving forward with you. Until you sent the video of little dude—Jeremy, if Quinn remembers correctly—with you. Until he literally can’t stop picturing you and babies. Until it’s the only thing in his fucking mind other than hockey and you. Babies. Cute little babies.

He’s so fucked, because it’s not just the wholesome need for little babies. No. It feels primal.

He gets fucking hard, totally bricked up, wanting nothing but to fuck you until you’re bred. So hard that he had to jerk off multiple times during the day. Bathroom stalls. A janitor closet. Even when he’s home, he has to jerk off, given that you’re not there. He tries not to, but his cock would ache as his thoughts worsen, so he fucking fails. Every. Time.

His fogged-up brain will continuously echo: “Kids, now. Kids with you. Now. Now.”

Quinn thinks he’s losing his mind. He doesn’t know what to do, because the thoughts of little ones—with your eyes, your hair, your smile, your sweetness, your quirks, your gentleness, your everything—makes him yearn for it to be true. His heart aches for every day that goes without them. He needs a family with you. He needs little ones to spoil alongside you.

So for weeks, Quinn wants to breech the subject with you. He wishes to present his new foolproof life plan—that will also be your plan, if you accept. His new plan consist of: lots of fucking to make a baby, him providing for you and your children and possibly grandchildren, him being present for every step of the way, him being a good father. But simply, babies. The plan is to have babies, but the words always stop at his throat.

Because…even if he wants babies, that doesn’t equate to what you want right now. Right? He can’t just do what he wants, can he? Like breed you and—

“Little dude,” you say in a singsong voice, “would look so cute with this, right?”

Quinn looks up and sees you hold up a shark onesie. He can only stare, stare, and stare, because this has to be illegal. This, as in you holding up that onesie just a meter away from him. As in you looking proud of every baby clothing you bought. As in you being excited about buying things not for his baby. He hates it. The sudden disdain—to an innocent kid just because he’s not his—is making him all too riled up now. Why are you spoiling someone else’s baby? Fuck.

“Sure,” Quinn chokes out which he tries to mask with a cough.

He nods helplessly when you grin, a sparkle in your eyes, then you dash across the room to get your wrapping papers, tapes, and somehow, more paper bags. Just how many did you buy for that baby? It’s a fucking haul that makes Quinn irritable and also downright pathetic.

He should just say it. He wants a kid with you. He wants to be a father to your children. Easy words to say, but he still can’t say it. He’s such an idiot.

“I want to help,” he offers as you settle on the floor, scooting your legs under the coffee table, looking so cozy.

“Thank you, Quinn, but I got a wrapping system over here,” you giggle. Your arms are comically filled with stuff before you laid them out on the table. “You always crumple the wrapper, silly.”

Quinn does. He can wrap presents, but it’s a battle. Him against the paper. Usually, he wins but the gifts…they’re wrapped so messily. So different with your gift wrapping. While he’s nonchalant about it, you’re particular. He sees your focus for every fold. He has seen you get upset when you fold one piece wrong or if the ribbon is wonky. He loves that about you.

Still, you give him socks and onesies. Still, you let him messily wrap them. You even smile, looking so proud of him like he’s the best, looking utterly kind and patient. You place what he wrapped on your growing pile.

You’ll be a good mother. Quinn knows that. He’ll do his best to be a good father. He can do that. He can—

He jumps when you suddenly hop over his lap.

“Where’d you go?” You ask, pressing a kiss against his jaw. Quinn can only cling to your hips, savor your touch on his nape, the feel of your fingers running through his hair. “Come back, hubby.”

Hubby? Are you insane? Do you know what that does to him? Who is he kidding? You fucking do. You always do. You’ll be the death of him.

“My Love,” he groans, a bit too whiny in his opinion, but he can’t help it. The effect you have on him.

“You like that?” you chuckle, breathing in his sharp exhales. “Hubby.”

Quinn can only growl in response. You’ve short-circuited him and you laugh at him. Cruel. His cruel Love. He hugs you tighter, grounding himself. This is real. You called him Hubby. Not Huggy. Hubby. Your hubby.

He buries his head into your neck, greedily taking in your scent. God. You smell so good, so addicting like a custom-made drug, just for him.

His cock throbs, wishing to be seated in your pussy, wishing to spill his cum in your womb until it takes.

“Do you want a baby?” He forces out, his voice coming out raspy and broken and desperate. He’s probably blushing, because he’s burning up. Even his fucking eyes sting. He’s going to cry and it’s fucking pathetic.

“Hmm,” you hum, hands rubbing over his chest, soothing him.

One hand runs up his jaw, coaxing him to meet your eyes. Your beautiful eyes track every detail on his face, taking everything like it’s your first time when you’ve already done it hundreds of times.

Then you softly kiss his cheeks, the mole on the right, his forehead, the edges of his eyebrows, his eyelids, his lips. A simple soft peck. One by one until he’s just putty underneath you. His heart pounds but not from fear, for his undeniable love for you. Just like that you settle him.

“Been thinking about that, handsome?” you ask.

“Yes,” he nearly stutters.

“Do you want to have a baby?” you ask, pressing another kiss on the tip of his nose.

Quinn shudders, eyebrows meeting, breaths picking up. “Yes,” he confesses like he’s about to confess guilty and be sentenced to death.

A grumbled ‘fuck’ escapes his lips when you scoot closer, sitting your clothed pussy right over his aching cock. You roll your hips once and Quinn almost comes. Shit. What are you doing to him?

You’re saying something, whispering the words on his lips, but Quinn couldn’t focus.

You’re so close. Oh, so close. Your breaths mix together, making him all so dizzy. He wants to kiss you again, but when he tries to close the smallest distance between you two, you move back. Why are you…

Then he realizes what you said.

“I’ve been wanting your baby for so long, Q. So long.”

You want his baby.

It feels like the last tether around his control snaps.

No longer is he chasing your lips and letting you pull away. No longer is he shaking like a goddamned leaf, choking on unsaid words, yearning and begging to the void. No longer because you’ve said it. You want his child.

He captures your lips, hand slipping through hair, firmly tugging. The way you moan against his lips makes his blood rush his cock. Your hands grasping at his shirt. Your hips grinding against his. Your desperation is a distinct reflection of his.

“Quinn,” you gasp, panting for air. Your pupils are blown. Cheeks flushed.

Quinn groans your name, lifting you to rest you on the couch, him still kneeling on the floor, your hips glued together. He grasps your collar, ruthlessly tugging down. Buttons pop out, fabric tearing. It’s his shirt anyway. He can just give you more.

He doesn’t let you complain, easily capturing your lips, as he continues his rush to remove every bit of your clothing. You try to help, but he won’t let it. He can’t or else he’ll lose it.

He needs this. You need this. Those thoughts keep bouncing in his head as he deepens the kiss. His hand finds your pussy, already dripping. Slipping a finger, your pussy sucks it in, quivering, clenching, leaking. God, you’re so wet. He doesn’t even need to prep you, because you’re already so turned on for him. Only for him. He hooks his finger against your special spot, making you scream.

You’re so ready, aren’t you? Ready to be fucked. Ready to be bred.

“It’s such a dangerous day, Quinny,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms.

You’ve already sent him over the edge but hearing you—those new set of words—makes him spiral deeper into his haze.

He somehow gets rid of his shirt but only pushes his pants and boxers down, before he sinks every inch of his hard and leaking cock into your needy pussy. So easily. So smoothly. So eager and greedy.

“Fuck,” he growls, nipping your lips, blunt fingers digging into your thighs to keep them wide open for him. “You feel so good.”

So good. So perfect around his cock. He watches his cock slide out then back in, shivering at the feel of you, shuddering at your exhales, at how pleasure contorts your beautiful face.

“Quinn,” you say his name like it’s a prayer. “Breed me.”

He nearly comes from that. You’re such a minx. He leans back, fucking harder into you, bottoming out and hitting the spot that has you singing your screams, that has your eyes rolling up as your pussy convulses with tiny orgasms. Christ. He might not last long.

He just wants to fill you up, plug you with his cock so nothing spills. He needs to do that. If he doesn’t, you can’t get pregnant. You can’t have the child you want. The child he needs to take care of, to spoil, to love.

He wraps a hand around your neck. Of all the necklaces he bought for you, it’s his favorite and nothing else, but the sight of the little heart pendant resting on your collar bone, just beneath his wrist, has him snapping his hips harder, rolling to heighten his and your pleasure. Fuck, so good.

“Harder, hubby,” you taunt as tears run down your cheeks. “Please, just a bit upward.”

He follows your plea, hitting the spot you wanted him to reach, getting the immediate reward of you arching your back, pussy clamping down around him as you come. Your cum dribble out with your arousal. The squelching noises and skin slapping are so alluring. Quinn needs more.

Quinn rides your orgasm, prolonging it until you are whimpering and gasping, “I’m coming. Quinn.”

He tightens his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse quicken, pussy tightening. You can only hold his arm, hips raising to meet every thrust that makes your tits bounce. Your eyes roll as you come once again as he controls your air. What a sight.

He finally lets go of your neck, running his hand down your chest, teasing your taut nipples, making you whine, your tummy, until he reaches below your navel. He pushes down, then you scream and come around him again.

Look at you surrendering to him.

“That’s three,” he groans out, slowing down his pace. He rises, resting on knee on the edge of the couch, so he can fuck into you deeper. He hooks your quivering leg over his forearm, watching you bite your lips. “Got more for me, my Love?”

“Please,” you breathe. “Fill me with your cum, Q. Please. I need it.”

That’s his fuel. Your words. Your breaths. Your moans, mewls, whimpers, whispers of calling him your hubby. You, whining for more, more, and more, as he ruts and rolls his hips into your sopping wet pussy. The slight drool on the corner of your lips which he couldn’t fight the urge to lick. Your taste, your feel, your touch, all so divine.

He can’t get enough of you.

Soon, he’ll have little you’s whom he’ll love, whom he’ll play his games for, whom he’ll work hard for, whom he’ll be proud of. He’s already doing these things for you, but that promise will ignite—has ignited—another flame in him.

He’ll have pieces of you and him in his arms.

He can’t wait.

He can’t.

He needs to make it happen.

He must.

He captures your lips, your tongue meeting his instantly. Fuck. He can feel your desperation. You need it too.

Quinn slows, drawing every thrust deeper, losing himself in you until he comes so hard that his sight blurs, so hard that he almost crushes you to the couch, so hard that he whimpers your name because you also come. Every spurt of his cum, a silent prayer, a plea for it to take.

But even if it doesn’t, Quinn has the whole day to plug you up with his cock, to fuck you again with your hips raise to lessen the cum that spill which is fucking inevitable. So, he’s there to give you more.

He has to make sure that you’re full of him. Full of his seed on this dangerous day. So dangerous. A perfect time to breed you, isn’t it?

God, he can’t wait until he’s fucking you with your belly is round with his baby.

[ms-demeanor]

Some people on the left are discussing whether the left is kind enough to me. Especially after the results of the election like lots of men of some demographics voting for Trump. Do you have any thoughts on that? Seems more about women should be nicer to men in some people’s opinions. And I am not sure about this discourse

i think that the social atomization that contributes to the radicalization of young men also contributes to, like, tradwifery and the radicalization of young women so I think that people are looking at a deep systemic issue with a shallow lens.

I don't think this is so much an issue of people being "nice" but of spaces making people feel *valued.*

The right-wing space full of toxic masculinity where people call disaffected young men "brother" isn't comforting just because people call you brother, it's because they're framing disaffected young men as valuable members of society who have been dismissed and degraded by the left. It tells them they're important and have worth and are necessary for the future of the world just because of who they are.

Of course they're getting called pussies and cucks and are being bullied in that space, but they're also being told that if they perform a certain standard of masculinity they are the future of their nation/race/species/family/etc. The toxicity of that space isn't something that makes them question their value, or whether or not they're a good person, or if they have something to offer the world. It is something they endure to prove that they are a member of the in-group, and that they belong, and that they do have value and are a good person.

So, there are people dunking on that post because it does kind of read like "i was almost eaten up by the alt right because women weren't nice enough to me" and to an extent i think that it was ungracefully worded. But i also think that it's addressing something that a lot of people feel in a lot of political spaces.

I do not think that whatever the hell we consider "the mainstream left" in America is particularly welcoming to anybody. I think that it very superficially values diversity while not actually valuing people. I think that it says "You are important! And that's why I need you to donate three dollars to my campaign to prevent the Republicans from harming [your identity group]! I am asking for your help as a senator, a mother, and a person who wants to defeat my opponent in two to four years."

I think that what a lot of people are looking for is not acceptance or niceness but is a community and i'm not at all surprised that people feel like they're not getting that from democrats/the mainstream left/whatever.

I mean. My real response to this is:

I don't think that the *actual* issue is that men don't feel welcomed by "the left," I definitely don't think the issue is women being insufficiently nice to men, I think the issue is that all of us are little cogs in a capitalist machine and actually there's very little out there that is saying to anyone "you are worth more than your productivity."

And it turns out that people will put up with huge amounts of abuse if the abuser makes them feel like they belong. People getting sucked into the alt-right pipeline because it is "nice" to them are exactly analogous to people who get sucked into cults because the cult provides community and affirmation and a sense of belonging.

Anyway, I am once again and as always begging people to put together or join any kind of at-least monthly meetup based on your specific interests. Start a radio club. Start a quilting circle. Put together a free store at the park once a month. Literally join a drum circle. Participate in a community garden. Start a walking club with your neighbors. Go to events at the library on weekends.

As a side note: there absolutely are lefty spaces that function by making people feel worthless or feel like bad people. They tend to have high turnover, short lifespans, and explosive fallout. These are shitty spaces and if your participation in a space is primarily motivated by some combination of guilt and self-flagellation, you should leave that space.

[gf2bellamy]

Hey remember that one scene in s7 where spencer suggests watching over Henry so the girls can go on a night out it's such a shame we didn't get to see what the girls did for them to show up this hungover so I was wondering if you could please write something about bau!reader going on with girls and spencer taking care of her after hotch finish running the triathlon

triathlon — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader has a hangover and a headache, mention of painkillers a/n: hi hi ! i hope you like this <3 i love this scene so much jj's "why are you yelling" always makes me laugh

"I'm too hungover for this."

You groaned, resting your forehead against the metal railing in an attempt to block out the harsh daylight. The sun was relentless, and every sound around you felt ten times louder than it should have.

Currently, you were standing next to your boyfriend, Spencer, and your equally suffering teammates—JJ, Emily, and Penelope. The three of you were dressed identically: oversized sweaters, big sunglasses, and the kind of posture that screamed I regret all of my life choices.

Spencer, on the other hand, looked obnoxiously bright-eyed and cheerful. He was waving a small flag enthusiastically, cheering with way too much energy for someone who had spent the night not drinking.

You barely lifted your head, pushing your sunglasses up just enough to squint at him.

He caught your look immediately and grinned, lowering his flag slightly. “Couple hours, couple hours,” he mocked, quoting the very words you and the girls had reassured him with over the phone last night.

You groaned, turning your head back toward the railing. “You guys didn’t come home until sunrise,” he added knowingly, his gaze flicking toward JJ, Emily, and Penelope, who all groaned in agreement.

“No comment,” you muttered.

Spencer poked your arm lightly. “I was worried about you.”

You barely moved, your head still heavy with regret.

“Why are you yelling?” JJ groaned, mirroring your position against the railing.

“Yeah, make your boyfriend stop,” Emily muttered, barely able to function.

“Spencer, you heard them,” you mumbled, waving a limp hand in his direction, though you knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

Suddenly, Rossi’s voice rang out over the crowd, far too loud for your fragile state. “Hotch is here!”

You lifted your head, blinking blearily as you watched your boss approaching the finish line.

Spencer, of course, was cheering louder than ever.

You, on the other hand, simply smiled in approval. That was about as much enthusiasm as you could manage.

“Come on,” Spencer said, reaching for your hand.

You sighed dramatically but let him pull you forward, weaving through the crowd toward the water station where Hotch was being greeted by his son, Jack, who ran up to him with a beaming smile.

The sight was heartwarming, even in your current barely alive state.

“See?” Spencer murmured, squeezing your hand as you both watched the scene unfold. “Totally worth getting out of bed for.”

You hummed, tilting your head up to glance at him. “Debatable.”

Spencer just chuckled, squeezing your fingers again before kissing the top of your head.

As Hotch and Jack walked over to greet a woman, you lazily pushed your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, attempting to get a better look. But, to be honest, your curiosity was no match for the pounding in your skull.

Your body protested against every movement, and before you could even think too hard about it, a loud yawn escaped your lips. Without a second thought, you slumped against Spencer, letting him bear some of your weight.

He looked down at you, assessing your pathetic state with amused concern.

“We should get you home,” he murmured, his hand lightly rubbing your arm.

“Yes, please,” you sighed dramatically, feeling like the words alone had drained the last bit of your energy.

Five minutes later, after saying half-hearted goodbyes to everyone (JJ and Emily looked just as desperate to leave as you did), you were finally in the passenger seat of Spencer’s car. You let out a long breath, sinking into the seat, feeling more at peace than you had all morning.

Spencer started the car, glancing at you before asking, “Do you want to get some food before we go home?”

Your head lolled against the seat as you turned to him, eyes still hidden behind your oversized sunglasses.

“Oh, yes please,” you groaned, already daydreaming about greasy, carb-heavy food that would hopefully bring you back to life.

Spencer chuckled under his breath as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I had a feeling that would be your answer.”

“You know me so well,” you mumbled, closing your eyes.

A few minutes of silence passed before you peeked one eye open. “Are you judging me?”

“Not at all,” he said, but the grin on his face said otherwise.

“You so are,” you accused, pointing a lazy finger at him. “Just because you woke up feeling fresh and ready to cheer at a marathon—”

“I wasn’t cheering at you,” he interjected, though he was clearly enjoying himself.

“Still,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “I think you should be suffering with me. It’s only fair.”

Spencer smirked. “I did offer to come pick you up last night. But someone insisted that she and her ‘drinking dream team’ could make it home just fine.”

You groaned, leaning your head against the window. “That does sound like something I’d say.”

He reached over, giving your knee a small squeeze. “Alright, hang tight. Greasy food incoming.”

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes again. “This is why I love you.”

Spencer chuckled. “Because I enable your bad decisions?”

“Because you fix them,” you corrected.

He just shook his head fondly, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly against your knee as he drove.

Another 30 minutes later, you were sprawled out on the couch, full, content, and finally beginning to feel human again.

“I am never drinking again,” you declared dramatically, reaching for the painkiller Spencer handed you, along with a glass of water.

Spencer sat down next to you, watching as you downed the pill and chugged the water in record time.

“We both know you’re lying,” he said, deadpan.

You glared at him over the rim of the glass before setting it down on the coffee table with an exaggerated sigh. “Wow. No faith in me whatsoever.”

“None,” he agreed, reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He unfolded it and threw it over both of you.

You turned toward him, shifting until you could slump against his side, your cheek pressing into the soft fabric of his sweater. He was warm, which only made you burrow closer.

Spencer huffed out a quiet laugh, his arm instinctively wrapping around you. “You’re ridiculously clingy when you’re hungover.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you mumbled, closing your eyes.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his hand idly tracing patterns against your arm. “It’s just… amusing. You spent all morning acting like I was personally responsible for your headache, and now you’re using me as a human pillow.”

You peeked up at him, a sleepy smirk on your lips. “Well, you were yelling.”

“I was cheering,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back against the couch, his fingers still lazily moving against your skin. The steady, rhythmic motion was lulling you into an almost dreamlike state.

A comfortable silence stretched between you until Spencer spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Did you have fun last night?”

You hummed in response. “Mhm. Until this morning.”

“Maybe next time, I should come with you,” he mused.

You snorted. “You? At a bar with us?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, no, I know you can’t handle it,” you teased, grinning up at him. “You’d be reciting alcohol poisoning statistics before we even finished our first round.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then promptly shut it, clearly realizing you were 100% right.

“Fine,” he admitted. “But someone has to make sure you actually get home before sunrise.”

You sighed, nuzzling further into his chest. “I like how you just accept that I’m going to do it again.”

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve learned to pick my battles.”

You grinned against his sweater. “Smart man.”

Spencer chuckled, tightening his hold around you as you let the exhaustion of the day finally catch up to you.

Yeah, you’d probably do it all over again. But at least you’d always have Spencer to bring you home.

[circeyoru]

Freedom in The Darkness

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Royalty!Reader - Royal Fight AU]

*Implied Female Reader (it’s just the titles)

Deception. Manipulation. Blood. Pain. Betrayal. Assassination. Death.

Such things were the normality within the walls of the royal family that everyone seemed to admire. A fight for the title of crown prince or princess, to be the next ruler of the empire. It was the biggest succession fight in the world. Why? Because whoever wins this scrabble essentially rules the world. 

Only six princes and princesses remained among the 13. There were various deaths: poison, assassination, falling, disease, drowning, heart attack, and malnutrition. Within the six were three princes and three princesses. Because the fight hindered the standard functionality of the empire, the emperor sent the six candidates for the throne to six different domains. Each got to pick their domain according to their birth order.

There were a few reasons why the emperor sent his children to different places. (1) Of course, it was for peace to return to the royal capital since the beginning of the royal succession made the people split into groups. (2) It was for the remaining children to seek allies outside of their comfort zone―namely those in the castle. And (3) it was for said children to try and rule over their chosen domain within 7 years. 

You were one of the three princesses and you were sent to the lawless domain. You survived solely because you had a knack for hiding and living like the dead in the palace, so no one paid attention to you until the cease-fire was announced. Of the remaining children, you were the youngest and none of your elder brothers and sisters saw you as a threat. In fact, they bet you would be killed within the week in your new domain.

The lawless domain was where adventures and criminals mingled since even the emperor could barely pay it any mind or attention. It also served as the barrier between the empire and the dark forest, so no one cared for this place. Thus, the infamous nickname ‘Lawless’ is used.

Initially, you’ve given up on living since there was no light in your dark world. All you’ve known was how to survive. Turns out it was the same deal here. To your luck, although the people of that domain were notified of a royal arriving to rule over them, none knew what that royal looked like. So you have forsaken your clothing and identity for money to have someplace to stay. 

Throughout your time here, you’ve built bonds and connections, ones you never wanted to drag into your royal fight. One of which was a boy named Sung Jinwoo. He was the older brother of a younger sister, he and his family were adventurers and they have been the ones to help you with your life in this lawless area. There was once when you thought Jinwoo died in an expedition. You, who have unlocked your magic, set out to search for him after his team came back to town with tears. When you found him, he was still breathing, so with your last breath, you teleported him back to his home and collapsed. 

When you woke up, you were met with a Jinwoo look-alike exercising in your shared room. The moment the two pairs of eyes met, he gave you that soft smile, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Morning… Jinwoo?”

“That’s me.”

From then on, Jinwoo was obsessed with growing stronger, and he did. Every day, he goes above and beyond to train his physical body and enters the forest like it was a mere training ground. There were times when you could join him, and other times when he preferred to go alone, those times you’d be with his family or other parties you’ve made connection with. 

Jinwoo never came back with any scratches or injuries, making you curious as to how strong he has gotten. You confronted him and he showed you what he was capable of. The powers of shadow and an army of undead so long as he stood strong and alive. When you heard that, you gave him quite the lecture on safety and worrying others. He was kneeling on his knees with his hands raised, looking like a kicked puppy. Meanwhile, any passerby would snicker and tease Jinwoo for angering his partner.

You took up the role of being his exclusive healer and was by his side every time he went to some sort of battle. In turn, Jinwoo set aside some soldiers of his to protect you since he’d be focused on the fight and you’d be focused on him. It was a unique partnership, you’ll admit. You’d never tell anyone that it was comforting to know someone would depend on you and you could rely on someone, especially when that someone was Jinwoo. 

At some point, you slipped up and your secret as a royal was known to him. It wasn’t a big deal since you didn’t care for your title anymore after living outside the palace for so long. You have long abandoned your royal title and privileges after being sent away to your new ruling domain. You found a new life and you treasured it more than what the stupid palace could offer. This was the freedom you never had; no one treated you like royalty, and no one expected anything of you. It was true bliss.

Until Jinwoo had this idea. “Say, why not take over the throne?”

“What?!” You spit out your drink and started a coughing fit that Jinwoo tried to relieve by patting your back. When you did, you glared at him and questioned, “Why would you suggest that?”

“If you hate this royal succession so much, why not become empress and demolish it?” Jinwoo calmly spoke his mind. “You have my full support and the people of this city.”

You slumped, playing with the cup in your hands. “But, I’m not fit to rule… I didn’t receive any education like my brothers and sister. It’s not like one city; it’s a whole empire! I can’t handle it…”

Jinwoo cupped your hands in his larger ones, making you look up into his grey-coloured eyes. “Hey, I’ll be right by your side. So will the others in my shadow. We’ll all help you.” At your silence and uncertainty, Jinwoo hummed in thought. “How about this? Kill them and raise them from the dead to act as the ruling power?”

You blinked and stared at Jinwoo, bewildered by his new idea.

“That way, you’re not the figurehead to rule. They are. You’ll be behind the scene controlling them. You have me after all.” He let go of you and came over to his side, kneeling down on one knee as he took your hand and kissed your knuckles with a confident smirk. “Just give me the order, your majesty.”

After that conversation, the atmosphere in the city changed and people started acting like they were preparing for war. Whenever you were around, they would give you a nod and go back to their work. You realized they were prepared to act as your army when you fight for the throne. You couldn’t help but smile and cheer them on with your thanks. 

You had no idea when it started. The lawless domain that outsiders shunned and despised was just an unpolished diamond in the rough. It only took the right person to come along to change it to one of the more fearsome domains that could give the warrior, knight, and armoury domains a run for their money. Though you probably had a hold over its people because you never waved your royal card in their face like your elder siblings would. They respected you for your ability to survive and care for others no matter the circumstance, though it also had something to do with you being a two-faced cunning fox against your enemies. A story for another time maybe.

You gave it some thought. Jinwoo was right, if you were standing at the highest, nothing could stand in your way of implementing changes. Plus, you wanted to protect this city you grew fond of. Contrary to the rumours, this place was like any other; if not, it would have been more peaceful and human than your home in the palace. You wanted to have the power and authority, but you also wanted your own freedom. It was greedy and selfish of you, you know, still, you wanted no rules and obligations that could separate you from Jinwoo and those you care for.

On the day the time was up, the royal carriages arrived to pick you up. Jinwoo and Igris followed behind you, acting as knights and close aids of yours. Igris’ full armour appearance made the story more believable while Jinwoo appeared to be a mix of a butler and assassin, if that made any sense. Either way, the countdown began. 

The closer you were to the palace, the more your heart beat like mad. Jinwoo took your hand and gave you a tight squeeze. You looked away from the window at his soft expression, and you gave him the best smile you could. “I’m nervous…”

“Don’t be. You’re not alone now.” Jinwoo spoke melody to your ears. “Everyone can move at your word.”

You looked down at the shadows. Millions of glowing eyes looked back at you while the shadows wavered, showing you support in their unique way. “Yes, I’m not alone.”

The carriage stopped, and the door opened. Jinwoo got off first and held out a hand for you. You took it and the edge of your dress as you stepped out of the carriage. The scenery of the majestic palace didn’t change a bit, but the memories of all the squabbles for the throne rushed back like a storm. Screams and cries of agony you’d try to shut out to keep your sanity when you hid and witnessed murders and betrayals of all kind around you. All for the seat to be the top. Unconsciously, you squeezed Jinwoo’s hand to ground yourself.

“Oh my, what’s this?” A high-pitched voice rang to your side. You and your companion looked over and saw one of your older sisters. “You’re still alive? I thought you died! And what are you even wearing? No class?”

“Don’t be so mean.” A deep and rough voice sounded above; it was one of your older brothers. “Being sent to that lawless trash area must be hard. You should be applauded for even appearing here, but my hand is tired from all the work I’ve been doing.”

“Dying there would be better than here.” Another brother of yours scoffed as he headed up the steps to the entrance of the palace.

“Right.” Your eldest sister snickered as she purposely bumped into you before walking up the steps. 

“Poor thing.” The last of your brother muttered. 

You waited until they were all gone, and then unclenched your fist. Your eyes glared at where your siblings were. Whatever sympathy and affection you held for them just because they were your family, all gone. You were hoping they would have changed over the years and join you in thinking this fight was insane, maybe wanting to grow as a family instead. 

But no. 

Now you have your answer. 

“I think the invasion and turnover can happen after dinner.” You coldly stated, all emotion drained from your face. 

Jinwoo grinned while Igris bowed his head with his hand over his heart area. Jinwoo led you up the steps by the hand while he chuckled, “I feel like it’ll happen earlier. Want to burn down just the palace or the entire capital?”

“...Only the royal family is at fault…”

“So, if I secure the innocent, then~?”

“Yeah.”

“As you wish, My Empress.”

Note: One of my older works. Decided to post it now cause I'm a bit too busy with IRL stuff. Anyways, I saw the poll for {Shadow and Void} and the next update would be Arc 3 I believe, the parts would be back to back (a bit like the Christmas update). See you guys then!

Hope you liked this one!

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST

*(regarding requests, check the Masterlist to see if it’s opened or not and other info related before sending one. Thanks.)

Taglist: @rozuburedo @ariseverdark @skylar896 @o-qi-shisme

[lrgcarter]

I have designed a new Pride Flag.

I believe it fills a gap in the span of flag coverage. I might be wrong, feel free to ignore if so.

This is the What Are You, A Cop? flag.

Do you want to know more?

Who is it for?

This flag represents any aspect of identity that you contain but don't want to actively broadcast, be it sexuality, gender, absence of either, disability, ethnicity, race, or anything else that I'll inevitably remember I wanted to mention the moment I hit post.

When I say you don't want to actively broadcast it, I don't mean you're keeping it secret. I mean you're just not bringing it up in conversation. And if people want to ask, it's up to you whether you tell them.

The flag encompasses people who have always been who they are, and have therefore never had a "coming out" moment and don't want to have one now.

The flag encompasses people who are happy talking about themselves to those they trust, but think everyone else should mind their own business.

The flag encompasses people who are questioning their identity and don't feel the need to show their workings so far.

The flag encompasses people who think surveys and the state don't need to know these aspects of you identity and should just regard you simply as human.

The flag encompasses people regardless of their reasons for identity privacy.

The flag does NOT encompass secret bigotries, but I imagine if they heard about it bigots would try to co-opt it. Meh, I don't believe this post will gain any traction so I don't need to worry about that.

What Does It Represent?

The design is inspired by this image from the Information Security Wikipedia page.

Central Circle - Existence of Self

The central circle represents yourself and your own identity information.

It stands as a statement that you exist.

Triangle Points - Who has Knowledge of Self

The three points of the triangle represent who has/has not got access to knowledge of your self.

One triangle for those allowed access.

One triangle for those forbidden access.

One triangle for yourself, representing your own journey of self discovery.

Rings - Controlling Access to Self

The rings represent your right to control who knows about your self.

The inner yellow ring represents your right to control knowledge of your physical being.

The black ring represents your right to control knowledge of your mental/psychological being.

The outer yellow ring represents your control knowledge of how your collected physical and mental self interacts with external systems/environments. (eg, whether an environment casts you as disabled.)

Black Field

The square of black in the background represents how designs need to sit on an appropriately shaped 'base' if they are to function as a flag.

Style Guide

The flag uses just two colours because that makes them easier to get hold of.

The colours of yellow and black were chosen because if you can get hold of any fabric or paint, these will commonly be among your options.

Also, these colours mean Back Off in nature.

The design is shoddily constructed. The edges of the circles are messy. The width of the rings is uneven. The black circle fits awkwardly on the yellow triangle.

This is because not everyone has the time, energy, skill, or other resources to make a flag that looks good. Make it all neat and smart if you like, but you don't have to.

You could even just draw it in lines; circle, triangle, two more circles.

Draw it how you like, I'm not a cop.

Though, the symbol as depicted was intentionally drawn so as to suggest a cop had shot a bullet through a triangle. You know what sort of triangle. Fuck the police.

Licensing Information

What Are You, A Cop? Pride Flag by lrgcarter is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

[grimrester]

sometime yesterday people on reddit figured out that the new watcher entertainment platform is not a website they have full creative control over (as implied in their video) but instead is from Vimeo OTT. this is why their new platform looks identical to dropout's. vimeo very likely just has a couple templates you pick from and they picked the same one.

this is FASCINATING to me for a few reasons:

it's not unusual for a company to obfuscate how their new web product is built out. "we're using vimeo's content paywall platform" is not nearly as impressive of a statement as "we're launching our own subscription service." this decision sometimes blows up in a company's face though. in this instance, being more candid about the process probably would have helped to mitigate the blowback, because vimeo could have been pinned by the audience as the evil scapegoat company and people wouldn't be feeling stupid when they create accounts and realize all the videos are hosted on vimeo. it also explains why they encouraged password sharing but their subs limit playing videos on more than three devices. it's just a function of the platform they don't control and didn't think about it when they said that.

i really wonder if they made this decision entirely on their own, or if vimeo has recruiters out there trying to make their platform bigger. obviously the watcher guys are responsible for this decision either way, but it sure would explain a lot about why they jumped to this solution to make more money if they had someone at vimeo pitching it to them.

how fucking funny is it that they posted a dramatic "goodbye youtube" video talking about wanting more control and wanting their own special platform just to go to youtube's direct competitor. lol

[blahblahwritings]

Collateral Souls - 4

Hello! Part four. I finally wrote chapter six and by write I mean I blacked out and when I came to I'd written nearly 5k words so be ready for that chapter when it drops lmao.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

Warnings: Kind of suicidal ideation at the end?

Word Count: 3076

Chapter Four - A Dark Reflection

You wake from shallow, fractured sleep. The night had dragged by, each hour heavier than the last. You’re still exhausted, a dull ache in your bones. Reaching for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand, you rattle two into your palm and pop them dry before dragging yourself toward the bathroom.

The mirror doesn’t lie. Harsh truths lay bare, exposed on the reflective surface for all to see. Your eyes are ringed with shadows. Your skin is pale, drawn tight. You look like a ghost still learning how to inhabit its body.

You brush your teeth with the new toothbrush, rinse, then splash your face with cold water in the hope it’ll wake something inside you. It doesn’t. You tie your hair up at the back of your head—tight, practical, controlled. A shower would help, but there's nothing clean to change into.

As you leave the bathroom, you notice a slip of paper shoved halfway under the door. You stoop to pick it up.

“We’re going shopping. Be ready. - Y” 

Your stomach sinks.

Shopping. You hadn’t done that in years. Not since before HYDRA. Since before choice was stolen from you.

Everything since had been assigned. Uniforms. Routines. Roles. You’d worn what they gave you. Become what they needed. Shadows whisper viciously. Killer. Killer. Killer.

Still holding the note, you step into the hallway and make your way toward the common area. The smell of coffee hits first. Yelena and Bob sit on the couch, speaking in low tones. You think about using your powers to listen—then immediately discard the idea. Your body’s running on fumes. Using shadows this morning might leave you unconscious. Or worse. You clear your throat softly.

They both look up. Yelena stands, her expression warm but casual. Bob freezes mid-sentence, his robe loose around him. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

“I got your note,” you say quietly, as if scared to be too loud, scared to occupy the space you take up.

“Good,” Yelena replies, walking toward you. “Figured since you don’t have any clothes, we’d pick up some basics. I didn’t know your sizes, so I couldn’t just order stuff.”

You nod stiffly. Your shoulders are tight, arms close to your sides, like you’re bracing for something. You are. You always are.

“I haven’t been shopping since before HYDRA,” you murmur. “I don’t even know what size I am.”

Bob glances away quickly, eyes glossy with something unspoken. He opens a book on his lap, pretending to read.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yelena says gently, already moving toward the elevator. “Come on.”

She pauses just before stepping in. “Bob, can you let Bucky know I’m taking Y/N out for essentials? I’ll drop her off for training after.”

Bob gives her a lazy thumbs-up and a lopsided smile. “Sure thing.”

You glance at him as the elevator doors begin to close. He’s watching you again, but doesn’t say a word.

Neither do you.

--

Yelena takes you to a few stores not far from the tower. The first one is easy—quiet, orderly. You grab the basics: underwear, bras, socks, athletic wear, shoes. Yelena helps you pick out a few simple garments, all neutral and functional. Nothing complicated. Nothing that asks questions.

The next store is a different story. A sensory ambush. The lights overhead buzz like hornets, bright and clinical. Conversations crowd the air in uneven rhythms—some too loud, others just whispers—but they all blur together into a rising, inescapable noise. You freeze beneath the fluorescents, suddenly aware of how strange it feels to be choosing something for yourself.

You don’t know your size. You don’t know your style. You don’t know you.

Yelena notices. Without a word, she picks up three identical black shirts, each one larger than the last.

“Here. Try these on. See what fits, and we’ll go from there.” Her voice is gentle, but direct. She steers you toward the fitting rooms.

Three mirrors greet you inside, harsh and honest. You undress mechanically, cycling through the shirts. When you find the right one, you step out and quietly tell her your size. She nods.

“Good. Now go pick some shirts.” Her tone is upbeat, supportive.

You blink at her, overwhelmed, staring out at a forest of colour and fabric. Your face must say everything.

Yelena snorts. “That’s the saddest lost-puppy look I’ve ever seen.”

Shadows begin to flicker beneath the racks—your breath shortens. The reflections in the mirrors multiply, distort, echo you from every angle. Your powers begin to surge, crawling up your spine like static. It burns just behind your ribs.

Then, her voice cuts through it.

“Pick something black. It suits your vibe.” She bumps your shoulder with hers, grinning sideways.

It works. You huff a small laugh through your nose. Not much, but enough to break the spiral. Your hands stop shaking. You scan the racks again—still uncertain, but calmer now. You pull a few things: jeans, sweatpants, shirts, hoodies. Everything is practical, layered, safe. No statement pieces. Nothing that draws eyes.

Later, you sit together in the car. The silence feels thick, but not uncomfortable. You breathe in deep. It’s the calmest you’ve felt in hours. Yelena pulls something small from her coat pocket and holds it out to you.

“I know what it’s like… not having a say in what you wear, eat, or feel. So I got you this. It’s not much, but... it’s something you don’t need. Sometimes starting with one thing like that—one choice—makes it easier to find the next.”

In her palm lies a slim brown leather bracelet, soft with wear. A small silver charm shaped like a cloud dangles from the center.

You stare at it. Your mouth opens, but no words come. Emotion builds in your chest like pressure behind glass.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

She gives you a crooked smile. “Most people say ‘thank you.’”

“Right. Thank you.” You take the bracelet from her, your fingers brushing hers. You slip it onto your wrist—your right wrist, where the manacles used to be.

It feels foreign. Not cold and metal. Not a restraint. Just... soft. Chosen.

You stare at it as Yelena starts the engine, the bracelet catching the light as the car hums back toward the tower.

--

Upon arriving back at the tower, you were both wrangled immediately into training by Bucky. You dump your bags in your room, throw on leggings, a sports bra, and a shirt, then head straight for the gym.

The space was industrial, echoing with grunts and commands. Padding lines the floor. Weapons racks are untouched — this session focussed on hand-to-hand. They had already been at it for a while.

Bucky was running the session, insisting that everyone pair up. He chooses Yelena, demonstrating a range of offensive and defensive moves smoothly. Both of them dodged and danced around each other with grace. You watch quietly, tense in the corner. 

Ava pairs hastily with Alexei, leaving John to pair begrudgingly with you. He is blunt, impatient, seeing you as both a threat and a weak link.

Bucky explains to everyone that the point is to practice basic dodges, counters and grapples. There is a ban on using powers. Only controlled contact. You breathe, moving to a free mat with John.

You lock eyes with him, uncertain. His own reflect his cold, guarded demeanor. Both of you ready yourselves. He’s in an offensive stance, you immediately move into defense. You wait. Seconds tick by. It feels like hours. Each of you anticipating the other’s move. Then he strikes. 

John comes at you hard — restrained, but intense. Each move is measured, sharp, a reminder that he’s trained to hurt, not spar. You dodge, flinching and anticipate his violence. Each move of his is equally countered by you but you make no attempt to fight back. Breaths rip through your lungs as you focus on every action, your brain panicking and unsure of how to attack without your powers.

“Fight back, Y/N, come on.” He grunts as he throws more punches. Although you blocked them, you would definitely feel it later. His super soldier strength was a serious advantage even though he was pulling his punches. 

Suddenly, you flinch, giving him an opening which he takes. His fist collides with your ribs harshly. 

You feel the wind knock out of you and you panic. Instinct takes over, pure and primal. 

The shadows rip free, screaming from your skin like whips, tearing through the air. One slams into the mat — a crack splits the foam, smoking at the edges.

John barely dodges in time. He dives. 

The room freezes.

Your shoulders tense, rising to your ears. You feel every stare — from the torn mat to your trembling frame. Your fingers tingle. You feel cold. The tension in the room rises to a fever pitch.

“You do that in the field, someone dies. Control yourself.” Ava steps back, cold and sharp.

“She’s not ready. This is what I was saying. You put us all at risk.” John raises his voice as he scrambles to his feet, pointing at you.

You’re trembling. Wide-eyed. Breathing too fast. You back away — shoulders tight, eyes dark. You’re scared of yourself more than anyone else.

Bucky approaches, raising a hand which immediately shuts down the argument. His voice is firm, but not cruel.

“That’s enough. Everyone out.”

They all slowly back out of the room. Yelena turns, her eyes watching you with concern before walking out the door.

“You’re not here to be perfect. You’re here to learn. But if you can’t control it, we will pull you back.” He says, low as he helps you to your feet. He looks into your eyes for a moment, sincere, but understanding. He turns, leaving you alone.

Alone with the echo of what you almost did. 

Your eyes fix on the slash in the mat.

When you were HYDRA’s pet, if you lost control like that, you were caged or put into stasis after a brutal beating. You always had to keep a lid on it, so why were you struggling so much now? Was it because you felt like you had more to lose? Or was it because you were exhausted and hadn’t had the time to adjust to your new found but limited freedom?

You breathe, jaw tense. Fists clenching. 

You let out a scream, throwing a punch at one of the training dummies so hard you feel pain shoot through your knuckles. Shadows pulse, throwing it against the wall. 

One of the mirrors on the wall cracks, fracturing your reflection and you feel like you’re about to pass out from pushing your abilities too far. You collapse to your knees, smelling blood before you feel it trickle from your nostril and over your upper lip. You stay there, too tired to move.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the gym door finally creaks open. You raise your head to see who it is. Bob. He has a bottle of water in his hand and a softness written all over his face as he approaches. He kneels wordlessly, placing the bottle in your hand, his fingers brushing yours. His touch is careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break. Or that he will. 

You don’t meet his eyes.

“You didn’t hurt anyone. That’s what matters.” He whispers, voice gentle as he stays close. His presence was soft, grounding. You blink, eyelids heavy.

“I don’t know how to work with people. I was never supposed to.” Your voice is barely audible, broken in the stillness of the room. The silence was a stark contrast from the violence of your earlier actions.

Your words make his chest feel heavy with melancholy.

He looks up to see Ava peering at them through the gym window before silently walking away.

--

You return to your room. It’s a welcome reprieve from everyone’s constant ever-watchful eyes. Grabbing one of your new hoodies and some sweatpants. You step into the bathroom, placing the clothes on the counter. The door clicks shut behind you, finally cutting off the surveillance camera’s gaze.

The shower is scalding, but you don’t flinch. You stand under its steady stream letting it wash the sweat and hurt down the drain. Your whole body ached with exhaustion. The shadows had gone quiet. You scrub until your skin burns, trying to wash the shame out of your pores, trying to prove—what? That you’re clean now? That you deserve this second chance?

You step out. You’d hoped a shower would make you feel more alive, improved. It didn’t.

You towel dry your hair and body, pulling on the sweatpants and hoodie. The fabrics were soft against your raw reddened skin. They felt comforting. Like a hug you had never received.

You spend some time slowly unpacking the shopping bags, storing the clothes in the closet and dresser. You had just finished, scrunching the bags up and putting them in the small plastic bin by the desk when three soft knocks sound from your door. They’re nervous. Barely there.

You open the door, revealing Bob, with his hair damp and dishevelled from his own shower. He had a fresh blue jumper on and some black sweatpants, slippers covering his feet.

“I figured you might want someone to show you around, since you haven’t seen everything yet?” He stutters softly, eyes meeting yours anxiously. His hands pulled at the cuff of one of his sleeves. The sight and the offer made you smile, and you found yourself agreeing with a soft nod despite already having seen the gym and briefing floors. He looks almost relieved at your acceptance.

“G-Great. Come on then, I’ll show you around.” He smiles as he starts to shuffle off down the hallway.

He gives you the grand tour, showing you the obvious spaces, hoping to make you feel a little more relaxed, settled. He shows you the unimportant stuff. Storage closets, kitchen quirks, silly paintings and pictures. A subtle way to show how he sees the tower—not as a fortress, but a home. It puts you more at ease. 

You watch him with grateful, curious eyes as he starts to guide you down to the recreational floor. The elevator doors slide open, revealing a space with a bar, pool table, dartboard and several spaces for people to sit. It was often used for social gatherings like galas that Valentina liked to hold for good press or as a place to celebrate after a successful mission, he explains. 

Then he turns to you.

“Well, that was the four floors you have access to…” He offers a small sheepish smile, but he hesitates for a moment. “But, I want to show you one more place, if you’ll let me?” He asks, eyes hopeful. Your eyes narrow softly, a small smile appearing on your face as you nod.

“Okay.” you agree. 

He guides you back into the elevator and uses his keycard to go to the highest level. The ride is a little longer than what you’re used to, and part of you wonders what the hell all these floors are even used for. Then it stops, and the doors part.

He trips in his eagerness, and you laugh - the sound escapes before you can stop it. His head snaps up, eyes wide. For a moment, Bob thinks he imagined it - that laugh. But when he looks up, you’re covering your mouth, eyes bright. And something in his chest cracks open.

He grins, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he feels embarrassed that he almost fell flat on his face. But, he can’t help but realise it's the first time he’s heard you laugh. It makes his heart feel warm. 

He catches himself staring for a moment too long, shaking himself out of it as you watch him carefully. 

“Come on, it's just up these stairs.” He says leading you up a cramped stairwell. At the top is a door. He pushes it. 

You both step out onto the roof of the tower. It’s dark. The only light coming from the door they just walked through, and the moon. Your eyes are soft and wide as they take in the night.

The rooftop is quiet, wind tugging gently at your clothes. Below, the city hums like a distant memory. But up here, it's just you, the sky, and the steady rhythm of your breath.

He smiles, watching you, eyes warm. 

“I sneak up here when I can't sleep. Feels like the dark is quieter up here.” He speaks softly. He was right. You slowly inhale and exhale, the tension melting from your body. Was this what it was like to be free? Part of you wonders if peace like this ever lasts.

“You know, I get it. The shadows. It’s like a void, right? Like it’s gonna suck you right in and take control?” He whispered, something about his voice was soothing. His words struck something in you, deep and sorrowful. 

You nod.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m teetering on the edge and if I push just a little further, shadows will consume me and I’ll just.. Disappear.” You admit, eyes conveying the weight of your words. “And some-sometimes.. I think maybe that’s not so bad.” You continue. The words you’d hesitated to say out loud for so long suddenly hanging in the air between you both. He doesn’t flinch.

There’s something open, vulnerable about you at this moment. 

He looks at you with something tender for a moment, afraid that if he says or does anything, you might be scared off. He struggles to think of something to say, so instead he just slowly, carefully reaches for your hand, taking it in his. 

His skin is soft and warm. It contrasts sharply with the cold air surrounding them. You notice how cold your hand is in comparison. He squeezes it gently. Reassuring. Something passes between them, something pleasant and unspoken. A kinship. 

It is as if they see the darkness in each other. Both of them are a reflection of the other. The potential for incredible violence. Yet, they recognise that the other would choose kindness every time. 

You turn your head, craning it towards the sky. He looks at you as your eyes fill with the night sky. 

In that moment, as the starlight reflects in your eyes, Bob knows -he’d do anything to keep that light from ever going out.

--

Taglist:

@piston-cup @qardasngan @inesbethari @avylanchce @mysticdelusionengineer

[mistytpednaem]

late last year I had a dude my dad's age transplant my CPU, GPU and RAM into essentially a whole new chassis complete with all the other shit a PC needs to function and I have many regrets for a variety of reasons, but one baffling thing about the process that I only discovered recently is the wallpapers folder that this man left behind

like, it starts out normally enough,

but. you might notice.

oddities.

let's look at some of them more closely.

I'm not sure what img1 is supposed to convey. Is it supposed to be like, a virus thing? This is a boomer building PCs in a small town so I'm sure he's been paid for basic virus cleanup and maintenance many, many times. This is an EXTREMELY generous guess on my part, though, because there are far more inexplicable things coming.

ok this one isn't that weird, I just want you all to know how bad this dude's sense of graphic design is. also wait it IS kind of weird, what's windows 7 doing here??? this man was totally ready to install windows 11 (though when I said I'd rather stay on 10 for now he was like "oh yeah that's smart 11's no good for gamers yet"). that's his logo below the windows logo. I feel like I'm also being generous when I call it a logo.

is this just an intel marketing image that he slapped the name of his business on in MSPaint??? also my CPU's AMD but lbr this man made a "wallpapers" folder a decade ago and he just drags and drops it to every new windows install he's made since

HUH????????

IMG6 IS JUST A BLURRY JPEG OF SPEEDY GONZALES????????? I DON'T wait is it supposed to be like a metaphor. "i made your pc fast, like speedy gonzales, you're welcome"?? is this how the mind of a man in his late 50s works

I. frankly I should have saved this one for last because it doesn't get any more baffling than this, but I've been going in order so it'd feel wrong. this image is the only thing justifying my tentative interpretation of the stickman with the syringes sticking out of it, but that's all I can get from it. I don't know why this man apparently kins Dr. Wily, and the Simpsons, uh. The, the Simpsons,

look I'm going to translate the barely legible text because you might think it helps make sense of what's going on here

daaaaaaaamn it's alex!?! ... he fixed our PC and this is how we ended up !!!

BUT IT DOESN'T.

imgs 08, 09, 10 and 12 are all F1 cars with a crude MSPaint i5 GAMING Intel Racing by Windows 10 on top. I don't need to go over why this makes no sense again.

img11 raises a question, asks it, and in the end, provides no answer.

img13 is just the penguin doctor image from earlier, sans Dr. Wily, so I'm not posting it again. img-- ok no I know what I said earlier about going out of order but I AM going to save img14 for last because otherwise this post is going to end on a wet fart.

imgs 15 and 19 are identical except he wrote "Servidor" (server) on the latter.

these three i can see actually being MINORLY tailored to my build because my motherboard is Asus, but it isn't ROG, it's TUF and-- christ sorry I just realised he also crudely wrote "Asus" on the last one. that's the only difference between img16 and img18

and finally. left this one for last because I remembered that there IS one image in this folder that baffles me almost as much as "this pc repair job made us get naked, thanks dr. wily"

img14 is stolen Doctor Who fanart with the name of this man's business and Windows crudely written on top, and frankly, the second most surprising thing about it is that he didn't ALSO write the name of his business in Comic Sans.

[flagellant]

How To Be Native American: Five Tips To Acknowledging The Indian In You!

Wonder why you're writing this. Debate with yourself about the form and the function. By making a performance out of your criticism of the inherent performativity of being a white-passing Native, is that denying or adding to the power imbalance that actually white people already have over your life, your identity, your culture? Ponder blood quantum for the seventh time today and really just sit down and ask yourself, "Is this going to be the metaphor that justifies my existence within my culture to white strangers online?" Accept it probably won't be and write this inadvisably anyway. They weren't ever going to get it anyway, but for once, this isn't about them.

Do your research! Take your knowledge and academize it. If you can't cite your sources when you try and explain why this privilege is killing you, are you really a victim of genocide? Or are you just 1/16th Cherokee Princess? FUN FACT: So many people are "Pretendians" that anthropological scholars are trying to examine the psychology behind why! You know why, of course. They feel so alienated from their culture as settlers that they cling to whatever they can, like mud on a duck's bill, steadily reshaping Turtle Island in their image. Remember that by criticizing Pretendians you simply give people more reason to assume you're one. Pretend this is fine.

Read Braiding Sweetgrass again. It won't help, but the words are familiar enough by this point that you can start the grief process a full three chapters ahead of the words you're thinking in your head. Wonder if this is all you'll ever get to have: Stories of dead grandmothers and dead strawberries and dead nations, bones piled upon bones with none of the nitrogen fixing jack shit. Think about how you have never gotten to braid sweetgrass with someone who understands who and what you are. Reread the last few sentences because your tears have blurred the ink so badly at this point it's like trying to be fluent in a language no one will teach you.

Brush your hair out, because you have gingery ringlets rather than sleek, thick flint. Your name is Red Fox Jesus Man and you've only got a little bit of a complex about it. Think about how, when people claim you look like Jesus, they aren't talking about the Middle Eastern Jew, they're talking about the Italian. You aren't even a little bit fucking Italian. Microaggressions are a form of racial validation, right? Especially if they aren't intended to be, right?

Light a candle for your dead grandfather. None of his stories got passed down onto you or your mother or your father. Maybe none of your great-great-grandfather's stories got passed down to him either. This is a comfort, in a selfish, self-destructive way. If you don't know the names of the teachers in the Mission your people were sent to, that is a sort of pyrrhic victory. Not a meaningful one, but scraps will fill your stomach if you settle for enough of them.

[rosesvineyard]

WAKE UP!! the willscuella children just got dropped!!

EEEEEEE look at these cheeky little sillies!! lore and headcannons underneath!! <3

(mostly about Javier's and Bill's parenting, since I can't fit everything about GJ and Aluzio here, so I'll do it in another post!! :D )

☆

Giulia-Jane and Aluzio are about the same age as Jack M, albeit a few months younger, with GJ being the eldest twin. after the VDL gang broke apart, they just sorta.. showed up. they are biologically Javier's and Bill's-- considering they look exactly like them, and with the amount of paranormal shit in rdr2 and rdr1-- it isn't exactly all that impossible.

Javier and Bill were still pretty much on the run during this period of time after the gang fell. at some point, they found the strange two twins, who looked around the age of three or so-- and since they couldn't just leave them there, they took the kids with them.

the main idea wasn't to get too attached to the little rascals and to try and find some place to drop them off... but at some point, that backfired. all because those two kids reminded Bill and Javier too much of their own childhoods-- too much of themselves. plus, it was hard not to grow fond of the toddlers if they were the ones feeding them and sleeping next to them all the time.

Javier always had hoped to be a father eventually, in some shape or form. to him, the kids were like a blessing and a sign to keep going.

they didn't even have their own identity at the start, so Bill suggested they name the girl Giulia-Jane after Javier's sister and Bill's sister. it was a nice gesture, but it sure did drive the guilt and regret deeper into Javier's heart. they never really talked about it after that, of course they didn't.

Aluzio's name wasn't given much thought, but Bill liked the way it sounded with Elijah, so it certainly was a good combination to choose.

after one particular big explosive argument, they decided to rack up enough (stolen) money to provide for GJ and Aluzio, and get a piece of land in the middle of nowhere in Mexico.

onto parenting; Javier had a vague idea on how to raise a functioning person. He had his mother and sister to go off as food influences in his life-- while his father was overworking himself with intense labour. Javier adores GJ and Aluzio, showering them with words of love and affection, since familial love in his culture is shown more outwardly. still, he'd be the one to sit them down and set firm ideas, teaching them right from wrong. and if either of them misbehaved, he'd make sure they'd learn from it. Javier never thought to raise his voice so often at the twins, since he himself never really enjoyed it when he was younger. those uncomfortable memories of being cornered by his father screaming in his face never really sat with him right. so if he started yelling, someone really fucked up. Javier is also the one getting the twins durable, clean clothes and making sure they're fed every night, since he never wants his kids to go hungry and starve like he had to in America.

As for Bill, he didn't have any good role models in his life. His mother died in childbirth and his father was always drunk and never really in his right mind. he had Jane, but back then she was far worse than he was in terms of.. bad behaviour. still, Bill would try his best with raising GJ and Aluzio, trying to do all the things he wanted to do with his own dad when he was young, because, unlike his father, Bill's better than that

he's not a man of sentimental words, so Bill was always the one expressing his love through physical affection. he became a lot more gentle with his burly hands, probably thinking he'd accidentally shatter GJ like a plate 💔 he'd also go out of his way to get things he'd think his girl and boy would enjoy, also making lots of jokes to make the kids happy, even if it was at his expense. fuck it, he even learned how to braid GJ's hair in a traditional Mexican style with ribbons because he wanted her to be happy. even if he didn't really understand the cultural significance, he still did it because he loved her. honestly, Bill's just awkwardly trying his best.

to have people actually depend on and need him was such a foreign concept to Bill, that he wanted to try his hardest and fulfill those needs.

nothings perfect though, because even in domesticity, the Williamson-Escuella family is not safe from regret.

GJ is rarely called by her full name by her parents, and that's because it hurts too much. so instead Bill calls her 'Sweetpea' and Javier calls her 'Mija'

they just hope their son doesn't make the same mistake as they did.

ARGHH PLEASEEEE I'd love to answer any questions or requests about GJ and Aluzio!!!! please give me any more ideas if you have any!!

hell, I'd be happy to receive any willscuella asks in general, thank you for reading!!! <3

[mogamuncher]

“You're on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path, is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin, is a knight. You are here to slay him. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.”

Please accept my meager shitty art as we come back for part three of the "Moga fuses her hyperfixations together" saga! Aka: Slay the Knight AU!

Here's what I think Emilia and Subaru would look like, in true STP fashion I imagine both would never be referred to by name, instead being The Knight and The Frozen Bond (hah, get it?)

I made Emilia a little scary (and kinda Satella-esque), but that's mainly because from what we see in The Princess and The Dragon route, The Long Quiet is just actually fucking scary, so having Emilia be similarly intimidating would be fun.

Though I do think her personality would remain the same in this au, mainly because she's nice enough that she would naturally play mediator to the the voices, but malleable enough that she could just end up going with their whims when pushed enough.

Now for Subaru, I actually wanted to give him a definitive outfit that would kinda function like the Princess's dress, something that is a constant in every design but changed to fit the theme, the recognizable trait that showcases that no matter how fucked up these forms get they're still the same person

That's kinda why the little cape is there, it's supposed to be a significant design choice that can be warped with future forms

For the official lore, I like to think that it's still actually very similar:

The Frozen Bond, the manifestation/god of stasis, consistency, the chilling frozen in time allure of stagnation

While Subaru would be something like The Returning Cycle, the manifestation/god if constant change, perspective and identities splitting depending on choices, the constant cycle of time

Together they'd make the cycle of life and death, in a sense, and since Echidna in canon was trying to find a way to reach immortality, it is only fitting that she would split them apart and attempt to pit them against the other, as to goad Emilia into killing Subaru, this ending the concept of change, making it so that there is no means of which others can die.

But that's what I have for the moment, now, let's talk about some more ideas I have for the IF Barus

The Prisoner, my beloved

I rewatched someone playing her route and it dawned on me when The Shifting Mound described her as a vessel, but she's oddly a lot like Slothbaru

The idea of someone cautious to the point of stagnation, content to let the world pass her and remain in inaction, I mean, that's literally what Sloth is shown to be in the og series. That's also inherently what Slothbaru did when he took Rem's hand and ran away, leaving everyone else to die, but gaining a happy life for himself

Prisoner is like an Slothbaru that can't take Rem's hand, content to let the world pass him by for the sake of self preservation, but stuck in one place without the chance of running away, he can only wait and see because he's inherently passive, as he thinks he has no other choice

The Adversary, however, is the funniest one I think

Someone mentioned in the last post in the tags that Adversary is kinda Smolbaru coded, so I went back to read the arena fights in arc 7 and y'know what? They're correct, they're absolutely right, The Adversary is very much just Smolbaru

Which is funny, because The Adversary is supposed to be bigger and stronger than usual, though maybe it's either just that his personality is Smolbaru and his appearance is still intimidating, or we go all in and have Smolbaru just absolutely kick Emilia's ass with his bare hands in this one

Either way, I love it, also this is the route where Priscilla (Voice of the Proud) would show up, so having an Arc 7 Baru here would be a nice touch

Ok so I'm about to sound unhinged, but the Grey's

What if they were Natsumi.

Now, look, I have no evidence to back me up on this, I'm going off from pure vibes alone, but like what if

Honestly, it would be fun to have most of the Deadbarus be in some way or another Natsumi coded, though that would be fused with the Baru that lead to their routes in the first place (like Arc 1 Baru for the Burned Grey and Slothbaru for the Drowned Grey)

I mean, look at The Wraith and The Spectre

Imagine if the Spectre was more akin to Natsumi in her purest form, since the Spectre is actually surprisingly chill and nice about this whole thing, and then if you attempt to leave him there, you get the Wraith

A withered rotten version of Natsumi, falling apart at the seams and determined to hitch a ride and finally leave

In more confirmed Barus; Wrathbaru as The Witch and The Thorn, Greedbaru as Happily Ever After and Arc 1-2 Baru as The Damsel, The Nightmare would be Gluttonybaru and A Moment Of Clarity would still be Gluttonybaru but with more Louis/Rui elements

Again, I accept suggestions, and tell me if you want me to make more art for this AU, maybe I can draw more Barus and also the voices, who knows?

Edit: good news gang, I actually did in fact write this! The first chapter of this au is out here!

[lucky-clover-gazette]

captive prince short stories highlights & annotations

pet

(takes place during book 1: captive prince)

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Ancel was a virgin the first twelve times he had sex. The thirteenth time, it lacked all plausibility.

‘You could buy out my contract.’ ‘How much?’ He made up a figure. There was no Lord Arten. Ancel landed his first contract that day: three months of his time, signed over to the merchant’s son.

‘I’ve never done it in public before,’ said Ancel. ‘You’d be my first.’

ancel leveraging subcategories of his virginity. smart

‘You’re not going to take him away from me, you slut,’ said the boy sweetly, murmuring the words too quietly for anyone else to hear. ‘Too late,’ said Ancel.

vere sucks. but i think ancel is playing the system more effectively than like anyone else there

Was this how men felt fucking him? No wonder they paid a fortune for it.

Fucking Lord Rouart, fucking every lord here. Being watched by everyone while he did it was like a blinding white light.

veretian society fucks ancel, ancel fucks veretian society harder

The room exploded in approval, cheers, calls of his name. He could hear shouts of suggestions, ribald calls to Lord Rouart in the thick excitement of the crowd.

there have to be at least a few people in vere who are not into this, but just kind of playing along to keep their—wait isn’t that the other guy in this short story

He was going to meet his new owner, and his new owner was going to fuck him.

ancel does not understand how cs pacat writes sex and power dynamics. nobody ever gets what they think they’re going to get

‘So, you saw me in the ring, and decided that you just had to have me,’ said Ancel. Berenger looked up. ‘No. I hate the ring.’ The words were matter-of-fact. ‘Parsins, hand me my jacket.’

i think i am going to really like berenger.

‘How old are you?’ As if Ancel hadn’t spoken. ‘Sixteen.’ Berenger gave him a flat look. ‘Twenty,’ said Ancel, the truth coming out with a flash of annoyance that he had to work hard to keep out of his voice.

He tried to recover. ‘And you?’ said Ancel, in his most velvet voice. ‘Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?’ ‘I’m riding to Ladehors.’ Berenger was walking right past him, he was—was he leaving?

most normal guy in vere

Ancel had seen with his own eyes that Berenger owned six identical copies of the same brown jacket.

oh i love this character

He was dressed in a loose shirt of simple white linen and plain trousers, his red hair tied back in a casual tail with a single leather tie. He looked up when he heard footsteps, and then stood quickly, closing the book. An unaffected young man, rising startled to greet his friend. ‘My lord,’ said Ancel. ‘I’m sorry, I—you took me by surprise.’

this is so funny. ancel pretending to be what he thinks berenger wants him to be, which is just like another normal guy

'Oh this?’ A hand to his mussily tied back hair. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so early. I can change into something more—’ ‘No. You look handsome.’ Berenger stopped and shook his head. ‘That is, when we’re not at functions, you should feel free to wear whatever you like.’ ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Ancel. It was Berenger who took a step forward. ‘You’re reading Isagoras?’ Berenger was looking at the discarded book with its scrollwork pages. He looked up at Ancel in surprise. ‘What do you think of him?’

i like how ancel is doing a reversal of the makeover trope. he was hot and glamorous before, and now he’s trying to make himself look like a boring nerd

Ancel couldn’t read, but he had planned all this from the moment Parsins had pointed the book out to him.

LMAOOOOOO

Ancel ate the plain food with the good manners of a merchant’s son, and none of the teasing flirtation that marked his own profession.

what are you talking about, there’s never been a mention of homoerotic bread eating in this series before

It happened in the library one night several weeks later, as Berenger was talking about politics. Ancel nodded and half listened while Berenger said—blah blah the Prince, blah blah the alliance with Akielos—

‘In the end, aren’t we all looking for someone to be loyal to?’ said Ancel, softly.

ancel really just went down the checklist of things he was told berenger likes (loyalty in friendship in this case)

also, a note from post-reading the entire story sam: YES YOU ARE, ANCEL.

‘Is that what you want?’ said Berenger. ‘It’s what I never thought I’d find,’ said Ancel, ‘until I met you,’ and it was happening, finally, it was finally happening, the two of them drawing closer in the firelight, Ancel’s arms sliding around Berenger’s neck, leaning in to— ‘Ancel—no.’

‘You may have made assumptions,’ Berenger spoke first, not looking at him, ‘after I bid for you in the ring, but I—’ For a moment, Ancel didn’t understand. And then suddenly the rejections and the refusals made sense. ‘It doesn’t have to be like it was in the ring,’ Ancel said in rush, relieved to have discovered the root of the problem. He hastened to reassure Berenger. ‘I don’t have to be the one who does that.’

ancel i don’t think this is a top/bottom thing, i think berenger isn’t drinking whatever horny flouride they have in the water in vere and is just disinterested in the pet stuff

He waited for Berenger to get it. Berenger didn’t seem to get it.

because that’s not what berenger meant!! this dynamic is very fun. extremely self-assured and aspirational guy who only knows how to leverage sex and schmooze, vs chill-ass guy who is not really trying to get anything out of anyone and therefore not thinking or trying too hard

‘You can fuck me,’ Ancel explained. Berenger’s eyes went wide. Was that the wrong thing to say? ‘I’ve always done it that way before. It’s what I’m good at.’ That was the wrong thing to say, too. ‘I mean, I want you.’ That was better. He should have said that first. ‘I want you.’ He moved a step closer, made it personal. ‘The way you want me.’ ‘Ancel, you don’t have to—’ ‘I want you to fuck me.’ ‘That isn’t what I want.’ ‘Then what do you want?’ Ancel said, in pure frustration.

world’s first reverse beard has been invented

‘In six weeks,’ began Berenger, ‘I’m attending court. As a single man, I need a pet to attend dinners and functions with me. For propriety’s sake. That is all. I don’t expect intimacy in private. In fact I prefer in private that you—that you and I—’ ‘Court?’ Like a flower inclining towards sunlight, Ancel’s whole attention swung to the thought. He barely heard the rest. ‘You’re taking me to court?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘The royal court. At Arles.’ ‘Yes.’

such a fun premise for this story. ancel has a reason to stay (social climbing), berenger has a reason to need ancel (appearing to follow customs). surely they can help each other accomplish their goals while keeping this impersonal and professional, with no eventual mutual understanding or friendship or romance.

‘Well, I’m going to need a lot more jewels,’ Ancel said, his annoyance returning with a snap. ‘I know you like boring young men in cotton shirts, but I can’t wander around the palace looking like this.’ Berenger was staring at him again, like Ancel was a stranger he was meeting for the first time. Ancel lifted his chin. ‘What? I intend to make the most of our time at court. I am incredibly good at my chosen profession. Not that you’d know that.’ ‘It’s possible I didn’t realise how good until now.’ Berenger was still gazing at him with that new look in his eyes. After a long moment, ‘Do you even like horses?’ ‘I can’t read,’ said Ancel. ‘I see,’ said Berenger.

okay yeah i LOVE this. mask off for ancel, meanwhile berenger hadn’t even bothered to pretend in the first place. i mean he’s pretending in front of the court, but not ancel. it’s just nice that they’re on the same team, unlike SOME PEOPLE i’ve read about during this rough period of time in vere

The next morning, Ancel threw away the plain white shirt and the simple leather hair tie, and came down to breakfast in the clothes that he liked: exquisite silks and velvets that felt good against his skin, wearing his hair pampered and long and out. Berenger didn’t say, ‘I see,’ but the implication was there in the heavy weight of his regard as he looked at Ancel across the table. Ancel lifted his chin, ignoring all the uninspired foods that Berenger liked and biting into a fruit tart.

this story has done a great job of making me like ancel and berenger in a short amount of time. strong moments of characterization (the fruit tart, the jackets, etc), more simple and less subtle than damen and laurent, but still very fun to notice and appreciate

‘The horse I chose for you has arrived,’ said Berenger. ‘She’s a strawberry roan named Ruby. I wonder if you’ll like her.’

berenger and ancel’s first official date is a chappell roan concert. red hair and horses.

For his part, Ancel stopped trying to seduce Berenger, and started enjoying himself.

Perhaps Berenger preferred women.

i don’t think this is where the story goes, but i would actually kinda like if they were just friends, and that was in fact the case. or even better, ancel assumes berenger is straight and that’s why he’s not interested, but berenger is eventually like “no i like men, i’m just not attracted to you” or "i don't like my partners being 10 years younger than i am"

Every commoner in the province had a story about Lord Berenger: Berenger had remembered the name of their child; Berenger had stayed with them through the birth of their prize colt; Berenger had helped them with the purchase of equipment when they had none, saving the harvest.

berenger could not have been involved in the main series. i think he’d break the reader’s brain compared to laurent because he’s just like. a normal and decent person despite the horrors, and not trying to hide it beneath a million layers of complicated bullshit

‘No. I meant that the court has changed,’ said Berenger, shaking his head, ‘since the King died. The Regent’s influence—’

hate that guy

‘What?’ said Ancel. ‘Luxury suits you,’ remarked Berenger.

god i wish this could stay platonic. THAT would be the true subversion!

note from post-reading the entire story sam: with the full image we eventually get of ancel, i actually think it's even better that berenger admits that he desires him. it would feel kind of like a cop-out for the answer to ancel's unspoken question of "would anyone like me for who i am, if my attractiveness was not a factor?" to be "yeah this guy does, but he never would have been into you in the first place." it's even more effective, and even more a subversion of what ancel thinks of himself, for berenger to find ALL of him attractive—his ambition and talent and intelligence, in addition to his looks and performance—and not want to reduce ancel to the sex object that he (ancel) thinks he has to be.

Who was the new pet? How had he come to serve Berenger?

i’m getting the impression that the previous king of vere had not required people like berenger to have pets, but the regent does. which is why berenger hired ancel

Berenger then knelt for the Prince, who was standing to the left of the throne, a severe young man in harsh clothing.

GOD i hope i get to see a little bit of laurent being a withdrawn dryly comedic sitcom side character before damen arrives and it sends him into joker mode

Lady Egere had a horse program Berenger was interested in, so Ancel made her feel like the most important person in the world.

berenger not beating the normal person allegations. like yeah, that is what people do at dinner parties. they talk to other people about shared interests. good job, berenger.

And when everyone was talking about the Prince, and the conversation swerved uncomfortably towards the new Akielon alliance, Ancel stepped in and told the whole table a risqué story he’d heard about Akielon bed practices, diverting attention.

laurent sighs and makes a mental note to be slightly less hostile to ancel for that accidental favor

Even Berenger laughed when he got to the punchline.

‘I love them,’ said Ancel. ‘I’d sleep with you right now. I might even enjoy it for once.’ He stopped. ‘High praise,’ said Berenger, dryly. ‘Of course, with you, I’d—’ ‘Oh, of course,’ said Berenger.

oh NICE moment. ancel admitting that he doesn’t actually like any of this shit he’s doing. and berenger implying that he’s always understood that.

Another day, another brown jacket.

i love the brown jacket as a means of characterization and comedy

‘In blue or red, you could look quite handsome.’ It was something Ancel had noticed on the third morning, in the early light from the window. Berenger had a strong profile, good bone structure, and warm eyes. His waist, where Ancel was lacing, was trim, his body fit from riding. ‘Let me pick your jacket.’ Berenger sounded amused. ‘You don’t like my jacket?’

you don’t like his jacket????

He didn’t let Ancel pick his jacket.

good to know he has his hard limits

They had a good system in which Ancel filched the delicious confectionaries and special sweets and left Berenger all the plain stuff he preferred.

i love this for them!!!

‘I can’t believe you’ve never visited the coupling gardens. Do you feel no desires at all? Come on.’ ‘Ancel, I don’t think that—’ ‘Look, it’s those flowers from that boring poem that you like,’ Ancel announced proudly. He stood in front of the spray of white flowers. Berenger had stopped. The flowers were night blooming, filling the air with a delicate scent.

ancel please don’t talk about poetry in the mindfuck blowjob garden

‘You’re right,’ said Berenger. ‘They’re very beautiful. And rare. In the poem, the lover is given only a single flower.’ ‘What a terrible gift. I’d much rather have jewellery,’ said Ancel, wrinkling his nose. ‘Or clothes. Even the horse was better.’ Berenger’s mouth quirked, his eyes shifting from the flowers, amused and warm. ‘Yes, you’re a little more expensive.’

THEY SHOULD STAY FRIENDSSSS please!!! i want to see their odd couple not a couple adventures as neither of them actually falls in love bc they’re married to the grind (literally for ancel, figuratively for berenger). then again, we know that ancel doesn’t actually like being a pet, so i can see how this ends up a romance that works. but STILL

'I like feeling—’ Like part of it. Like the master of it. Like he had power over the men, like if they wanted him they had to pay a fortune for it. Like he was more valuable than the wine goblet Berenger held, or the silver pitcher a servant had poured from. Like he mattered.

ancel understands exactly how this stronger man/weaker man thing works, in that the weakest man is the one who forces others to the bottom so he can be on top. but berenger doesn’t do that, except for appearances. and he’s very clear that he knows it’s all bullshit too.

‘Perhaps I ought to think of it more like that.’ ‘How do you think of it?’ ‘I think,’ said Berenger, ‘that the only person in this place who shows me their real face is you.’

berenger: i’d probably be happier if i just allowed myself to enjoy the luxury and debauchery ancel: wait so what do you think instead berenger: that this is all fake and stupid as hell, and you’re the only one with the awareness to understand that and use it

‘I can make everyone look at me.’ There was the familiar frown, like an old friend. ‘Ancel, I told you I don’t want—’

“like an old friend” because he IS your friend, because he appreciates you for who you are, not for the ways you can perform

Gasps as they burst into flame, and Ancel tossed the stick high, a spinning wheel of dangerous light.

how did he like. learn how to do this. this isn’t something you can just do on a whim. although i guess it does suit ancel to play with fire

That was part of the thrill, sensuality and danger. He had everyone’s attention now. He tossed and twirled, and it was easy, all of it coming back to him, his childhood days before his profession had changed, before the escalating series of favours, until the moment he had finally agreed to it. You have to pay me extra. It’s my first time.

very effective way to give backstory: he was a performer, and then someone propositioned him for sex, and then he realized the possibilities of going into that kind of work full-time. it put the power in his hands, and people did in fact pay him more when he asked.

‘You’re full of talents, aren’t you,’ said a boy’s voice, and Ancel turned. The boy was very lovely and very young, with huge blue eyes and a tumble of brown curls.

my heart hurts

‘Since you like to play with fire,’ said Nicaise.

extremely bittersweet to have nicaise say one of my own thoughts

‘I’ve heard that Berenger likes women, and that he disappears sometimes from court, so that he can—’ Ancel flushed. He left the main hall and made straight for Berenger, who was sitting in an adjoining antechamber, on one of the long reclining couches, amid a handful of acquaintances, talking in small relaxed groups. ‘Kiss me,’ said Ancel as he settled, one knee on the couch on either side of Berenger’s thighs, his hands linked behind Berenger’s neck. ‘What?’ said Berenger. ‘On the mouth,’ said Ancel.

yeah they invented reverse bearding

Berenger was beginning to frown. Ancel thought, with a burst of irritation, I know you don’t want to, but can’t you just pretend? How hard was it? Ancel pretended all the time. Berenger had a reputation to maintain. But if Ancel said that, Berenger would probably reply with something idiotic like his own reputation didn’t matter to him.

ancel is so perceptive, compared to damen it’s like. jarring

It didn’t feel impersonal. He was instead extremely conscious that it was Berenger that he was kissing.

uh oh

His lips were tingling from kissing Berenger, and that didn’t seem to make sense.

UH OH

‘Like you mean it,’ said Ancel, and kissed him again.

UH OH!!!!

‘My lord,’ he said, and he sounded turned on, which was how he was supposed to sound. ‘Berenger.’

love ancel being in denial about having feelings

Ancel closed his eyes. He could imagine exactly what Berenger liked, lovemaking in the dark with a young man in a plain shirt. If they ever—Ancel would have to feign at least a degree of innocence, physically experienced but emotionally unprepared, looking up at Berenger and saying it’s never been like this before. He imagined that: imagined Berenger kissing him in private. A strange shaky feeling grew in him. Berenger would kiss with the same seriousness as he was now, he probably fucked like that too, strong and steady. Berenger’s voice in his ear, roughened. ‘You’re so good at faking it.’ ‘I know,’ Ancel said. ‘I know I’m good.’

ancel is down BAD for this brown jacket man, holy shit

‘How long do we have to stay here?’ Berenger said. ‘What?’ said Ancel. ‘How long do you normally take?’ said Berenger.

wait. so ancel in the garden scene. was half trying to make berenger jealous and half trying to convince himself that he’s better off doing what anyone else but berenger would ask him to do. and failing to convince himself entirely. LOVE that alternate perspective, so cool!!

It took a moment before he understood the words, and their meaning. But the way Berenger was standing off from him, like a man who has had his evening interrupted for a charade in which he has little interest, made everything clear. Ancel pushed down the feelings in his chest, closing his eyes briefly.

ouch

‘All right,’ said Berenger, and stood there, awkwardly. Ancel heard himself say, ‘Unless, do you want—’ Me. Do you want me.

i love how free will continues to be a theme in this series, even when we’re not discussing damen and laurent. specifically regarding desire and attachment, romantic and sexual. ancel doesn’t actually want to be the person he pretends he is, lowering himself beneath his masters and helping them get off on the power they have over him; he wants to be understood and wanted for his whole self. and berenger is like the only person he’s ever met who has wished to see him as something other than a sex object or performance piece, the only person who doesn’t wish to intimately possess or control him. berenger seems to want to experience love on even footing, which in vere is highly unusual. no wonder ancel is desperate for his interest, when his interest is actually REAL.

He thought, he could make Berenger like it.

free will theme again! he made berenger like it, it wouldn’t be real. and ancel wouldn’t like it either.

‘I think we both know this isn’t working,’ Berenger said in a low voice. ‘This,’ said Ancel. Berenger wasn’t looking at him. ‘I’ll pay out your time in full. We can separate after you perform for the Patran delegation. You can tell people your contract simply came to the end of its time.’ ‘You’re ending our contract,’ said Ancel.

BRUTAL. and the thing is, berenger is being kind and selfless here. ancel has told him with words and actions that he only cares about upward social mobility, and has made it seem like berenger is holding him back. berenger is putting himself at a huge disadvantage in the regent’s court by letting ancel find another employer, but probably feels like this is the best way he can genuinely honor ancel’s stated wishes. sad little miscommunication moment, although i don’t think it’s fully that trope because ancel only subconsciously realized how he feels like five minutes ago

‘Everyone will want you after your performance. You won’t have trouble finding men to bid for you—’ ‘I know,’ said Ancel. ‘I’m the best pet at this court.’

ancel does his fire dance to “my kink is karma” by chappell roan as he desperately tries to repress his feelings

He didn’t know why, but the next day when Ancel saw Berenger talking in a low voice to Lord Droet’s pet, it made him angry, and he stalked out of the stuffy, overlit rooms, into the cool shade of the gardens.

oh, captive prince chapter 5 dubcon (and that’s generous) scene that damen took way less seriously than myself or even laurent because he (damen) grew up with sex slaves so this is kinda normal to him. oh, captive prince chapter 5 dubcon scene that, despite its problematic nature, was and still is extremely compelling to me, by which i mean unfairly hot

It was the Ambassador to Vask, her face familiar to him from a dozen evening entertainments. Ancel knew her sculptured style of dress well, the Vaskian elements she incorporated into her clothing. She had the straight-backed posture and poise of a woman used to power.

VANNES HIIIII VANNES

Vannes spoke. ‘You and Berenger are utterly mismatched. And you’re clearly ambitious. I hope you won’t hurt him too badly when you move on.’

she sees the version of ancel that he knows is wrong for himself, but he’s leaning into it because berenger’s kinda-rejection hurt so bad

Everyone would think what Vannes thought, that Berenger couldn’t hold Ancel and Ancel was moving on to someone better.

i like how this is so high stakes to ancel, for good reason, but we know that there are way higher stakes batshit insane things happening with damen and laurent right now. but ancel doesn’t care about damen and laurent. he cares about himself and berenger. just a really cool way of showing another pov for the same story!

Ancel thought of the impossible. For pets, it was epitomised by one man. The Prince. The Prince, who had never taken a pet. The Prince, who had never taken anyone, or been taken, so they said. They said he was frigid, that he had ice in his veins, that pets failed to interest him. But there was one person who had the Prince’s complete attention.

YHRWYOEGRUYWEGRUYWERHBFSDF

By the time Berenger and the others arrived, Ancel knew exactly what he was going to do.

i LOVE having this context, wow! it doesn’t really change the nature of the original scene, but adds dimension in a super satisfying way. i also really like how this works with the general vibe of book 1—it feels so isolated and depraved to read, you’re wondering “holy shit is everyone here besides damen just a terrible person?” and that’s the point, but with this addition from another perspective it’s like, hey, berenger was there the whole time. normal nice decent guy, caught up in the same shit as everyone else. who had only been trying to be kind to ancel and give him what he wanted, and most certainly did not want him to do what he does here. it reminds me of loyse, and the way she’s incorporated into the main series—so much of damen and laurent’s experiences early on are defined by struggling alone, but they’re both less alone than they thought, both in terms of sympathetic company and people dealing with the same problems they have. this is seen both in the way they are with each other, especially with the slow burn of 'Laurent is Not As Bad As Damen Thought He Was With More Context,' and the way people like loyse are slowly revealed by the narrative. it's just neat. if i ever re-read captive prince, i’ll be like, “oh it’s berenger!!!” and the scene will, in some small way, feel less isolated.

Physically imposing, and dripping with disdainful pride, he looked as though he could break any handlers in half.

love this description of damen as having “disdainful pride,” because so much of his internal narrative is considering himself a victim, which he is. but also, he is very disdainful towards this society, and prideful about his own. damen himself admits that he had prejudices and misjudgments towards vere and blind spots regarding his own society at the end of king’s rising, and it’s cool to see ancel get that impression immediately.

The younger blond slave pressed his forehead submissively to the floor, a pose that seemed designed to make you want to step on his head. Ancel found himself unaccountably irritated by the passivity.

obviously both systems are bad, but if you read my main series annotations you know i’m very much in agreement with ancel here

Berenger was frowning.

normal! reaction!

He looked scornful and unimpressed when his eyes passed briefly over Ancel, Berenger and Vannes. His only movement was to shift slightly, a rearrangement of muscle.

i looooove seeing damen from the outside, wow

Arriving in the bower, the Prince of Vere was instantly commanding, with nothing soft or yielding in him. A young man with golden hair, cold blue eyes and an arresting profile, he had a pet’s looks and a Prince’s bearing, laced up tighter than Berenger, in dark, severe clothing. He looked capable of mastering the slave through force of will, as though the slave’s discomfort was his pleasure.

good to see, in this case, that laurent is very much perceived exactly how he is trying to be perceived. we know that this is for his own safety, and it isn’t harming ancel at all. unlike in captive prince book 1, where damen is being directly harmed by laurent and his rancid vibes, albeit for stronger reasons (he knows who damen is) than either damen or the reader understand.

‘Ancel, no. He could hurt you.’ Ancel ignored Berenger, and spoke to the shoulders and back of the Prince.

this is so cool. when i read the original scene, it seemed like berenger said this out of like, petty distate for akelions and maybe jealousy. but now we know it’s because berenger thinks that this is all fucked up, and doesn’t want ancel to get hurt by his own ambition

‘Would you like that?’ Berenger frowned. ‘No. I wouldn’t.’

“would you like that [i get hurt]?” oh ancel :( and you know that he thinks berenger would, or at least wouldn’t care either way. because ancel is just 20 and emotionally undeveloped and seems not to have been truly cared for in his life

again, i assumed originally in this scene that unnamed berenger said “no i wouldn’t” because of jealousy. but that isn’t true! berenger already told ancel that he can leave! he just actually cares about ancel!

The Prince turned, and Ancel found himself the sole subject of the Prince’s attention.

i like that we know he isn’t, because the only living people capable of completely hijacking and consuming laurent’s large capacity for thought are the regent and damen

‘I think your master would prefer you intact,’ said the Prince.

in captive prince, it adds, “said laurent, dryly.” but it’s not dry to ancel, he doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that laurent is deeply unamused

‘You could tie the slave up.’ He saw the moment the Prince took in the idea. There was something more in the Prince’s eyes, something private, though it was only there for a moment, before the Prince’s expression hardened.

well yeah, but he’s not thinking about you, ancel.

Ancel looked Berenger right in the eyes. ‘Tell me how you want me to fuck him.’ ‘I don’t want you to fuck him,’ said Berenger. ‘I do,’ said Ancel. ‘I want to do it with you watching.’

new dialogue, things damen didn’t hear! i think i kinda explored what’s going on here in previous annotations

You mean with the Prince watching, Berenger didn’t say.

this is strange. at first it seems like uncharacteristic pov head jumping, but then it’s like no, this is what ancel THINKS berenger isn’t saying. ancel cannot imagine that berenger’s reluctance here could be for any other reason than, like, petty jealousy of the prince. when in reality berenger just cares about ancel and doesn’t want him to get caught up with insane terrible people

Instead, Berenger frowned in that way that he had, turned to the handlers, and gave some instructions about safety.

so they DO have safe words in vere. although maybe berenger just invented them, that sounds like something he would do

Drawn by the rarity of the spectacle, a few other courtiers had drifted over, and then a few more, a small audience gathering.

love the mention of rarity, since damen assumes that this is totally normal

Ancel didn’t need Berenger. He was going to do it with the Prince’s slave, in front of everyone. No other pet had ever won the Prince’s attention.

ancel i know you were just dumped for the first time but this is not the slay you think it is

The slave’s eyes lifted to meet Ancel’s for a moment, radiating fury, before he turned the full force of it on the Prince, who just stared back at him coldly.

don’t worry about it. they’re fine

He wasn’t a court pet, or a brothel client. He was an Akielon, named for the Akielon prince-killer.

oh my god. imagine ancel’s reaction when he learns that he had unknowingly given the future king of akielos a bj

Ancel could see, as he put his hands on those thighs, that the slave disliked him. That was irritating. Did he think Ancel was salivating to suck his cock? Pets had to do things they didn’t like all the time.

obsessed with the way ancel is projecting berenger onto this. a really neat subversion of the way he intentionally and performatively projected that other guy in order to win his favor. also fun because in the scene from damen’s perspective, ancel is very literally a projection of laurent. neither ancel nor damen are imagining this with the person actually doing it with them. is this what the “mutually unrequited sex” ao3 tag is for

It had been a long time since Ancel had given head, thanks to Berenger’s prudery. It was disconcerting, uncomfortable at first, like he didn’t want to be this close, or put his mouth on it. He pushed past the feeling. He was good at this. He knew what to do and how to do it. The uncomfortable feeling grew. The slave was too stupid to realise he was supposed to be performing.

the way it’s almost a good thing that ancel is uncomfortable right now, because it means that he’s in some small way breaking out of the fucked-up mentality he’s grown up with

love damen and ancel as foils, in terms of pride. ancel takes pride in his willingness to get his hands dirty and perform submission for social clout, damen takes pride in his unwillingness to get his hands dirty (compromise his morals) and give his submission to those who don’t deserve it. but while damen's pride is held up by honor and integrity, ancel's is held up by his own degradation.

How had he ever achieved a court position, with skills this poor? Wasn’t he trying at all?

if you really think about it, damen was a nepo hire

Ancel felt the slave jerk, his cock hardening as the Prince settled himself on the bower seat alongside them.

well, damen, i guess someone noticed how you feel about laurent

i don’t even think laurent fully notices how down bad damen is for him at this point. i think laurent just believes damen is a depraved pervert ruled by his base urges who uses sex slaves and finds him hot just like everyone else and also KILLED HIS BROTHER

‘Like this?’ The wait was deliberate, to make the Prince say it. ‘Like that.’

5d three-way dirty talk happening here. it’s not four ways because berenger definitely has clocked out by now

‘Take it all the way down,’ said the Prince, and Ancel took it deep into his throat.

i like how laurent’s dialogue is slightly different between the two scenes, and damen doesn’t register some of it, and ancel doesn’t register some of it. cool way of writing the different perspectives and showing the things that are distracting both of them, causing them to think about things other than laurent’s words. ancel is mostly thinking about how he can do this in a way that gets him noticed and hired, while damen is mostly thinking about how absurdly turned on he is by laurent being insane

Ancel half expected the Prince’s hand on his head, pushing him down the last inch, but when he glanced up, neither of the men were paying him any attention, their eyes locked on one another.

sorry ancel, they gaze a lot. it’s kind of their thing

He came up without coughing or needing a breath, a cultivated skill that was often admired.

not by damen or laurent, at the moment

It didn’t matter that the Prince didn’t seem pay him any attention, or that he was only a conduit. The slave wasn’t even looking at him. It was what he wanted.

ancel when he lies

The two of them were locked together, Ancel utterly forgotten as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

god that sucks ancel but it’s also so fucking funny (as i said in the capri chapter 5 notes, i am not taking the dubcon as seriously as i could because the book doesn’t take it seriously in this scene. damen’s rage isn’t at the lack of consent, because this is actually pretty normal to him, and not seen as demeaning in his society for a slave to do. i think more than anything else he’s mad at himself for being into this, which means that he’s mad at laurent and ancel for making him confront the fact that he’s into this)

Courtiers crowded around with accolades, comments, and congratulations. ‘You really are the perfect pet,’ and ‘I’ve never seen anyone take it like that,’ and, ‘I’d pay a fortune for you.’

but it doesn’t matter, because they’re not berenger

Berenger had a hand on his shoulder and was staring into his face. Ancel lifted his chin. ‘Did he hurt you?’ The words were short.

😭 😭 😭 😭

‘I liked it,’ said Ancel. ‘I like sucking cock. I’m a pet.’

ancel when he continues to lie

Torveld, Prince of Patras

oh i hate that guy

It was the blond slave from the bower. The insipid, spineless creature who made you want to pinch his skin, or shake him to wake up. Like a useless doe in a forest. Expecting someone else to help him. With looks like that, the blond slave could have owned this court if he’d put any work into it. Instead he was trembling and helpless and waiting for a rescue that was never going to come. It was irritating.

yeah. if not for my distance from both of these worlds, and the fact that i can afford to be more empathetic and thoughtful than ancel, this is about where i’d land too re: akelion slaves. (if you read my previous annotations of the series, i probably don’t have to tell you that.) i just like how strongly and disdainfully this is written, while still within itself being flawed. like he’s right, but it’s a sad kind of right. it’s pointing out the problem but disinterested in a solution. but it isn’t ancel’s job to have a solution, it’s the narrative’s job. and we see that happen, in a very careful slow burn from damen’s pov, during the main series.

i can’t believe people think that this series is slavery apologism. 99% of the time, this series is DETERMINED to hold itself painfully and uncomfortably responsible for the problematic content it contains. and that 1% is different for every person who reads it, based on their personal tastes and values. and that’s good, because even our favorite fiction should be something we engage with critically, rather than passively accept.

‘A whole night with the Regent?’ Ancel twirled the stick. ‘Aren’t you jealous?’ ‘I’m not jealous,’ said Nicaise. ‘You’re old.’

‘Then the Regent will call you to attend him. Everyone will see you sitting with him. That’s what you want, isn’t it? The bids for your contract will go up.’

i’m going to try to remember why this is happening. i know it’s some elaborate and probably petty bullshit. i think it’s something like 1) laurent got his ethics called into question by the guy who killed his brother and then 2) decided to do what damen asked and help the akelion slaves because he knew it was the right thing even though he hated damen so bad, therefore 3) laurent needed to create circumstances that would cause torveld to “save” them from the regent without his (laurent's) direct intervention so 4) laurent antagonized nicaise into making a bet that his (laurent’s) plan to get torveld to take the slaves wouldn’t work and then loudly talked about that plan in front of nicaise, prompting 5) nicaise to arrange a sadistic performance of slaves for the regent so the sadistic regent would want to keep the slaves, therefore winning nicaise the bet against laurent 6) which laurent knew would literally backfire because the fire would frighten the slaves and then prompt to torveld take them out of sympathy and pity. yeah i think that's it

It made Ancel angry. This mewling creature who had been brought to court and lavished with every opportunity that Ancel had worked for, was doing nothing to advance his own career, even now. But in the next moment Prince Torveld was calling the slave over, and—rather than booting him out of the hall—was fussing over him, talking to him, stroking his tousled blond head. Ancel gaped. Prince Torveld was taking the slave into his household? For what? For being too weak to survive at court? The unfairness was terrible. If Ancel had wanly lain down and waited for a rescuer, he would have died in the street.

i really like this short story. i like ancel’s character, and what the story is trying to say. it fits very nicely with the overall series themes about weakness/strength, submission/domination, and free will. also intimacy and trust, although that’s almost by omission.

‘Tell me about your master,’ the Regent said. ‘Lord Berenger.’ ‘He’s boring,’ said Ancel. ‘Serious. Loyal.’ ‘Loyal to my nephew,’ said the Regent. He spoke pleasantly, tweaking Ancel’s hair as he did so. The sharp tug hurt.

WOAH THIS IS COOL. we hardly got to see any of the regent’s private contributions to the complicated vere court nonsense in captive prince (there was that scene where he talked to damen alone, but that might have been it?)

‘Loyal to the throne.’ Ancel’s heart had started beating faster.

i like how the regent equates his nephew with the throne. so different from how he talks to laurent in front of the council. clearly, out of earshot of anyone who actually matters politically, the regent is threatened by his nephew.

‘I’ve heard he’s met with my nephew, several times. What was discussed?’ ‘I couldn’t say. I wasn’t there for the meetings.’ He kept his tone light. ‘So there were meetings.’

berenger you’re so real for that

His mouth felt dry suddenly, and it was hard to swallow. He thought of Berenger in the hall somewhere behind him, wondered if Berenger was looking at him, thought he probably wasn’t. ‘No. I mean that I don’t know—I don’t know what meetings he’s taken.’

ancel can tell that berenger is in danger, and even though he thinks berenger wants nothing to do with him, he tries to protect him

‘Oh dear.’ The tone was disappointed. ‘I thought you were clever.’ The Regent shifted, forcing Ancel to reposition, awkwardly. He was motioning for one of the servants to approach, looking past Ancel as though he was done with him. ‘I am.’ Ancel’s heart was pounding. ‘You just haven’t asked the right question.’ ‘And what’s that,’ said the Regent. ‘If I’m loyal,’ said Ancel.

and here’s the temptation of ancel finally getting what he’s always said he wanted, he just has to throw berenger under the bus. he tries to avoid this by making berenger irrelevant and putting the attention on himself, but we know that the regent does not give a shit about ancel, politically or sexually.

Ancel watched him turn away, watched him enter the darkened part of the rooms that held his bed, beginning to unlace his own jacket. ‘I didn’t tell him anything.’ The words were a blurt, delivered to the back of Berenger’s shoulders. Berenger’s movement came to a halt.

i really like ancel.

‘About you and the Prince. That you’ve been meeting secretly each night. That you’re taking his side, that you’ve offered him funding and passage through Varenne, I didn’t tell him any of that, I thought that you—’

oh shit it’s that deep!!! fuck yeah berenger! wait does that mean that berenger had been loyal to laurent and thinking he was an admirable person for months/years only to see laurent in full sadistic kinky joker mode with a person who he doesn't know is laurent's brother's killer? do you think he was like "oh great, he's actually a freak too. fuck my life"

Berenger turned. Berenger was across the room, his hands on Ancel’s arms, gripping him tightly, his eyes boring into Ancel’s. ‘Stop it. You’re spoiling my clothes. I didn’t tell him. I told you. I didn’t tell him anything.’

oh, ancel immediately thinks he’s going to be punished and stripped of the nice things he’s been given. that’s so fucking sad :(

‘How do you know about any of that?’ ‘Just because I like nice things, and don’t read the boring books you like, doesn’t mean I’m stup—’ ‘This isn’t a game, Ancel.’

most! normal! man! in! this! series!

‘I’m trying to secure my future! I need to go somewhere. After you—after you end my contract.'

true, and explains some of the desperation ancel typically chooses not to acknowledge because of his pride

‘So that’s it. You want gifts?’ Berenger said, in a flat, deadly voice, ‘Are you trying to blackmail me for money?’ Ancel felt his mouth turn to sand. ‘No.’

ancel doesn’t want gifts! he wants a friend!!! i love this story, especially in this shitty world!!!!

‘I don’t want—I told you, I didn’t tell him anything. I wouldn’t. I was your pet, I thought we—I don’t want your money like that—’

going to be HUGE when ancel learns how healthy friendships and relationships work. people just do nice things for each other, and are loyal to each other, because they care and it’s what they want to do

‘You must hate me.’ ‘Hate you?’ said Berenger. ‘Why would I hate you? You’ve always been honest with me. You never tried to hide what you were.’ ‘A whore,’ said Ancel.

oh fuck.

really, really good choice of a word there. it’s easy to get caught up in the insane gimmicks of the veretian court, the slight dark humor to it, the way pets act like they’re playing the game willingly because this is a way for them to be treated well and showered with praise. but deep down, this system exists so they can be perceived as whores, belonging and submissive to people whose power rests on their degradation. and deep down, that’s how they feel about themselves.

goddamn, it is cool to see the worldbuilding expanded upon from this perspective.

‘So what if I am? I’m not ashamed of it. I’m good at it. I can make men want me.’ His voice felt raw. ‘It just doesn’t work on you.’

FREE WILL, POWER, AND TRUST THEMES DING DING DING

Berenger would be just one more owner, one more man from his past, one more name on a list. There was a hard pressure in his chest that he had to ignore. He would turn and walk away from it, he would move on to the next man, and the next. ‘It works on me,’ said Berenger.

okay, i like it being romantic, i think. because just like damen and laurent, their friendship and romance are deeply connected. and i’m glad that these two characters can find each other and be REAL in the midst of the fake nonsense

The words, in Berenger’s honest voice, at first didn’t make sense.

ancel can’t accept praise if he knows the person giving it is being honest, understands who he truly is, and expects nothing in return. girl same

‘You’ve never—’ ‘You never wanted me to.’ ‘Is that what you think?’ said Ancel. ‘Yes,’ said Berenger, steadily.

berenger clocked that ancel didn’t really want to be any of this long before ancel did, and has always respected that. i’m glad that he exists in this world.

‘If the Regent prevails, I won’t have money or lands. You should be with someone who can give you the luxuries you deserve, not someone who’ll embroil you in—’ ‘That’s why?’ said Ancel. ‘That’s why you decided to break my contract?’ He made sense of that much. And he clung to it. He wanted to ask, Does that mean you’re not giving me up because you don’t want me? He didn’t know how to ask that. He was usually so good at asking for what he wanted.

this is so fucking good. oh my god, this short story has been like a masterclass of creating a contained and intimate plot that develops a character individually and in relation to another character, while using the world around them to synthesize relevant and gratifying thematic development. it just comes together so perfectly, and simultaneously feels laser-focused and extremely wide in scope. SO good.

‘Can you honestly tell me that you’d want to stay with me if it meant risking your position?’ Berenger said. ‘If I had no money?’ ‘I’ve never fucked anyone without it being for money.’ The words came out differently than he’d intended. The painfully straightforward way that Berenger had asked him that question meant that Ancel had given an honest answer.

they’re matching each other’s freak, if "freak" means “honest person moving towards a healthier state of mind.” meanwhile, damen and laurent—

It was Berenger who spoke. ‘When I saw you in the ring, I thought you were incredible. You were fearless, powerful. You took on every lord in the room, and beat them. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’

oh i go crazy for “i want to possess you because i am compelled by your unique and attractive qualities and i want to keep you by my side, not because i want to degrade and reduce you until you’re beneath me.” which is probably why i really like the captive prince series by cs pacat, but not like 80% of fiction with similar kink-related premises

‘I don’t care what might happen.’ He was moving forward, because Berenger wanted him.

oh.

those two sentences didn’t quite get me to tear up, but uhhhh they came pretty close

‘If he fails,’ said Ancel. He was stepping into Berenger’s space. He put his hand on the laces of Berenger’s jacket, and Berenger didn’t move away. ‘But if he wins?’

:’) the metatextual conversation this story has been having with the reader the entire time, tied in perfectly with the events at the forefront. really, really well done.

final notes:

not going to lie, i think i liked this short story more than 40-60% of king’s rising. damn.

honestly, i kind of hope ancel and berenger don’t end up together immediately. berenger is still 10 years older than ancel, and is like the first person in ancel’s life to show him respect. what rings truest to me is the idea of them being close friends and allies especially during the turbulent wartimes, and hooking up a few times and enjoying it, but a much more confident ancel eventually considering other partners and at least making more friends. either ancel doesn’t end up romantically with berenger because there’s someone even better suited for him romantically and sexually, or he decides that he truly does want berenger because even though there are other people who would love him for who he is, none of them are berenger. either way, they’re close friends the entire time and it’s very sweet. i like them a lot.

[grassyhorizon45]

Could you do a fic where y/n has did, but it doubting themselves and convincing themselves they don't have it? Or just more fics with did. I love reading them but I can't find very many

ok.. so this rotted my brain a little and ended up becoming maybe quite long :D srry in advanced for all the DID terms and such :3 pt 2 will come soon I promise.

Help.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

Marauders x Y/n but she realises something a little different about herself and the insecurity starts to build.

Warnings: A small bit of yelling, mostly fluff...and a few big words :D

Words: 718

It was subtle at first…

“H-Huh? What do you mean potion class was yesterday?”

“How did I end up here again?”

Then the voices, occasional laughs no one else could hear—

“Siri, I'm h-hearing things again…”

Remus heard from across the room. “Again bunny?”  “That's not good, maybe we should talk to a professor about it?” Sirius suggested.

Y/n refused…… refused to alert the professors of her anomaly, refused to admit it was hindering her ability to function—

Refused to admit it bothered her a lot.

“I told you about the party three times already… What do you mean ‘I never mentioned anything about a party’??!”  James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder at the sight of Y/n tensing up. “Calm down Pads, there's no need to yell. 

Sirius took a deep breath, “I just… d-don't understand, love.” 

……I don't understand either. 

* * *

“I think I found an answer,” Remus said when they were hanging out in the boys’ room one day. 

“An answer?” asked James.  “To Y/n’s sudden… forgetfulness.”

“And the voices?” Y/n couldn't stop herself from blurting.  Remus smiled to himself proudly, “And the voices, bunny.” 

“You found the cause, Moons?” Sirius walked over to the boy whose nose was deep into his book, ruffling Remus’ light brown hair. 

“It's called Dissociative Identity Disorder…” 

“Disso- Wh-What?” Y/n couldn't catch the word. 

“A character in this book has it… He's very detached sometimes and he tends to forget events he and his friends witnessed; so kind of like you, bunny.” 

“D-Detached? D-Do I-?” James nodded at Y/n’s question. “Sometimes, baby.” 

“He talks to himself occasionally too,” Remus added about the character’s description. “The protagonist thinks it's schizophrenia, but the narrator says it's cause of the voices in his head–” 

“Imma stop you there, Moony,” Sirius butt-in as he saw the slight panic growing in Y/n's eyes.  “For one, how do we know if this ‘identity disorder’ thing isn’t something the author made up, and two, if our bunny actually has it. Additionally if so, what do we do about it?”

Sirius made a valid point, yet all Y/n's mind could cling on to was how accurate Remy’s fictional character resembled the things she was experiencing. 

“Baby, you okay?” James put a steady hand around her waist. 

Y/n blinked a few times, bringing herself back to the present. 

“Y-Yeah, I'm good,” she assured her three worried looking boyfriends. “C-Can you write the d-disorder down for me Remy? I think I'll hit the library.” 

“Why don't we pay the library a visit together? I'm down to crack this case,” said Sirius, eager to get started. 

“Sirius Orion Black wanting to visit the library?” James gasped sarcastically. “Never heard of it,” beamed Remus. 

Y/n giggled, “Okay, okay. You guys can come too.” 

* * *

Digging deeper into this so-called ‘Dissociative Identity Disorder’, there were subdiagnoses like OSDD: Other Specified Dissociative Disorder or just amnesia itself could be a possibility. 

Y/n's boyfriends all had their heads wrapped around learning things like multiple personalities, dissociative amnesia, headspace theory, and even causes of DID. 

“I d-don't even have ‘alters’......"

"Guys, it's not so important, we can just let it slide you know…” Y/n mumbled, hating the silence of endless research. 

“Plus Jamie, you have a match against Hufflepuff tomorrow… Shouldn't you practice?” 

“You're right,” James remembered. “I do have a match…” 

Remus shrugged, “Go ahead Prongs, we don't mind.” 

James said a quick thanks before hurrying off. Y/n turned to look at Sirius. The black haired was sprawled on the library table, snoring softly. 

Was never a bookworm that man, unlike Remus. 

“Rem, I think we should leave it,” Y/n said to him as he asked yet another ‘are you experiencing this’ question. 

“We just wanna help you figure this out bunny…” 

“I know… But it's not really a big deal and it's probably just me being forgetful and a touch of sleep deprivation anyways. Look, even Siri’s fast asleep… At least take a break, love?” 

“Alright.” 

It wasn't that Y/n didn't trust her significant others, nor was it really because she was tired. All she wanted was to shut off all possibilities that she could actually be mentally unstable, to make sure she wasn't being a walking ‘waste of time’.

Yet...

She couldn't shake the bugging thought that this whole thing was somehow a facade......

A trick her mind had orchestrated for attention...

...what?

[theghostavocadoe]

Unironic Remnants Anatomy Headcanons

Kadaj is an AVERAGE 5'6, Yazoo and Loz are 6'3. And yes they're the same height because they're twins.

^ You will see this pattern of "because they're twins" a lot for Yazoo and Loz.

They have fangs. Not insanely long fangs, but enough to make someone go "damn those are some long canines" when they see them.

Kadaj is very lean. A bit of muscle but mostly very skinny and very flexible. He's really good at pretzel-ing his way through small spaces.

Yazoo is double jointed in many places including (but not limited to) his elbows, knees, waist, and neck.

Loz is the least flexible but still pretty bendy for such a beefy guy. He's also the fastest runner out of the three of them.

Yazoo's muscles are all in his legs. He's the highest jumper. Could probably kill a man with just his thighs. A kick to the chest could break their ribcage.

If Yazoo pulled his hair back, he'd look identical to Loz in terms of facial anatomy. Because twins.

The only major difference between Yazoo and Loz's faces are their cheeks, because Yazoo's are slightly chubbier.

Kadaj has the chubbiest cheeks of the three of them, though.

Yazoo and Loz have GINORMOUS hands. They're probably the only ones who can properly shoot Velvet Nightmare because the handle is so fucking long to accommodate for their giant hands.

Kadaj's hands are small but boney. Very nimble.

None of them have navels.

Yazoo looks more masculine on some days and more feminine on others. It depends on his mood. Most of the change can be seen in her hips and shoulders.

Yazoo has a nasty case of tinnitus because he A. uses a gun and B. has the most sensitive hearing out of the three of them. Bad combo.

Loz's knuckles have scars from callouses upon callouses.

Post-AC Yazoo and Loz have fleshy, pink scars on their right and left arms respectively. Their supernatural healing repaired all the important motor and nerve functions in their arms, but their skin didn't get the same treatment.

in the summer, Kadaj gets very faint freckles on his cheeks and shoulders.

Loz has eye bags from anxiety keeping him awake.

Despite them trying their best to look human, they still have a bit of uncanny-ness about them that you can only see if you stare at them for way too long.

[grison-in-space]

Stupidest of stupid questions: So humans are trichromatic, right? We basically have RGB eyes. How inefficient would it be to have CMYK eyes? Is it even possible?

You could absolutely do CMY eyes, but the K (being black) is a little more difficult because black isn't a wavelength of light so much as the absence of light. I suppose you could call the K your rods, which are best used in low light and convey things like "shadows" and "movement" particularly effectively. As a human, the most sensitive part of your retina, the part you're using when you directly look at things, is called the fovea. It is PACKED with cones, which are good for color and also tight spatial resolution; rods are found outside along the periphery of both the retinal and visual field. So we're just going to set the K aside now and think about those cones.

Honestly, tetrachromat eyes are technically pretty easy to achieve: all you need is four versions of cone-rhodopsin genes getting translated into different kinds of cone-rhodopsin cells in your retina. Old World primates evolved our trichromat eyes from dichromat mammalian ancestors exactly this way: with a gene duplication in one core cone-rhodopsin gene that allowed one of the copies to accumulate mutations until a sufficiently divergent copy fixed in the population.

So to have CMY eyes, you'd need three cone-rhodopsins with different wavelength sensitivities: one that is most sensitive to cerulean, one most sensitive to maroon, and one most sensitive to yellow. You might or might not have better color resolution than a regular old RGB human, though: color resolution is partly a function of the sensory information hitting your retinas, but it's also partly a function of how much brain space you dedicate to processing that information.

I mentioned my blind cat Arthur the other day--here's a photo:

Arthur is what we call cortically blind. As a kitten, he had an intact pupillary reflex and could probably see light vs dark, but he also had severe nystagmus, so his pupils jittered uncontrollably all the time and he probably didn't get a whole lot of useful visual input. Without the visual experience of seeing things and learning how to organize and process visual information, his brain as he developed went "you know what? fuck this" and stopped dedicating any processing power to whatever visual input he was getting.

Basically, he lost visual acuity because the information he was able to pipe to his brain was fragmented and poor-quality enough that his brain stopped bothering to process it. If I pulled his current eyeballs out and magically hooked up new totally functional ones, he wouldn't be able to do anything with them: his brain has given up sorting out the information.

So the question of whether theoretical CMY humans could distinguish colors better than RGB humans is driven by two things: one, whether having two highly-overlapping cones helps you distinguish between slightly variant light types better than very different cones, and two, whether we're extending the total visual range by moving the cones at the external ends of the range (B and R) farther apart. Overlapping but unique sensory information can be really helpful for localizing and distinguishing similar-but-not-identical inputs--that's one of the reasons owls are good at localizing quiet noises, actually, their ears are wildly asymmetrical and they can computer where a noise is made based on how loudly it can be heard with each ear, especially if the owl is on the move as it listens. Like the Doppler effect, but faster with a lot more processing power on it.

I have no idea which would be more effective, but it's a fun thing to think about!