#one mistake will lead to poverty

[probablyasocialecologist]

Disco Elysium's setting was formerly the site of a communist revolution that established the Commune of Revachol. It didn't last long. The Coalition of Nations brutally put the communists down, divided the city among themselves, and enforced a free market capitalist system. The results are depressingly apparent in Revachol's dilapidated district of Martinaise. "The literacy rate is around 45% west of the river," Joyce Messier, a negotiator sent to parley with Martinaise's striking union, tells our protagonist. "Fifty years of occupation have left these people in an *oblivion* of poverty." This state of affairs is overseen by the Moralist International, a union of centre-left and centre-right parties that professes to represent the cause of humanism, but whose primary concern is transparently the preservation of capitalist interest – a Coalition official happily tells us that "the Coalition is only looking out for *ze price stabilitié*", arguing that inflation in Revachol must be prevented, comparing it to a heart disease that could block the "normal circulation of the economy". The people of Revachol don't matter. Their suffering and oppression is only significant as a necessary symptom of the system functioning as intended.  The most biting aspect of this critique of capitalist exploitation can be found in the cynicism of those who represent Moralism, or at least, its interests. The aforementioned Joyce Messier is its perfect embodiment. She does not believe in the facade of humanity Moralism presents to the world, and is under no illusions about what it has done to the people of Martinaise. She tells you how bad things are, freely admitting that the pieces of legislation put in place by the Moralist Coalition to govern Revachol are there to keep "the city in a [...] laissez-faire stasis to the benefit of foreign capital". This corrosion of belief via cynicism, this depiction of a system that continues to operate unimpeded despite few believing in it, feels all too familiar.  This critique of liberal capitalism's hypocrisy, cynicism, exploitation and deep-rooted connections to colonialism, is particularly powerful in recognising the precarious position it finds itself in. It has reached a stasis that seems, paradoxically, both insurmountable, and on the verge of collapse. Moralism relies on this contradiction. It's unofficial motto, "for a moment, there was hope", underlines the degree to which its dominance depends on the preclusion of the idea that a better world is possible, that there is no alternative, echoing the End of History sentiment that created the (rapidly disintegrating) political consensus of our lived reality. Despite growing dissatisfaction with the status quo in the real world, it has, indeed, proved difficult to imagine an alternative. The oft-repeated phrase attributed to literary critic and political theorist Fredric Jameson, that is is easier to imagine the end of the world than it is the end of capitalism, has almost become a cliché. However, the mistake Joyce makes, and one that we should avoid, is to assume that this means an alternative won't emerge nonetheless.

[...]

In a world where everyone is encouraged to look out for themselves, Disco Elysium suggests we should remember the value of collectivity, camaraderie and community. The Deserter has forgotten that though the communism he identified with is dead, the values that brought people to its cause in search of a better world remain as valid as ever. Bleak as it is, those values exist in Martinaise. They exist in us. Their latent power has the potential to lead us towards better horizons. 

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

[radio-charlie]

Just try looking for a positive story on China any day of the week in any of the leading global media outlets. Apart from reports in January about the Lunar New Year, there will hardly be any, and these too are likely to have a negative spin. It would appear there is a confidential memo circulating within Western media groups that guides reporters and editors to ensure there cannot be any positive news arising from a country with 1.3 billion people.

Typically, the negative stories adhere to three core ideas, which inform the unspoken guidelines within these press rooms when it comes to reporting on China.

First is the belief that China is a threat to the world and that this belief must be relentlessly reinforced at every available opportunity. How and why China is a threat is never explored; such is the deep-rooted and almost religious nature of the belief. Sound arguments do not matter. The basic tenets of good journalism are ignored when it comes to a China story. There is no need to explain or give evidence of why China is a global threat.

Left ignored is the plentiful evidence that shows China is not a global threat – even if one can point to mistakes and overreach in certain areas. China has not invaded any country in decades, or imposed sanctions that have devasted the lives of millions in poor countries, unlike the West, led by the United States.

Second is that China must be linked to every possible global event that affects the West. This provides an opportunity for the West to bash China while simultaneously burnishing its own credentials as the supposed arbiters of what is right and wrong in international relations. From the pandemic to the Russia-Ukraine war to carbon emissions; from rising sea levels to the scramble for rare earths; from the building of infrastructure in Africa to the production of vaccines – there must be an angle to demonize the country and instill fear in Western nations (and beyond).

Indeed, media outlets are reverting to the “yellow peril” of the late 1800s. There is no subtle and nuanced approach to instilling fear like this. It is full-on and very often blatantly racist – but it is now acceptable for one to be racist about the Chinese in Western media, despite the fact that Black-White relations are very carefully described.

The third part of this phenomenon, which is surprisingly not challenged by liberal readers of mainstream media, is the sentiment that everything must be done – even illegal and unfair methods – to arrest the rise of China. Never mind the rights of hundreds of millions of Chinese to have a better life after a century of poverty and deprivation.

[needlepokes]

how to write a diabetic character: CGM edition

is your diabetic character wearing a CGM? do they have to? CGMs these are Continous Glucose Monitors that can detect how much sugar is in your bloodstream.

How are they different than tradtional fingerprick (blood) tests? they take blood sugar readings 24/7, and provide you with how your sugars are doing at all times, rather than just at that moment. This leads to tremendously better control over blood sugar.

The way they work is that they can "sample" your blood sugar by testing your subcutaneous tissue for sugar levels then adjusting that value.

However, they're less accurate than a fingerprick (blood) reading and will often "lag" behind by about 15 minutes.

SO if you have a character who is expereincing low or high blood sugar - they'd get an alarm on their CGM, and then they might take a fingerprick reading to make sure. CGM false alarms DO exist and it can cause some very annoying situations.

A less careful/depressed/struggling/burnt out character might A. not care or "sleep through" alarms B. not double check with a finger prick C. not care that they're wearing a CGM - pump into stuff or just rip it off (although they are very expensive!).

can you mute them? yes, and a character might choose to do this while they're sleeping, having an exam, or if they know they're about to fuck up their blood sugar.

how long do they last? the libre ones last 14 days. the dexcom ones last up to 10 days.

can you shower with them? yes

can you swim with them? yes

can you have sex with them on? yes, and i've read very funny anecdotes from diabetics having to pause during sex because their cgm was beeping

are they expensive? yes! sometimes, they're covered by insurance, but not completely. If a character is in poverty, or do not have insurance, they likely would have to rely solely on fingerpricks.

Who usually uses CGMs? they are very widespread between T1Ds and are increasingly being used by T2Ds as well.

can you share the readings on multiple devices? yes! your character might share their info with their SO, parents, roommates, close friends...etc. It is genuienly one of the most telling signs of a close relationship between people - because those people will see your "mistakes" and decisions.

where do you stick them? the libre ones (circular ones) officially just go on the back of your arm. The dexcom ones can go on just about anywhere that's "soft" - stomach, thighs, back of arm, chest...etc.

does putting them on hurt? sometimes! the way they are installed involves a needle going into the skin then sitting in the subcutaneous tissue. This can sometimes cause some bleeding, and soreness for a few hours.

Often times the process is completely painless, but this is not the case for everyone. A thinner character might struggle to find a place "cushy" enough for a cgm.

can you put them on your own? yes the process is made for one person to stick it on, but i've seen some couples on instagram act all romantic and sappy about applying it together, so that should give you some ideas for your diabetic characters' budding romances ;)

Some CGMs are just naturally faulty, i'd say about 4 sensors is a busted one, and in that case you'll have to replace them - which most companies just do without any hassle.

do they work with insulin pumps? some insulin pumps can work in tangent with CGMs and provide feedback for the user to automatically generate the correct doses of insulin, depending on their current blood sugar.

do they come off easily? depends on who you're asking. some people swear up and down that they never last and have to put on patches, which are admittedly very cute. Weather, clothing, and how clumsy a character is all factor in this. For me personally i just put them on raw and keep them together by sheer willpower.

CGMs can cause anxiety in diabetics. The constant flow of information can easily burnout people, and this can possibly be the case for any diabetic character you might write. Seeing arrows going down or up can be very distressing, especially knowing how painful some of the consequences are. I personally take breaks for both myself and my wallet from using CGMs to avoid burn out.

nonetheless, CGMs are WONDERFUL pieces of technology that have personally made me much happier as a diabetic, freer and a lot more independent.

does your character want their CGM to show? lots of people, including myself don't like revealing their CGMs - but your character might like showing them off!

and lastly - my favorite thing about CGMs - taking them off and having a "naked" shower once a month where i dont have to worry about it coming off. - They look like this:

[watchfuldeer]

as part of his eulogy for logan, ewan says: “he was mean, and he made but a mean estimation of the world and he fed a certain kind of meagreness in men. perhaps he had to because he had a meagreness about him and maybe i do about me too”. he connects them via this meagreness, a metaphorical lack of something in their spirits as the brothers roy, but it can also used to mean a physical lack, thinness, which i think is relevant both to ewan’s lifelong fear of and disgust with excess, and greg’s void of hunger for everything he was ever denied.

ewan was only five when had to take on the role of his four year old brother’s parent and protector, all alone, the only protection logan had against adults who hurt them. they were physically abused by their uncle noah, and if logan was whipped with such force as a child that the scars were still visible in his 80s, then i don’t doubt that ewan had scars of his own.

if you viciously beat a child, if you deprive a child of love and comfort, if you make children kill animals as ewan and logan were made to, they will be traumatised, but they won’t express it in the same way. ewan’s response was to become strict with himself, and strict with others. in 1.05, logan accuses ewan of never eating even a blueberry without first checking it against the ledger - the same episode where ewan doesn’t let greg eat anything for a period of about 24 hours. ewan’s life is one of forced asceticism and self-denial as penance, and is characterised by a profoundly sad inability to connect emotionally with his grandson, and by inference his daughter marianne, and quite probably his wife, who has been dead for many years judging by the framing of ewan, marianne and greg as a family unit of just three from greg’s childhood onwards. the life of abstinence he leads is further entrenched by his repulsion towards logan’s excesses as a capitalist, a media tycoon, political opportunist, and as a destructive force in the natural world via those identities. ewan says there is an argument to be made that logan is worse than hitler, and he is completely and utterly serious about it.

he wears a hair shirt of his own and others’ sins. in an attempt to compensate for the meagreness he feels within and his inability to love his family as he should, he devotes himself to saviour-type social causes, especially environmentalism. ewan views himself as having stewardship over the natural world, a domain he can defend (and demand others defend) through giving up their material desires as a means to attain moral purity. but crucially, ewan’s austerity is a response to a traumatic childhood defined by poverty, abuse and neglect, and when he makes the same demands of his daughter and grandson, by forcing them to live on an artificial breadline despite having millions, he enacts poverty, abuse and neglect on them. marianne and greg profoundly resent ewan for denying them a comfortable upbringing that was always within reach. ewan has enough self-awareness to realise that he made mistakes with his own family, but he is tragically unable to grasp the enormity of the damage he inflicted.

[rainsfiction]

I think one of the most interesting things about Oliver is that he absolutely could’ve been a permanent fixture at Saltburn with Felix if only he had been a little less greedy. His biggest downfall is that his upper middle class privilege made him overly presumptuous with his greed in a way that left cracks in his carefully thought out plans.

First and foremost, it’s important to note that Oliver is an unreliable narrator in ways that made his third act monologue an unexpectedly interesting part of the film. His monologue is meant to not only justify his actions but is also a way for Oliver to make himself out to be smarter and better than he truly is. He’s working overtime to convince himself that he’s won and that he’s achieved this through his own actions. Whether you chose to believe him or not is up to you; what really matters is that you understand that no matter how big (or little) of a role he played in securing Saltburn for himself, he still royally fucked up his original plan on multiple occasions. He is not a mastermind who got what he originally wanted all along. He was not all knowing and he was not watching everyone play checkers while he played chess. Oliver. Fucked. Up.

The bicycle scene (whether you believe he tampered with the tire or not) and the pub rescue scene were more than enough to win over Felix. Felix was shallow and would've given no extra thought to Oliver's usefulness or perceived poverty. Oliver could’ve hinted at a difficult home situation and used the family strain he already experienced as a hook for Felix if necessary. It would’ve been enough... but then Oliver got greedy. He started building up the poverty case more and more, in the hopes of getting more and more of Felix, and that was his first major mistake.

It’s important to remember that we see Felix not from Oliver’s POV directly, but from Oliver’s POV in his twisted retelling that we have no reason to believe. Though Oliver probably knew Felix intimately, he doesn't share that Felix with us. He shares the godly image he built in his mind that is tainted by his own self deprecation. In Oliver’s world Felix was seconds from dropping him at any given moment, because why would Felix keep Oliver? In reality, Felix had already deemed Oliver the perfect new toy. Sure, Felix was irritated in the cleaning argument scene… but if we work under the assumption that Felix had already chosen Oliver, then Oliver pointing out his privilege in an way that made him acknowledge it would’ve ultimately intensified Felix’s saviour complex once he got past the initial discomfort. It might’ve taken a moment, but Felix would’ve ran straight back to Oliver soon enough. Though Oliver couldn't see it, we see through the jealousy Felix's circle of friends display that Oliver was a more permanent fixture in Felix is life than most were comfortable with. The problem was that Oliver couldn't handle the wait, and his greed overrode his patience and lead to yet another mistake when he escalates the situation by bringing in a dead father that he didn’t actually need.

Farleigh and Oliver’s dynamic is so interesting because Farleigh immediately recognises Oliver for what he truly is. Farleigh has an interesting class dynamic where by right he should be a permanent fixture at Saltburn as a member of the Catton family, but he’s been carelessly demoted to upper middle class purgatory. He recognises Oliver as his competition almost immediately despite having played this game for far longer. Farleigh is happy to play this game in school, because he knows it well enough to win, but then Farleigh is shaken when he realises Oliver has become his competition in fighting their way into the Catton family. Farleigh recoginses what Oliver doesn't, that Oliver is permanent. He hates that Oliver’s race mixed with his Oscar winning poverty act has given Oliver that extra boost that makes him a real threat to Farleigh's place in Saltburn.

This is what makes the karaoke scene so interesting. Up until that point Farleigh see's Oliver as lesser and underserving of a place at Saltburn. The karaoke scene shows a significant shift where Farleigh finally accepts Oliver as a worthy opponent and potential teammate. With the obvious attraction between them Oliver should’ve taken him up on his truce without question. Alas, Oliver’s greed takes control once more and he immediately tries to place himself above Farleigh despite the offer of solidarity presented to him. This is what leads to the Rent scene where Farleigh successfully declares war once more, and where Oliver calls him over to finish the song in a way that ensures that he wins that round. The problem is that unlike Farleigh, who is focused on playing an upper middle class game of infiltrating the 1%, Oliver gets so lost in cosplaying poor that he loses focus of what the real game is. He’s so focused on the humiliation his poor character must feel from singing Rent that he loses sight of the acceptance of the role the song portrays that Farleigh displays which allows for Farleigh to win the next round. He fails to recognise that he needs Farleigh as an ally to get what he truly wants, and that was one of his biggest mistakes of all.

Oliver's want for Felix ultimately becomes his biggest downfall as he lays the foundations for relationships with the Cattons only to taint those relationships for Felix's comfort. Felix didn't need to be happy with Oliver at all times, but Oliver was greedy for the affection that came with Felix is good graces. Oliver singlehandedly undid the work he had done on Venetia – and by extension the work he had done on Elspeth – to keep Felix's easy affections. Felix was sulking, but he would've gotten over it pretty quickly if Oliver practiced some subtlety and put in just that little bit more work for the affection he craved. Oliver didn't have the patience for the long game. He wanted Felix is affection immediately and that meant that he made the mistake of closing off all alternative entryways into the Catton family prematurely.

Despite all his mistakes Oliver still could've had Felix even after the birthday surprise disaster. Though Felix was angry, he had ultimately declared his love by positioning himself as the Juliet to Oliver's Romeo, as indicated by his costume to Oliver's birthday party. Though Felix's love and care was exploitative and tainted by his privilege, it was also real and present in all the ways that mattered. In the maze, despite Felix is harsh words, what really stands out is how we see Felix contemplate kissing Oliver and doing everything in his power not to give in. It's the first time it's made clear to the audience that Felix is just as dangerously in love as Oliver is. Felix would've taken any excuse imaginable to forgive Oliver in that moment. All Felix was asking for was clarity. Oliver could've given Felix the smallest bit of who he truly was and Felix would've done what he always did and filled in the blanks in a way that allowed him to play saviour. Felix would've given Oliver everything he'd ever wanted in that maze if only Oliver was willing to win the game on Felix is terms. Oliver could've had his cake and eaten it too, but his greed made him want more than that. When he realised he couldn't have it all he made an impulsive decision driven by his unquenchable thirst that lead to his biggest mistake of all. Oliver's need to be better, his need to be smarter, and his need to win the game on his own terms is what ultimately lead to Felix's death.

If Oliver had been more careful he could've had it all through Venetia or Farleigh or Elspeth... but he had already destroyed all alternative pathways through his own greed. When Oliver loses Felix, he loses any chance he might've had at elevating himself into the Catton's league. In the end, Oliver's third act monologue becomes a desperate attempt to make Saltburn worth it. Saltburn is not worth it. Oliver fishes the Cattons stones out of the water because without them Saltburn becomes nothing. In the end Oliver is alone, performing for the Cattons in a house long abandoned. Saltburn is the consolation prize Oliver had to convince himself he always wanted.

[ushi-moo]

I wanted to jot some thoughts down for my self insert story , it will begin from Journey to the West. To be honest I have no knowledge nor a lot of skill when it comes to writing or creating a character but please let me know thoughts and feedback!

So the story will go either 2 ways:

‘Self insert’ was out hunting for food when she was captured by a Yaoguai along other mortals from a village far over,while this is happening the crew can hear screams towards them & Tang demands Wukong & the others rush to help.I can imagine Wukong doing a sort of “tch” and running his mouth which infuriates Tang but they end up going to save them.In the meantime the Yaoguai sniffs the air , smelling the humans preparing to devour them but self insert makes a bargain ; suggesting to the Yaoguai if its meal can put up a fight. The Yaoguai finds this hilarious but agreed and throws a small but sharp knife to the ground. As the mortals bunch together a brute of a mortal picks the knife up but within seconds is bested and is unconscious which in turn makes the Yaoguai start to tear up in hysterics. Self insert walks over to the unconscious mortal and takes the knife from his hands…

Ok so ‘self inserts’ information/backstory:

Backstory:

She’s from a village which was struck by famine & poverty leading to half the villagers turning on one another, she’s the sole survivor left. Everything she owns she has sewn or made herself, all her clothes have either holes or gashes in them.Most days she goes out hunting

Information:

This girl can hold her own, though the village mainly had/has no food;she can hunt, she’s slightly malnourished in the sense of she has enough food to keep up her daily intake for her muscles etc but it’s effected her height.She has a strong personality as she can see right through heaven and believes it’s corrupt and full of hypocrites so she’s not afraid to hold back what’s she thinks.All the years of hunting & training paid off as she’s incredibly agile and for a mortal has fists of iron. Though she has been alone for so long she’s not selfish but if anything is extremely empathetic towards mortals, animals, Yaoguai and others alike. But she’s quick to pull you up on something if she thinks it’s out of order.

Ok well let me know what you think ! I think it’ll take time for me to be comfortable with her design plus how I draw the other characters! Also sorry for any mistakes I’m dyslexic af

[fashionlandscapeblog]

I've felt guilty for quite some time for liking fashion as much as I have my entire life, especially given the fact that our planet is on fire and this industry is one of the most particularly harmful towards it. I've considered so often to only post art and design. Regardless of the fact that I try to only promote the beauty I see and not necessarily consumerism, I do know that the latter is an unavoidable consequence. Thing is, seeing beautiful things, doesn't mean you have to buy them.

Fashion is clearly not an essential when there are so many basic needs that the world has such as poverty, healthcare, homelessness, erradicating climate change, etc. However, I wouldn't dismiss it as absolutely unimportant.

I believe individual expression in fashion has the power to contribute to make the world a better place for everyone, since it promotes tolerance and diversity. This is why I love Halloween. Imagine if we all dressed up however we wanted to every day and it would be accepted to be different, we wouldn't have to make fun of each other. Being yourself would be normalized. Granted, what counts is in the inside, however, I fear a world where these differences are not clearly visible, might lead us to even more herd mentality and intolerance. We are visual creatures and we need visual reminders.

What the world needs urgently is to stop thinking in black-and-white terms, because we don't have to be perfect, but we can surely be better. If we were all simply better, it'd make such a huge difference.

Thinking that you have to be perfectly is the real mistake and this is why so many people would rather be silent or cynical about things and continue just the way they were before, not making any difference. I'd rather be better with my actions and loud about my beliefs even if I'm not 100% consistent/integral than a coward who sits in their silent, judgemental, and cynical high horse.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Happiness - Part 2

Fandom: LOTR

Ship: Eomer x F!Reader

Trope: Arranged marriage

Note: Reader is Elfhelm's daughter and I invented a lot for what I didn't know so probably A LOT of mistakes.

Fun facts: I only wrote this extended fic for this one sex scene during their wedding night. This gif is my favourite thing to look at right now. It's late and I'm tired so.

Word counts: 4 090

Warnings: Dealing with grief, loved one's deaths, depression, SMUT at some point, poverty, war's aftermath, diplomatic relations, pregnancy, blood, miscarriage

Tags: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

During the long weeks leading to the wedding, your days were either spent with your mother or Gera, taking over in your mother’s absence.

Indeed, thanks to your father’s insistence, she had been appointed as the wedding organizer. Or something akin to it. She was fussing and busying herself like she had never before, not even for Moira’s wedding. Your mother was a force of nature, but she could be a lot and having Gera was a good contrast to your mother’s buzzing energy.

First, the chiefmaid had kept you company or helped you find your way around the place. Quickly, she became a big part of your days. You visited orphanages with her and brought food to those in need in Sofia’s company. Over these shared times, she became a godmother of sorts - and her daughter a friend - always present when you needed them, and you always there when they needed you.

“Milady, I do believe it is most improper for you to work with the cooks in the kitchen.”

It had taken you almost three whole days of imploring her before you had managed to make Gera yield.

Gera did not believe in such a fantasy as fun. It was working or resting, no in-between. With that statement in mind, she had still followed you to the kitchen while you were asking questions to the bewildered pastry chefs meeting the future queen in such an unofficial manner.

When she asked for what purpose you wanted to cook, the word “fun” came out of your mouth. “To forget” would have been a more accurate description. Eomer’s attitude towards you had become erratic and even avoidant. You could not know why as he would not give you straight answers, always mentionning something he needed to take care of. The gestures of affection he had towards you were limited to him occasionally kissing your forehead and offering you his arm while walking. You had not had a good walk in days, the weather going grim with your mood.

The plates you were cooking always ended up given to people in need.

After that first expedition, it had become a habit of yours to go down to the kitchen to help, a few hours here and there when you could.

But, for every effort you made, Eomer seemed to have forgotten about you. Your actions were out of boredom, but if it could benefit the poorer all the better. He was always busying himself with new economic plans or diplomatic correspondence. He would not tell you about any of those things either and you figured it would take his mind off of things to talk about more mundane things. Like cooking. Suffice to say, it did not work.

So, when he stepped into the kitchen one day, leaving Gera to usher the poor cooks away, you were surprised, to say the least.

“Milady, you do know it is most improper for a future queen to wander around without an escort.

It had to be a trick of the mind though, Eomer did not feel that way and he had made that clear, spending all of his time away from you. Telling you about her. Amongst the fleeting moments of affection you had shared, he had talked to you about Enora. About the woman she was. It felt as a much needed talk for him. For you, it left you questioning everything. Even his commitment to you. Especially his commitment. It was clear that he wanted to keep you out. What for, that was a question you did not have the answer to, as many others when it came to him.

I had Gera until you arrived, my lord.”

He called your name in a soft commanding tone. You could feel the embrace you were missing in his words.

“I am sorry, that you find no suitable distractions in the castle. Nevertheless, you can not come in here. It is not your place. Nor mine as it turns out.”

You sighed. This day was bound to happen. It was improper, and that was that. People would talk. Even he had to uphold his status. He had to, even if he did not want to. Just like you soon enough.

“I know. I am aware of that. I just… Needed space. From the wedding’s preparation, from my mother - I love her but she’s hovering a lot these days, maybe… maybe even from myself. I cannot hear myself think these days.”

You could have sworn his cheeks took a hint of pink as you looked at him from under your lashes. Unbeknown to you, he had grown quite fond of hearing what you were doing and who you were doing it for, your good deeds to his people never going unheard. The cakes going to orphaned children in need, bread to the beggars in the streets, when you were not willingly spending time with the servants, giving a hand where you could. He admired your dedication and kindness a little more every day, despite himself, and his lost lover’s shadow.

-Yet, you do not share that with me. We have not talked much or been in the same room for longer than a few moments since the engagement has been announced. Were you trying to avoid me?”

“I know. I feel the same way.

Over the weeks, your presence had been missing. The little things he would have loved to be doing with you. Your hand on his arm at the engagement party imprinted in his mind. He missed you. All of you. Eomer had thought himself more of a practical person, reasonable, and smart. In this case, he had thrown everything out of the window. Where his first fiancée enhanced his duties, you made up new ones. You were so different, her and you. You could not compare to her and she could not compare to you. She was gone and you were alive. So alive, he yearned for you in a way he had forgotten. You made him feel again.

His head bowed, his eyes cast down. Words were escaping him. He had thought long and hard about this relationship.

“Yes. I was trying to avoid you.”

Your anger was only growing within you. You were frustrated by his actions but could not blame him for them. When it came to Eomer, you had become blind. As soon as you had recognized it for what it was, it felt easier to smile when thinking of him even if he was not thinking of you. No matter what he would do, you knew you would forgive, for you would love him. From that first day until the last.

His voice was lower now, as one of a child being chastised.

“I was afraid.”

His steps brought him next to you, only a meter or two from where you were. Just as he lowered his voice, you softened yours.

“How could you be afraid? I am just a woman.”

His hand took yours and you released a sigh you did not know you were holding. In the back of your mind, you willed your memory to keep those moments tucked away safely. You were sure they would not happen again.

“A woman in grief. A woman I chose. A woman I can not seem to care for as she needs.”

He closed in on you, a mere breath away now, his palm a gentle reminder of his presence on the side of your face, your eyes closed for your own sake. You could not drown in him. You would not. Not when it meant heartbreak.

“Sometimes, I try not to seek you out.”

You could not look at him, but from under your lids, you could feel his breath fanning over your cheek, his head bowed to you in silent prayer. The question burned your lips.

“Why not?”

His hands were now cradling your face, your eyes forced to look at him. His brows furrowed, lips parted in quiet stillness, the way he looked at you, mercy and hurt in the eye, made your heart clench in despair.

“I am guilty of selfishness. When I am with you, I forget. I forget what she looked like and who she was. When I am with you, the ghost of her disappears and I don’t know if…”

His lips parted, as if to say something again, were an invitation you could not refuse. Pushing a little you grabbed him by his collar and kissed him with everything you had. His hands found your waist, making you pull away brutally.

-What for?

“I am sorry, my lord, I…

-The… Just now. And… I did not wish to make you forget. You loved her. Why would I wish to erase her from your memories? She’s a part of you. But, I am selfish too, and…”

You took a deep breath. The feelings you had wanted to snuff out were too strong now. They had to be faced and felt.

-I promise.”

“If you are feeling the way you tell me you are, then I need to know you will be there fully when you’re with me. I… Eomer, I cannot compete with a ghost.

There had been no hesitation in his voice.

He grabbed your face in his hands, and kissed you again, slowly, with eternity in his mind.

The day of the wedding was the worst. You could not see each other all day, it had you both on edge. You were nervous beyond what you could handle, your mother feeding you sweets and Gera swiftly pushing the maids out of your room. You were sure you would suffocate.

Every day it was something new. One day it was a brush of his lips below your ear. The other, his fingers linking with yours discreetly. Another one, he pulled you into an alcove, kissing you senseless, breathless, leaving marks on the exposed skin of your neck.

Once you walked down the aisle, your father’s arm securing and anchoring you, your nerves disappeared. Your father’s teary eyes as he handed you over, almost made you cry, but Eomer’s fond looks shook you to your core. Only then did you notice that the sword he had at his side kept his hand from shaking. A genuine smile on your lips, you had covered his hands with your own, wishing to settle him. The emotion in the man had been threatening to overwhelm him. He had hold onto you for comfort as you wished he would.

The ceremony and the festivities had gone by so fast, it had felt like the blink of an eye. Your parents were dancing and seemed happier than you had seen them in a very long time. They were smiling and laughing, bickering so much, you felt happy for them too. Eomer’s hand surprised you, sneaking under the table and linking his fingers with yours. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, before kissing your lips, your hand cradling his face the cold metal of your wedding band only making it harder to stop. You were his. To love and to hold, forever. How could he have been so lucky, he would never know. But he was willing and wanted to make you understand that. Your doubts and need for reassurance, although not voiced, were clear to him, in the soft moments you shared, a hint of anxiety always taking you over. He never wanted you to doubt his love and attachment for you.

Quickly enough, the night came to an end and the moment to go back to your chambers arrived. The thought of him sharing a bed with you brought a new kind of warmth to your body. The past few days your imagination had been running wild. Not that you would own up to it in front of him. Ever.

Upon entering the room, the door closing behind you, you stepped back until you were met with the wooden surface. It was your salvation when Eomer showed himself, barefoot and naked from the waist up. You wondered if your legs were not going to give out.

In the semi-darkness, silence overcoming everything, he feared you might have swallowed your tongue. In truth, you thought you had, your breathing becoming laboured and uneven.

He called your name, as you were staring, eyes blown while looking at his chest and the expanse of his shoulders, the grave notes in his voice only eliciting more heat to bloom in your abdomen. You bit your lips, not hearing him until he grabbed your shoulders.

“Hm?”

He chuckled, his knuckles caressing the side of your jaw, goosebumps left in his path. Your hands were clasped behind your back, not knowing what to do nor how to do it. Unease took hold of you where there had been only anticipation before. Eomer noticed. He stepped back, looking at you with hunger. He swallowed discreetly. You looked magnificent. His own chest was raising and falling rapidly, the adrenaline in his veins thining his patience to a thread. It made you feel desired and loved more than you could fathom.

“My love, what is the matter?”

“I-… I’ve never been with…a man before…”

You sighed, the endearment on his lips only making it harder to speak.

Fearing you might take offence if he said he knew - even though he did know -, Eomer kissed your temple trying to soothe you. His smile mirrored your own, as his hand slid behind your back, bringing you closer to him. His eyes kept looking into your own.

“I will show you if you wish.”

His lips a mere whisper away from your own, you only nodded. The span of his hands covered your hips as he kissed you. You could feel the laces of your dress coming undone thanks to his handy work, tender kisses caressing the length of your throat, and Eomer holding you against him in a gentle grip. Once the pool of cloth at your feet, your light under-dress was the only barrier between him and you. His kisses were growing heavier with every passing minute, the gentle hold he had turning into him trying to melt his body with yours. Without a word he hoisted you up in his arms, carrying you towards the bed. As he laid you down, your eyes went to the shadows of the fire on the wall before coming back to Eomer, his hair undone, tickling your bare shoulder in the dark. The space above his collarbone, the bridge of his nose, his fingers against your throat, everything illuminated by the feverish light.

Before he looked, his lips against your own he quietly asked “Is this alright…wife?”

Before you could dwell on it, he claimed your mouth for his own, his chest to yours. Your fingers found themselves in his hair, earning a grunt from him, making your core clench and your hand stop. He smirked at that as if he knew what had happened. His palm pulled up your last garment until the birth of your hips, almost revealing yourself to him.

A “Yes” escaped your tongue before you could keep it against the roof of your mouth. After all why would you?

The sweet nothing in his mouth made you whimper out of nowhere.

He helped you out of your dress, leaving the soft caress of his palms up and down your chest, the planes of his hands down your stomach and your back, open-mouthed kisses on your breasts leaving you arching into him, struggling to breathe and how he could be everywhere all at once you would never know, but you would not have stopped it for the world. His mouth trailed down your stomach, always looking at you, always making sure you were alright, just the right amount of overwhelming from him. When he reached the apex of your thighs, you noticed his bare ass in the flickering light of the fire. You swore under your breath. It only made him laugh against you.

“See something you like, princess?”

An idea came to you.

-Hmm?”

“Queen.

You propped yourself onto your elbows, looking him dead in the eye.

-Indeed… then I should treat you as such, should I not?”

“I am not a princess.

His mischievous eyes were new to you. You did not mind them one bit.

You moaned loudly when his tongue flattened against your clitoris. His eyes narrowed and he kept on going, a thirsty man finding a source to drink from. Your body arched of its own accord, full cries escaping you. Something deep in your belly was threatening to snap when he stopped. Concern was etched on his face, his lips gleaming in the dim light as he reached for your face. You shivered at the sight.

“I am alright, husband.”

You nestled your face in his palm, kissing the calloused fingers one by one.

“What about you?”

His body settled next to yours, and you could feel him against your thigh as you turned. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of him inside you.

“I am content.”

He pushed a hair out of your face, feeling the heat of your breath against his nose. What a sight you were. Pupils blown, lips swollen by his ministrations, your skin reacting to the harsh touch of his beard, a path down your body he started following with his fingers down and down again between your thighs. As he met your core, you held onto his shoulder, whimpering again, biting your lip in a silent plea for pleasure. Despite it all, you managed to utter a question.

“Only content?”

His head in the crook of your neck, you felt him stop, now looking straight at you with an adoration you were sure you could not grow tired of. You felt his fingers as he entered you. One, then the other. The soft burn of the stretch kept you from saying anything, your nails digging into his back, his hair now hovering above you, kisses raining on you. He did not answer you, only moving his fingers back and forth until you could not feel the burn of them anymore. He had you rocking your hips onto his hand, filthy sounds surrounding you, the thought of ever leaving this room having left you entirely, drunk on him and only him. Only then did he answer.

“I could not be happier than in your arms.”

“Tonight is not about me. But if you ask…” half a smile crossed his features, as you were marvelling at him, sweating and hungry for more. You never thought anyone could look at you with such reverence in their eyes.

Your heart clenched. Your hips stilled between his hands before he pulled your legs apart.

“If any of this hurts you, please tell me.”

As he pulled himself out, you could feel it down your thighs. It made you hungry for more, somehow. The emptiness he had left behind was soon replaced by the warmth of the sheets on you, his arm sneaking around your waist. He pulled you to him, your head resting on his chest, eyes weary and tired. He did not say a word, the pad of his thumb tracing the column of your spine in lazy strokes and you could hear his heart under you ever so erratic becoming soft and in rhythm with yours. Never could you have imagined this to happen to you. It was nothing short of a miracle, that he found you and you him. You let yourself bask in it for a little while, the shadows of the room luring you into a daydream you longed for deep in your soul.

He laid himself on top of you, his weight never suffocating you, his eyes ever so inquisitive. You nodded slowly, fingers weaving in his hair making him close his eyelids under your care. He placed himself between your legs, your folds welcoming him in a warm embrace. As he pushed into you, a tear escaped you, a dull pain at the pit of your stomach appearing. It stopped with the movement of his hips against yours, ever so gentle, his irises never leaving your face, forehead against yours, before leaving blazed kisses on your skin. Something feral woke up deep inside you, your hand clawing at his back, enticing him to keep going. His groans and moans were echoing in your chest, when he bit down on your shoulder with a swift bite, drawing blood to the surface. The heel of his hand was gripping tightly your ass, moving your legs until they were locked at the ankle behind his back. You felt a renewal of pleasure as he moved your legs higher, visibly impossible for him to stop. His hips were sure to leave bruises on your own. Soon after, you met your end, in a blinding white light, clenching around him. Then he could not stop himself from rutting into you, leaving his seed deep inside you.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?”

The question was asked as if in pleading, praying the bubble you were in would not burst with its utterance. Eomer merely smiled, reassuring you. He grabbed your fingers, kissing your knuckles one after the other in a tender gesture.

“Both.”

His cheeky grin made you smile despite yourself. Your eyebrows rose of their own accord, not able to hide your surprise. Amused by his newly found confidence, you laughed and kissed him deeply, weaving your hand with his. When you tried to pull back, his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and a shiver ran down your spine, eyes wide open. The warmth you felt before, came again. You pulled yourself up and as you were laying on top of him, kissed him as deeply as you could. He did not stop you, his hands on your hips again, where you could feel the friction leaving him hard again. The power you had over him was so obvious. It would have been a crime not to use it to your advantage.

On instinct, a hand to the headboard to support yourself, you dragged your core up the length of him never looking away from his eyes. This new side of you was a pleasant surprise he was delighted to discover. A grunt and an insult passed his lips as the movement dragged down, before starting again, and again, and again. Seeing him willingly relent his control into your hands did things to you, you never thought yourself capable of. Abruptly, his grip on your hips tightened in a desperate gesture to stop your actions.

-…inside me.”

“As much as this is pleasant, I’d rather be…

It had rolled off your tongue so easily. Sultry tone and all. Eomer wondered how he would cope if you were to disappear from his life, taking all you were away from him. The answer never came as he snapped back to you, guiding you down on him. A soft whimper escaped your lips, your back arching into his skillful hands, while he kept on guiding you, the movement of your hips made him jerk upwards deeper into you. Making you cry out in pleasure was his new favourite thing to do, he believed it to his very core. The little sighs, your heaving chest, your hands clasped on his, right on the dips at your hips, the full-out cries, the whimpers, the way you felt as you desperately chased your climax, everything turned him on more and more with each passing minute. The worst part was the way you looked at him, with only desire dilating your pupils, adoration in your every movement when he pulled you down for a sloppy, messy, heated kiss. Forehead against his, your hips moving on instinct, the hot breaths shared between you, all of it turning feverish upon reaching the high you were seeking, before it all snapped, a heat leaking into you as he pushed deeper than before.

You stayed there, relieved, shivering in pleasure. He was still, inside of you, not willing to let you go just yet.

“Sleep now. We have all the time in the world, wife.”

You did not even bother to meet his eyes, as yours were already closing.

“No. I want to be pregnant. Now.”

Eomer laughed and it shook your whole body. Barely registering his kiss on your temple, you fell asleep as he had asked you to, in his arms, protected and content.

Next and last part

[somethingclevermahogony]

Favorite Character Poll (Antagonist Edition)

I was kinda (but not really) tagged by @illarian-rambling.

I'm curious to see who y'all vote as your favorite villain/antagonist from Testaments is.

Descriptions Below!

Hutbari

The Usurper, in his youth he was handsome, strong, and charismatic. Using these traits he usurped the throne of Labisa, chasing the current king into exile, killing the crown prince, and culling any lords that did not agree with his rule. The past king just so happened to be Hutbari's brother, Kurush. While initially popular, he grew lazy and greedy, becoming increasingly careless with his use of the city's funds and his treatment of the hinterlands. He is a womanizing, greedy layabout, only those lords who have managed to wriggle into his good graces actually appreciate his rule. Poverty is worse than it has ever been. monsters are terrorising the hinterlands, and yet Hutbari continues his frivolous parades. Major Henry VIII vibes. He is the one that through years of emotional abuse, has made Narul the self-loathing and anxious wreck that he is.

Akard

Hutbari's past coming back to bite him in the ass. The child of the exiled Kurush, Akard swore vengeance on Hutbari. He lead a coup on Labisa, killing Hutbari and all but one of his children, Ninma. He is the opposite of Hutbari. Akard is noble and clever, beloved by his people. He is driven by an ambition to repair the perceived mistakes of his ancestors. Ultimately he aims to reunite the city-states of Kishetal back into one kingdom. Cyrus and Alexander the Great Vibes. He is more of an antagonist than a straight up villain, if it wasn't for the fact that he has a vested interest in killing Ninma, he would probably be considered a good(ish) guy.

Zatar

Once a street urchin, Zatar is now a merciless warrior, the most deadly in all of Kishetal. He is practically a force of nature. He takes great pleasure in killing and excels at it. He has no loyalty except to Akard, to whom he has an almost fanatic appreciation bordering on infatuation. Zatar, called The Wrath, strikes terror into the heart of any warrior or army that faces him. Zatar is one of the few people, by themselves, that could kill Narul with relative ease.

Barunaki

Barunaki is king of the city of Bur, a vassal of Labisa. He is a grizzled old warrior, mind sharpened by years of fighting off Makurian raiders. He was integral in helping Akard plan and carry out his coup. It was Barunaki, without Akard's permission, who led a group of soldiers to the palace, and slaughtered Hutbari's wives and children (Ninma was sparred only because she had accompanied her father to the festival and Narul saved her.) It was also Barunaki who planted the seeds of paranoia in Akard's head that led to him spending the years hunting Ninma.

Wadikir

Wadikir is the leading member of the council of merchants, the Bidani, that controls the city-state of Chibal. He is clever and charming, though incredibly vain. He dresses in silver and silk and has a taste for expensive wine. He has a proclivity for stabbing people in the back, including Narul and Ninma when they visit his city. He is self-centred and smug, and constantly believes he is the smartest person in the room. Picture Evil(er) Elon Musk, but give him more charisma and make him ambiguously queer.

The Deep Sun

An ancient demon, born of a nature spirit which fed and desecrated souls of his fellow spirits, collected as fuel for a human doomsday bunker for the wealthy and powerful during the apocalyptic events of The Calamity. He snuck into their bunker and consumed the energy of the murdered spirits, in the process growing vastly more powerful and changing into a conglomeration of different spiritual energies. He would then spend the next several millennia terrorizing the occupants of the bunker. Drowning them in darkness, destroying their food, turning them in time to the mindless and cannibalistic, Kosheki. He is their only source of light, their god. Before the Kosheki lost the ability to speak, they gave him the name, Deep Sun. The Deep Sun and his Kosheki have been praying on the ships and sailors who dare to come to close to their island for centuries.

Batricca

Batricca is the Immortal Queen of the Empire of the Batri, far to the north. Long ago she was part of an orchestrated attempt by her grandfather to create an heir by forcing his daughter to bear a spiritblood child. Batricca's mother died in childbirth and her grandfather was disappointed to find that the resulting demigod child was a girl. Batricca was given the same name as her dead mother. Batricca was initially intended to be married off in order to bolster her grandfather's influence. Instead she killed her grandfather and her husband to be. Following this, as the new Queen she went on to conquer many of the northern tribes. She now rules over numerous cities, attacking them from time to time as a form of entertainment. She supports the construction of better defences and technology for these cities, only so that they will be more difficult for her to conquer the next time. She has had many children, though she only allows the women to live, killing her male-born children as infants. Her daughters serve to bolster her power, either throw diplomatic marriage, or by serving as her personal guard. Her blood flows through the veins of many of Kobani's greatest warriors, including Zatar.

Tagging a bunch of ya because I want to get a good sample size! If you wanna do this too feel free!

@illarian-rambling, @mk-writes-stuff, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @willtheweaver, @patternwelded-quill

@elsie-writes, @elizaellwrites, @the-ellia-west, @the-octic-scribe, @the-golden-comet

@finickyfelix, @theprissythumbelina, @autism-purgatory, @diabolical-blue , @tildeathiwillwrite

@winterandwords, @phoenixradiant, @pluttskutt

@dyrewrites, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @roach-pizza, @rivenantiqnerd, @pluppsauthor

@flaneurarbiter, @dezerex, @axl-ul, @surroundedbypearls

[1moreff-creator]

Happy Birthday Rose Lacroix!

Except, don't shout it too loud, birthday girl is sleepy. Let's do the usual birthday analysis and song associations, but be quiet, she wants her sleep.

(Still her birthday in my time zone I win)

-Rose's backstory is revealed in Episode 5 of CH 2. Her family was poor, and to help with the financial situation, Rose started forging artwork. Thanks to her photographic memory and natural talent, she made a lot of money. However, at one point when she was 15, one of her clients left a trail leading back to her, and now she had to pay back ten times as much as she'd made, which was millions of dollars, for her actions. This would have ruined her family, of course.

-However, a philantropic organization named the Spurling Foundation, led by Richard Spurling, offered to pay her fines and clear her charges. The condition for this to happen was that any painting Rose made from that point onward would belong to the Foundation.

-Rose saw herself forced to take the deal, but it haunts her. She's extremely upset about not owning any of her art, of course, and so any time she makes an original painting, she makes sure to then cover it in black paint so as to not make anything for the Spurling Foundation without being asked. She doesn't regret the deal by her own admission, but she's not exactly happy with her life.

-This brings us to one of the main themes of Rose's narrative, which also happens to be one of the main themes of DRDT. The ability (or in this case, inability) to change and let go of the past. Rose is stuck paying back for the mistakes of her past for the foreseeable future. It's even expressed in her character design; her clothes are stained with paint, as her life is stained by the mistakes of her past. Her photographic memory, which allows her to perfectly recall anything she's ever seen to the tiniest detail, is another expression of the inability to let go of the past. The lack of change is also referenced in her secret quote: "In the end, the only thing I can do is watch my wretched life go on."

-Going back to her memory, while Rose has a flawless memory of everything she sees (see: noticing one sixteenth of an inch difference in her height), remembering things other people say isn't easy for her. She even forgot J's name that one time.

-Her memory situation is even referenced in the quote on Mai's page attached to Rose: "She remembers everything that is important to others."

-Speaking of J, according to Recap Foil Theory, J is a narrative foil to Rose. While J was born into wealth, her home life was still so terrible she wants nothing more than to separate herself from it. Meanwhile, Rose was born into poverty but (from what we see at least) loves her family, and while she's not happy with her situation, she seems to have accepted she can't run from her past. That's just the surface level stuff, there is definitely more to analyze there.

-Rose has admitted to having nightmares as a result of her memory, since reality, memory and dream tends to blur together in her mind. It's part of why she chose not to look at the second chapter crime scene.

-She has numeral II (2) in the David MV, connected to the phrase "Ego cogito ego (turbatus) sum".

This is a play on the phrase "I think therefore I am" (Ego cogito ergo sum), a phrase which implies the only thing we can be truly sure of is our own consciousness, which fits the aforementioned "nightmares and reality mixing together" thing.

However, the addition of 'turbatus' changes the meaning to something closer to "I think, therefore I am disturbed", which also fits how horrifying Rose's thoughts can be.

-According to some (read: mine) versions of color theory, she gets the word "world" in the David MV.

Because... you know what just go to the 2:25:03 time stamp of this video I made I am not talking about this fucking MV any more than I have to.

-She can do a pull-up, but only if there's grippy tape on the pull-up bar. She strong :O

-Her birthday (November 29th) falls on Electronic Greetings Day, National Evan Day (???), and among other things, the International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People. I know I don't talk much about this kind of stuff in my blogs, but Free Palestine.

Fun facts!

-As per her profile, she likes sleeping and dislikes conversation, though we already kinda knew that.

-She has two moms (Iris and Holly), an older sister (Daisy) and a younger brother (Saffron). Yes they’re all named after flowers.

-Like most DRDT characters, she's American, right-handed, has no confirmed sexuality, and her hair color is natural.

-She smells like paint and chemicals.

-She likes "food that is filling (because she often forgets to eat)." :(

-She prefers wearing clothes which are eccentric and colorful, but not delicate.

-Her favorite ice cream flavor is red velvet.

-Her favorite color is lilac because she likes subdued colors. She doesn't have a least favorite color because they're all useful in the right situations.

Songs!

+Exorcism by CreepP

+Echo by Crusher-P

+Those Who Carried On by Ghost & Pals (fun fact, according to Spotify Wrapped I was part of the 0,1% most frequent listeners of Ghost & Pals, with 6531 minutes of play time. So a normal amount)

+In Iolite by Ghost & Pals (I don'y know if I've mentioned it, but this might be my favorite song ever if you're curious)

+DEATHBODY by Ghost & Pals (or it’s this one. One of the two)

+Marionette by KIRA

+End-World Normopathy by Ghost & Pals

+Two of a Kind by Ghost & Pals (okay I'm seeing why I'm top 0,1% for them lol)

+Dune/Sand Planet by HACHI

+Hyperdontia by Ghost & Pals (Reason: Memories theming go brr)

+The Dream Granter by Vane Lily (if you twist the story a bit it kinda fits with the singer being Spurling)

+Entomologists by Ghost & Pals (vibes)

+Piece of Art by KIRA (vibes and title, the actual lyrics don't have much to do with anything)

And Happy Birthday! A capella please, we don't want to make too much noise. Take care!

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | vii

Facing a daunting battle between vulnerability and security, y/n is lead to believe that in a decision of love, the answer must lie within simplicity. She quickly finds that true love is never simple, and the love that she has felt thus far has been nothing but difficult.

Read part six here

Pairing: sam kiszka x f!reader, jake kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, car sex, toxic parents, mentions of financial abuse, mentions of being poor/poverty, emotional talks, self-deprecation, insecurities, sad jake, sad sam, brief mentions of drinking, fluff, angst, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

sorry for the wait 🫶🏻 but here’s some more for you, and finally some good fucking character complexity. there is smut in this chapter but it’s not really hot and heavy, mostly used for the plot. needed some story advancement so i used this chapter for a lot of it. sorry for the wait, and if it’s not the best! have not been myself lately, but getting slowly there again. VERY lightly edited, too. as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 😁

“Stop it,” you giggled, swiping the hand away that was so eager to plaster your nose with whipped cream. It was a fruitless attempt, as the boy was much more agile with his hands than you could keep up with. It seemed like as soon as you captured his wrist in your hand, he had wiggled free and reached forward to finish his torment. With a dollop of cream settled on the tip of your nose, you couldn’t even find it within yourself to be upset with the perpetrator. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Sam nodded, leaning back in his seat to bask in his victory. You used a napkin to wipe away the small mess he created with no ill feelings residing within you at all. His small teasing, all of the little things that he did to annoy you only ever seemed to make you fall for him harder. Which was why you were both leaned over one dessert plate with hearts dancing in your eyes, sat dressed to the nines and directly in the middle of a high class restaurant. “You look beautiful, you know. Whipped cream and all.” He gave you a soft smile, eyes lingering over your face with a type of longing that could have made you fall in love with him forever.

“Was the whipped cream the selling point?”

“Yeah. Didn’t think you could get any sweeter, but I guess I was wrong.” He chuckled, reaching his hand out for you to take. You let your hand rest in his, fingers dancing together in attempt to say all of the small things you couldn’t will yourself to tell him. Your other hand reached for your wine glass which had lipstick decorating the rim of the thin glass, showcasing the beautiful night you had shared with him. “Thanks for coming out, tonight.” He said it as if it were blasphemous that you had accepting his offer of a date. In truth, he was just thankful you still seemed to have so much interest in him.

“Thank you for inviting me.” You said, taking a long sip of your beverage. You were only on glass two, trying to keep the consumption light. You wanted to be in a good state of mind for the rest of the night.

It had been a few weeks since the beginning of your entanglement with the brothers. Weeks filled with memories, words of adoration, and dinners much like the one you were sharing then. Sam had seemed to fall in love with the idea of courting you, in love with shared meals at restaurants and walks through the city at night when the lights twinkled in the most perfect ways, and any other opportunity that arose in between. He wanted to win you over in the most intimate way of all; a show of true affection, not just sex in the heat of the moment. It seemed like every other day he was knocking at your door with a new plan, a new idea to spark your interest in him. At first, he seemed to pull away from you after the messy hookup in your kitchen. In truth, he was nervous and had no idea how to communicate it. Now, he’d jumped through the hoop and was back in the game with more motivation than before, if that were even possible. He loved having fun with you, and fun was all you had together. It was strange, knowing that he spent so much time planning things for you while he had the knowledge that you were still tangled in his brother.

Sam had taken the romantic approach, with dates and dressing up, and it was working in his favour. You were always excited at the idea of a night spent with him, wooed with fancy bouquets of flowers and holding hands as you sat for hours immersed in nothing but each other. His brother, on the other hand, had fallen victim to his own evil spirit, and seemed to spend every free moment he could getting you naked. Although you spent most time with Jake under the covers and in the dark, that did not mean his show of love was any less intoxicating than his brother’s. Jake showed it differently, always letting you know he was thinking of you even when he was not around. Jake was never a texting type of person, or a vulnerable man, but when the lights came on and you shuffled back into your clothes, there was never a doubt that he wanted you far beyond the routine you were so comfortable in. Good morning messages, coffee delivered at work exactly how you liked it, and the loving look in his eye when he saw you made it impossible to believe he only wanted something sexual. He loved you so much it hurt, and he loved you in the only way he knew how. That was no secret, and everyone knew it, even if it was always left unspoken.

Jake was not a stranger to dates, but it was never a grand show of affection or money. It was intimate, usually in a quiet place where he could focus all of his energy on you. They were few and far between compared to Sam’s itinerary, but they were just as meaningful. Jake seemed as though he wanted to know everything about you, and he wanted to learn as often as he could, in every way possible. He was enchanting and alluring, and you were still just as captivated in him as you were since the beginning. Although he was around less, it made the time spent with him all the more precious.

When it came to a decision, or who was in the lead in their foolish little game, an answer was near impossible. Things did seem to go back to a sense of normalcy after Jake visited you at work, and blatant jealousy was no longer prominent. You could still see it in their eyes, the flash of fire when the other left a hand on you for a little too long, but they did a great job of keeping it satiated. In turn, they both seemed to step up their efforts in pursuit by an overwhelming margin. To keep it fair and respectful, you had implemented a few boundaries that you were firm on. You were never with both brothers on the same day, and unless necessary, you did not speak to either of them about each other. You were big on communication, especially now that you had seen the disastrous effects of your own carelessness. Now, in some strange way, your predicament almost seemed normal. Without the knowledge that the three of you were all engaged in a twisted contest of sorts, it appeared as if it were just two boys stuck in a battle of courtship. When it came to the painful end, you all tried not to imagine the disaster of the inevitable.

You had made a vow to enjoy your life, even if they seemed to want to make it harder, and that is exactly what you did. Now that you had cemented a routine and some rules, the guilt and frustration seemed to fizzle away. Now you were happily able to engage in your daily activities without worrying about the consequences. In truth, you likely could have put an end to the game long ago, but deep down, you knew it would never really be over. The boys would continue on their warpath, forging any concern, and eventually, they would ruin the relationship they had as brothers. If you were going to put an end to it, you wanted to end it for good. You were desperate to teach a lesson that never should have been yours to teach.

“You ready to head out?” He asked, finishing his glass of water. You nodded, gathering the napkins and cutlery onto a single plate.

“Ready is subject,” you gave him a soft smile, finishing the last of your wine. “I’d stay with you all night if I could.”

“Good thing my bed has your name written all over it, then.” He said, a gentle squeeze on your hand letting you know he was more sincere than you could imagine. “We’ll get the work over with, and then we can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” You teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m nothing if not generous.” He assured you. You knew that to be true; the look in his eye was not one to be ignored, and if you had to guess, sleeping came last on the of the list of priorities for the night. “Now come on, the faster we get this over with the faster we can get home.” Just as he spoke, a waiter dropped off the bill as if it were a universal sign that it was time to go. Sam grabbed the bill so quickly that you couldn’t even engage in a debate, immediately standing and slipping on his jacket. He held his hand out to you, which you grabbed without hesitation. As you walked towards the exit, he snaked his arm around your waist, a silent show of affection. He paid and you were on your way without another word.

When you emerged into the parking lot, he took a moment to admire you in the low light of the street lamps. He turned you towards him, smiling down at you as a hint of love twinkled in your eye. You both knew, but neither spoke of it. One of his hands cupped your cheek, his thumb gently drifting over the soft skin. Your eyes fluttered closed, savouring the moment of sweetness while you anticipated the best one of all. He leaned down, capturing you in a kiss that made your heart melt and your head spin. There were few things in the world that compared to the feeling of kissing Sam. It was like years of existing finally amounted to a moment of truly living. “Would it be too forward for me to say that I can’t wait to get you alone?” He asked as he pulled away.

“I’m glad you said it, because that means I don’t have to.” You giggled, allowing him to lead you towards his car. He opened the passenger door for you, shutting it gently as you settled inside. As he got in the drivers side, you looked to him with an air of awe in your eyes. His hair was flowing down, framing his face in a beautiful display, his lips soft and inviting, and his eyes full of the comforting feeling of home. You couldn’t help but reach over and brush your thumb across his cheek. The gentle touch caught his attention, pulling a smile from his lips. He glanced towards you, looking down at you with nothing but love in his features.

When his eyes connected with your own, you felt a warmth wash over you despite the lingering chill of the evening air. That was just the way it felt to be with him, and you were understanding that more with each day that passed. It was like wrapping your hands around a steaming mug on a crisp winters day, or the flooding relief of a confession of truth after years of suffocating it. Loving Sam was a fierce endeavour, but not one in which the loving part was difficult. It was, however, difficult to comprehend just how right it felt when his hands were touching you, or when he spoke to you with nothing but flattery in his tone. It was a struggle to understand how the world did not particularly seem more beautiful when he was around; the stars did not shine brighter, nor did the flowers bloom abundantly in the fields. However, beauty did not reflect perfection when it came to Sam, and although the display of the universe appeared the same, it did not mean he had no effect on it.

Sam did not have to make the world appear more bright, because he made it more welcoming. Everything he touched seemed to blossom with warm invitation, like he had blessed it with a new sense of belonging. Every part of you that his hands graced seemed more right than it appeared before. There was no room for insecurities or doubts about the parts of you that you previously hated, because with the love Sam casted upon them, they ceased to exist in the first place. The world was not doused in artificial artistry with the addition of his heart, but the ground was a little softer to walk on and the air a little more crisp. The flowers did not overwhelm the earth, but instead appeared to be placed in just the right spots. Sam did not make the world more beautiful, but he did make it more inviting than it had ever been before. There was a new appreciation for every detail, love for even the things that had always been overlooked. A new sense of purpose, like all of the years spent wondering if you were on the right path had finally lead to a fulfilling destination.

He did not change your view of the universe by stepping in and obscuring every aspect that you had spent years believing true. Instead, he showed you a new perspective on how to appreciate it, how to love things that were bleak and how to crush any idea of being misplaced or unwanted. He did not make things better, but rather made them make sense, even if they were bad. In your time spent with Sam, you had found a new way to love yourself because of how he loved you. You knew this not just from the way he touched you, or how he loved to compliment you. You felt it in his kiss, and even when the moments that should have been awkward were silently filled with joy. You saw it in his eyes, and more importantly, your own eyes when you caught them in a reflection of the mirror. You had fallen for him faster and harder than you could comprehend, and it was a dangerous gamble to give your heart to someone so willingly. You thought it safe in his hands, but you still believed that he could drop it whenever he pleased, and even if it were by mistake, the aftermath would be disastrous.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, gaze still prudent. Every word was calculated, same with his gestures and touches. The fear of your heart slipping from his hand was heavy on his mind, too.

“You,” you were honest, lost in the twinkle behind his eye. He let out a chuckle, slipping his own hand to the back of your neck in a gentle embrace. He pulled you towards him, lips settling on your own like it was always meant to be that way. In a sense, it was. You and Sam were always meant to love each other, but unfortunately, you were meant to love Jake, too. The stars aligned so perfectly to guide you to where you sat in that moment, but they also made Jake appear in the back of your mind. As abhorrent as the infatuation with both of them was, your love was true, even if it was painful.

“Still thinking about me?” His face was still so close to yours that you could feel his smile.

“Always am.” You admitted, leaning forward for another kiss.

“Good,” he hummed, placing a third kiss on your lips. “I hope you never stop.”

Oh, how easy it would be to love Sam for the rest of eternity. So easy, that it was almost impossible to do, because something so simple seemed impossible to be true.

“We better get to Josh’s house,” you mumbled, pulling your phone from your purse to check the time. “Shit.” You felt a sense of panic rise as you noticed the missed messages on your phone. “My people are already on their way.”

“That’s okay, his house isn’t far from here.” He assured you, settling back into his seat. Without another word, he pulled out of the parking space and began the journey to his brothers house. You turned your head towards the window, watching the night flutter by as you drove. Houses with warm kitchen lights flooding the windows, stores and apartment complexes that screamed capitalism, and the occasional group of pedestrians littering the sidewalks. You had lived in the city for years, yet always seemed to find something new as you studied it. It was an endless world, one that you often felt overwhelmed with, but you were learning to love it the longer you lived there. “Nervous?” His question broke you from your thoughts.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” He chuckled, reaching over and slipping his hand into yours. You looked down at your intertwined fingers, feeling a sense of wonder at the sight. You and Sam were so in step with the routine of relationship that it was almost ridiculous that you couldn’t see it. All of the cheap talk about the future, the wasted money on endless bottles of wine seemed to be a stepping stone to more, but neither of you seemed to be able to close the gap. You wanted to love each other, and that was certain, but it was not as easy as it appeared to be. With Sam’s fingers dancing in your own, both so full of love from the evening shared, you could picture a life spent with him and not feel any hesitation about it. When he left, and was out of sight indefinitely, the daydream seemed to slip away. When Jake was in front of you, you felt the same relentless need for a life with him. It was so easy to fall for them both, but it was impossible to stop.

“Excited, more than anything. Maybe a little scared, but that’s normal, right?” You asked, eyes fluttering towards his face again. It was so beautiful that it was impossible not to admire him.

“Of course it is,” he gave your hand a squeeze. “Think it would be weird if you weren’t.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, giving a slight nod. Just as you did so, Sam pulled into a side street. There was no room for further conversation, because the drive had come to an end. Sam parked on the side of the street, immediately noticing that the driveway was already littered with cars. You were thankful that Josh had opened his home for the occasion; it made it all the more comfortable for you, and almost took the seriousness out of the equation. Sam took it upon himself to get out first, rushing over to your door to open it for you. You gave him a soft smile, a silent thank you for his service.

You made your way towards the front door, passing a car that was still inhabited by a few people. You stopped at the window, noticing who it was almost immediately. You knocked in the glass, causing the passenger to jump at the disturbance. When they turned to look at you, their expression lit up. You took a step back, allowing them to get out of the vehicle. “I thought you ditched us.” She scolded, letting her eyes drift over your attire. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled, dismissing her worry. “Lost track of time. Sorry for making you wait.”

“That’s okay, we’ve only been here for a few minutes.” She assured you.

“You remember Sam, right? I’m sure you’ve met him before.”

“Yeah, I do.” She nodded.

“Dylan, right?” He asked, studying her face to try and recollect the details.

“The one and only.” She laughed, reaching a hand out for him to shake. He returned the gesture, barely noticing her give you a questioning stare out of the corner of her eye. “This is probably the first time I’ve met you sober, though.”

“Sober isn’t really the move at my house.” You smirked, looking to the car as the driver stepped out. “Glad to see you could make the occasion.” You joked, catching his attention as he walked towards the group.

“For you, I’d always show up.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Shall we?” He asked, nodding towards the house.

“We shall.” You agreed, making the first move to the entrance. When you stepped inside, you were immersed in chatter almost immediately. Although you couldn’t see the people, you could pinpoint the voices from anywhere. You followed the sound, entering the kitchen in which you spent so much of your free time in. Josh’s house was also a hotspot for hangouts, mostly when you weren’t hosting anything at your place. Although this occasion was much different, and for the first time in history, you felt nervous joining the party.

Around the table sat four bodies. In the middle of the table sat a stack of paperwork. You tried not to focus on your own erratic heartbeat, immediately finding yourself looking for Jake to calm yourself down. As if it were an unspoken promise, his gaze was already settled on you. He didn’t smile, nor speak a word, but his eyes softened enough to tell you how happy he was that you were there. “Right on the dot,” Danny said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “You’re lucky.”

“Not a good first impression.” Josh let out a disapproving tsk followed by a grin.

“Oh, shut up.” You snipped, unwilling to be ridiculed for your timing when you knew they were hardly ever adherent to any schedule other than their own. “The only reason you’re here on time is because you live here.” At your words, everyone at the table let out a hearty laugh. Josh raised his hands in defence, but had no words to argue your statement. You looked behind you, ushering your bandmates into the room. Sam had already taken a seat in the empty chair next to Danny, cautious not to linger by your side for too long. It was not a secret, the dance you were doing with the two boys, but you tried not to showcase it too much. “So this is Dylan,” you pointed to the blonde haired girl beside you. “Our drummer.” You clarified. The boys gave a round of greetings. “And Riley, our bassist.” You pointed at the boy behind you both.

“Three man band?” Danny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s all we need.” You shrugged, taking a seat in an empty chair. The other two followed suit, likely just as anxious as you were feeling.

“So, this is our manager.” Josh motioned to the nameless man sitting across from him. “His name is Aaron, and he is going to explain all the boring legal stuff.” He gave a smile as he finished his statement.

“Okay, cool.” You nodded, turning your attention to the man in question. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” He gave a warm smile as he reached for the paperwork. “There isn’t a lot to go over, so I won’t keep you for too long.” You gave another nod, suddenly nervous at the thought of signing any legal papers. This was something that had been in the air for weeks, discussed on the daily, but suddenly it was more real than it had ever been. The four sets of eyes watching you made it even harder to comprehend the extent of your agreement. “First off, this basically states that you have agreed to be employed under our management, which also means that you have accepted us to speak and organize events on your behalf. It’s all the terms of the tour agreement, including the terms of commissionable revenue, discounts on airfare, and employment requirements.”

“So basically what we have to do and how much we get paid for it?” Dylan asked, eyeing the stack of documents.

“Exactly.” He chuckled, looking to you and Riley to ensure you were under the same understanding. “You will get a copy of all of this, in case you feel the need to read the fine print or have any questions. I promise you that I will tell you all the important things tonight.”

“Would probably save us a years worth of reading,” Riley let out a nervous laugh.

“Exactly.” Aaron agreed, repeating his earlier answer with a smile still on his lips. He seemed like someone who was easy to get along with; you had no fear of him being in charge, mostly because the boys had eased any worry you might have had about him. They enjoyed working with him, and their opinion was important to you. “We’ll start with flights. Air discounts are included; any airfare that is not included in the outlined cost will be subject to special discount, assuming it is related to work.” You all nodded, allowing him to continue without interruption. “All administrative services are provided, including but not limited to booking flights, venues, hotels, etcetera.”

“Our business days are atypical, meaning that scheduled work time lies outside of Monday to Friday, and does not exist solely within the hours of 9-5. By signing you are consenting to the possibilities of weekends and nights, or even very early mornings. Your days off will be determined week to week, with the understanding that they may change within that time, too.”

“Looks like you’ll have to work on being a morning person.” You noted, looking to Dylan. She laughed, as well as the rest of the company. Aside from the four boys, Dylan and Riley were your closest friends and had been for years. You couldn’t have asked for better bandmates, and you had no worry about butting heads with them. They were easy-going and always willing to see reason.

“Don’t count on it.” You shared a chuckle.

“As for duties… showing up on time is the biggest one.” He let out a chortle as he glanced over to the boys out of the corner of his eyes. “They’re still working on that, but I hope that you can help them out.” You bit back a smirk, knowing just how fashionably late the boys could be. “With one opener for the first leg, aim for a 45 minute set. Sound checks, rehearsals, the occasional meetings and interviews are all a part of the job. You guys will be in the public eye now, which may take some getting used to. Just be mindful in public, mostly for safety purposes, but also presentation. Bodyguards have been hired on your behalf as well, just to make sure you’re safe.”

“Cool,” Riley said. “Makes me feel like I’m important.”

“Well, you are, now. Life will be much different, and we understand that this is your first time touring, so we’re here to guide you through it. Thankfully, these guys are pretty easy to work with, and so is everyone else. Marketing is covered, so you can choose if you want to do your own as well. We perform invoicing for any personal expenses, and if we see fit, reimbursement will be paid directly to you.” He explained, looking to the paper to see if he missed anything. “Travel insurance is provided. Unfortunately, there is a start-up fee for all individuals who will be travelling with us, but you can pay that on your own time. It’s just a down payment for services provided.”

“That’s fine.” You said, feeling a bit better about the situation. The more you spoke, the more the anxiety seemed to melt away. You would be going on a long trip with your best friends, doing the thing you loved most. It was a dream come true, and you were beyond excited to see the world. Still, there was a little voice in the back of your head that was filling you with doubt; some in regards to a lack of talent, but mostly in regards to the two brothers who you found yourself infinitely intertwined with. You wanted to believe that signing a contract that entailed spending every day with them would be okay, but the truth of the matter was that you were signing the final deal with the devil. All the events leading up to this was nothing but child’s play; now, they were inescapable, and you were willingly making the choice to remain blind to the dangers.

“In this section, it outlines your earnings. I’ll hand it to you to discuss amongst yourselves. We’re open to negotiation if you feel like doing so, but if not, we can move forward.” He passed the documents a little further down the table, allowing all of you to see the fine print. You read in silence, processing the numbers before looking towards your bandmates. When they finished, you all shared a collective nod of agreement.

“That sounds good to us.” You told him, handing the stack of papers back towards him.

“Okay, that’s good.” He said, flipping through the last few pages. “This is all the legal papers for our company, if you feel the need to read through them you can. Like I said, I’ll send each of you a copy of these once they’re signed. Any questions?” Just as you were about to answer, your phone rang in your purse. You reached for it, eyes dusting over the screen with a shred of distaste at the sight. You flicked off the ringer, silencing the noise, and put it away again. “We can pause this if you need to take that?” Aaron said, watching you with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head, dismissing his offer.

“No, all good. Where do we sign?” You forced a smile onto your lips. Before jumping back to action, he gave you a chance to change your mind. After a moment of silence, he continued on.

“So there’s spots for you to sign on pages ten and fifteen, then one last one on 30.” He said, making sure he didn’t miss anything. Once he flipped though everything, he placed a pen on the paper and left it to you. You signed in all of the required spots, handing it down the line as you finished. Your phone was still vibrating in your purse, eating away at your patience with every re-dial of your number. As Riley finished up, he passed the documents back to Aaron with a smile. He checked over everything to make sure you didn’t miss anything, and ended his inspection with a smile. “That’s it for now, then. Congratulations and welcome aboard.” He extended his hand towards you all, taking turns shaking each of yours. “We have your contact information, so we’ll be in touch about flight times within the next few days. Now, it’s just a matter of getting to know each other.”

“Awesome,” Dylan grinned.

“Which is why I have supplied some beverages for the occasion!” Josh stood, turning to his fridge to retrieve the alcohol he had bought for everyone. “Get comfortable, get drunk, and celebrate.” He said, placing an array of items on the table.

“Thanks, Josh.” You chuckled, feeling your phone ringing once more. “I’ll be right back.” You announced, quickly placing your purse on the table and grabbing your phone. You stood, turning towards the front door. The rest of the crowd was already lost in chatter, barely noticing your quick disappearance.

You broke out into the night, accepting the incoming call as soon as the door was shut behind you. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart.” The soft tone was infuriating despite your regret at feeling such an awful emotion at the greeting. “How are you?”

“Busy,” you kept your responses short, hoping to keep the conversation short, too. “You don’t have to call a millions times. I do know how to call back, you know.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” There was little sympathy in her voice.

“Whatever, it’s fine.” You sighed. “What’s going on? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah, that’s my fault. I’m sorry I haven’t been calling.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I could have called, too.” Your anger was subsiding the longer you spoke, which was never good. You wanted to tell them everything, all about why you couldn’t answer the phone. You wanted to hear words of praise, a shower of love for your accomplishments, but you knew it would only be momentary gain, and it would do nothing but cause more problems. The less your parents knew about your life, the easier it was to cope with them. “How’s dad?”

“Oh, the same. He got a promotion at work, so hopefully that will help us out.”

“Yeah, that’s good.” You mumbled, looking down at the dress decorating your body. You flattened out the fabric, unsure of what to say next.

“I was actually wondering if you could do us a favour,” her hopeful tone told you that her request would be nothing but upsetting to you.

“Mhm,” You mumbled, debating on hanging up before she’d could say anything else. You hated being so cold with her, but it had been twenty some agonizing years of constant disappointment. You had learned the feeling of being let down long before you ever felt what it was like to be loved. You loved your parents, and they had never laid a hand on you are anything of the sorts, but they were hardly parents. Present, yes. Caring, not really. They were always around, but had never been actively involved. Things had gotten infinitely better when you had moved out, but it was mostly because you didn’t have to see them every day.

“We were just wondering if you could help us out with the bills, just until your dad gets his next pay check. We’ll pay you back, honey. I promise.” You rolled your eyes at the offer of repayment, because you knew it was empty. You had yet to see a dime back that you had lent to them in the past.

“Is that the only reason you called?” You couldn’t help but snap, the sourness of your hurt impossible to hide.

“Of course not!” She defended, hurt that you even thought that. You nodded, unable to believe her defence.

“You said that last time. I haven’t heard from you since.” Your voice was quiet, barely breaking through the night. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” You chuckled, feeling tears prickle your eyes and a lump rise in your throat. “Just text me how much you need.”

“Honey, are you upset? I don’t want you to think that we don’t want to talk to you. You know that’s not true. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important,” she explained, but you were already done with the conversation. “You know how much we love you.”

“Yeah, of course I do. It’s just always important, right? And you’re always so busy… you know, I’m just… a little tied up right now. Just text me how much, I’ll send it.”

“Okay,” she said, hesitant to hang up. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you, too.” You said, ending the call without another word. You didn’t have time to mourn the loss of respect, because as you were attempting to blink away the tears, the door was creaking closed behind you. You looked back over your shoulder, immediately caught off guard by the overwhelming scent of sandalwood and sin. Sin, although not outwardly apparent, was always laced within that dreaded familiarity of sandalwood, and usually whiskey, too. It was sickening, but delicious all the same. Your eyes fluttered closed; his presence already wrapping around you in desperate anticipation for an invitation.

You had no words, nothing that you wanted to share or hear from him, either. Comfort was an alluring feeling, but you did not have enough strength to ask him for it. Perhaps it was fear that he overheard the conversation, or fear that he wouldn’t understand. There was plenty of uncertainties about the situation, and you had no idea how to navigate through them. Jake was lovely, fantastic in bed and enchanting with his wits, but you had yet to jump over the hurdle of vulnerability to any extent, and this was vulnerability like no other. Family was an off topic issue for everyone, let alone someone you knew so intimately. Any normal person would feel more comfortable telling someone so close, but it terrified you. In your mind, it just gave him more leverage to hurt you.

“I’d love to ask what’s wrong, but I’m scared you would think I’m overstepping.” His soft tone settled in your chest like a breath of fresh air. It was grounding, anchoring you securely to the wooden floor below you.

“You know I hate that question.” You whispered, finally catching his eye. As soon as you noticed the worry, you looked away. His concern was apparent, and it made you want to run and hide.

“I know, sweetheart.” He took a step towards you, hand settling on your lower back. “But you know I can’t walk away without asking.”

“Damn you.” You laughed, biting back tears. “You catch any of the conversation?”

“No, not really.” His hand slipped around to your hip, guiding you back towards him with a gentle pull. He knew you didn’t want to face him, and that was okay. He was content with just talking. “You didn’t look too happy when you came out here, so I thought I’d check on you.”

“Is that the truth?” You asked, blinking away the tears that were still pooling in your eyes.

“And I wanted to tell you how good you look in that dress.”

“There it is.” You laughed, but your predicament was everything except funny. You were so intertwined with both brothers that you sometimes failed to know which direction you were moving in. At the same time, you had never felt more alone. It was a horrible feeling, knowing that your body was never without love, but your heart was isolated. The issue was your own fault, though, and you knew that all too well. The two boys had never withheld any emotional love. Maybe they had forgone their own confessions in fear of hurt, but they never limited you to physical intimacy. You could tell both of them anything your heart desired, and they would listen as if you were telling them the hidden secrets of the universe. For some reason, you just couldn’t choke down the thought of showing weakness.

“You look too pretty to be so sad, Gold Dust Woman.” He hummed, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Can’t be pretty and sad at the same time?”

“I’d prefer you to be pretty and happy.” He refused to drop the subject, unable to leave you feeling such a way without offering some type of support. “Talk to me.” You looked out into the night, your gaze drifting over empty cars and over-manicured lawns. Rows of flowers decorated dooryards, showcasing superficialities. Perfect displays always eluded to secrets behind closed doors. You thought of your own front door, pondering how many people theorized the secrets that lie behind yours.

Whatever they could conjure in their minds certainly wouldn’t be as bad as the truth; lies of a broken little girl who could never learn let go, one who allowed herself to hurt over the same mistakes she’d been making her whole life and couldn’t work to change, nor one who fell helplessly in love with two brothers at the same time whilst having no idea how to truly love someone. Perhaps their idea of a broken home and hidden truths was much more subtle than the life you were living. Maybe you would rather be in the shoes of some other person behind the corporatized front lawns if it were all to be discovered. Maybe yours was far nicer than anyone else’s, and you were destined to spend your whole life wishing for better while holding the world in your hands.

Either way, the thought held little weight; it was human nature to be envious of a life you couldn’t live, especially when someone else’s grass appeared abundant and greener, even if it did run rotten underneath.

“Sometimes I wonder if the woman I used to be disappeared.” You mumbled. “Or what she would think of me now.”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, begging you to keep talking.

“I came out here with so much hope.” You explained, your head tilting towards the sky to search for the stars lost under light pollution. “Hope to change, to grow into something bigger than I always pictured for myself.” Even though it was nothing short of normal, his hand dancing in your own felt wrong. After such a sweet evening with Sam, you thought that his comfort was the only thing you should be seeking. But, he didn’t come to the door, and his brother had ultimately stolen the crown from him. “Hope that I would never be that person again. When I got to this city, change was the only option.”

“Did you change?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, the response automatic. After a moment, you looked back to the ground. “No,” you corrected, a sad smile crossing your lips. “Not in any way that matters, and not really in any way that’s good.” He opted not to respond, hoping that you would continue with your point. “I don’t know who I am, Jake. I don’t know what I’m doing, where I’m going. Nothing.”

“I know, though.” He whispered, his grip tightening only slightly as he spoke. “I don’t think we ever have a real perception of ourselves. It changes, and we don’t see what everybody else does. But I see a person who would rather die than hurt someone, a person who loves to love, but doesn’t necessarily know how to be loved. Someone who helps any chance she gets, but hates to be helped.” He listed, his words soft and his eyes staring off into the night. He was scared if he looked down at you, he might make the dreaded profession of love. Instead of saying it directly, he opted to tell you that he loved you in a million ways softer than such a harsh truth. “I see you, Gold Dust Woman, and she is fantastic. I think every version of your past self would be proud of you. I know for sure that I am.”

Your jaw clenched and your vision blurred with more tears. You felt like you were suffocating from the wave of emotion that washed over you. How easy it would be to tell him you loved him, too. How easy it would be to end the war and go home to rest. It was wrong, all of it. His hands on you, the cold night enveloping you both into a bubble of serenity, the incessant need to tell him just how much you cared for him. It was never supposed to be this way, and it never should have been. You had no idea how to tell him that you were losing yourself because you loved him so much. Sam, too. The person you had become, stringing them along and playing into their twisted game, was someone you didn’t recognize. Someone who was worse than a stranger when you looked in the mirror; you had become so lost that you weren’t even in the same reality.

It hurt so violently because even though you loved him so dearly, you knew you were going to fall into bed with Sam that same night, even after such a raw moment of connection. Not only would you fall into bed with him, but you would love him just the same. If it were possible to hate yourself even more, you did just that.

You broke from his hold, gripping the wooden rail on the porch for support. The touch and sweetness of his words was suddenly too much. You couldn’t comprehend deserving any part of Jake, and the thought of accepting his heart with that knowledge was repulsive. You took a long breath, shaky from your choked back cries. “Jacob, you are so wonderful that it is devastating.” You heaved a sigh as the words left your lips. You finally turned to look at him, your pain painted across your face like a portrait from hell. He could see it in your eyes, everything you were holding back. You could see it in him, too. You wanted to hold him, to reach out and let him feel the adoration radiating from your skin, but you didn’t. Like a fool, you did the only thing you knew how to do; walk away. “But I think your view of me is far grander than it ever should have been.” You wiped the tears that had fallen and took a step forward. Instinctively, he reached his hand out to you, shaking with misplaced hope for you to give in to him. “I don’t need your help, Jake. I appreciate the thought, but it’s not necessary.” You caught his eyes, a silent apology before brushing past him and back into the house.

Your parents had done what they do best; morphed your sense of self so badly that it destroyed your self-worth. You loved Jake so much that it hurt you, but thanks to a mothers love, you felt completely unworthy of the everything he wanted to give back to you. You couldn’t communicate it with him enough to lessen the blow, and the thought of opening up to him about it was sickening. Running was the only thing you had ever been taught how to do, and you weren’t strong enough to learn how to stay.

He turned, watching you disappear into the doorway with his heart in his hands, beating for someone who didn’t know how to accept it. He waited for a moment, hoping you would change your mind. When you didn’t return, he began his journey home to stitch up his wounds with intent to try again tomorrow.

Self-punishment was a skill the three of you had quickly learned how to master, and you practiced it almost every day.

Inside, drinks were freely flowing and the air was abundant with happiness and excitement. Your bandmates had found themselves in comfortable chatter with the now familiar faces of the boys. Danny was desperate to relate to another drummer, quickly buring himself in the blonde. Riley had taken an interest in Josh and Aaron’s conversation, the three sharing words and a beer at the table. Upon entry, you searched for the only thing that you thought would make you feel better. Fortunately for you, he was already looking at you. He stood from his chair, immediately making a move towards you. He could see the sadness enveloping you, like a cloud of darkness looming over your head. He’d never seen such an emotion from you, and he was just as desperate as Jake to make it go away.

Of course, he was the first to notice Jake’s interest in your disappearance, and he was a second too late for the race to the door. He pulled you to the side, away from the crowd again. Seclusion with you was a temptation neither of the boys could resist, and they fell victim to the need every time they saw you. Before he had a chance to speak, you had already reached for his neck, pulling him down to meet you in a heated kiss. In response, his hands fell on your hips and drew you closer to him. The feeling brought another wave of tears to your eyes, but you held them back in hopes that you could salvage some semblance of peace. The guilt you felt for rejecting Jake was killing you, and the guilt of turning to Sam was already shovelling dirt in the grave while you continued to breathe it in.

You didn’t know what the problem was, why you were so volatile at the thought of vulnerability with Jake, when sometimes it seemed so easy to be that way with Sam. Jake had done exactly what he intended; he stalemated you into lust. He knew you were already in love with Sam, long before the idea of him even crossed your mind, so he needed a head start. In doing so, he had made the barrier of emotion so much harder to overcome. You loved Jake, but you had no idea how to express it. You loved Sam, but you already spent the last few months expressing it in any way you knew how. Jake was so desperate to keep you that he jumped to the fastest solution he could think of, and it had done nothing but hurt him in the long run. Sex with him was so normalized that it came so much easier than communicating. Sam barely had to exist for you to want to profess your feelings for him, because he had gotten you to fall in love with him with no intimacy at all.

The strife was impossible to overcome. You saw no way out, and understood that you would likely die trying. You were lost, not only in your sense of self, but in the whole grand scheme of things. You were tired, and you wanted to rest. Your idea of rest was home, and home was not a place anymore. It was a person. Well, two people to be exact. The thought of spending the night with Jake was comforting, yes, but you knew you could not do so without facing the uncomfortable reality of being intimate in a way much harder than sexual intimacy. The idea of being with Sam was more alluring than a bed of roses, and you needed it more desperately than water. It was easy with him, and it always had been. No complications of guilt nor regret. Sometimes, if you didn’t think too hard about it, you felt it in your soul that the right path lead straight into his arms.

“Take me home.” You whispered, your noses brushing together in a familiar dance. Your lungs were burning with a lingering feeling of regret for how you left Jake, burning with an anger towards yourself that you could barely comprehend. Sam felt so good on your skin that it was a pleasure to burn in exchange for a moment with him.

“I was hoping you would ask.” He hummed, placing another kiss to your lips. It was sweet, a show of appreciation for returning to him even after the temptation of his brother. You both slipped your shoes on and shut the door behind you as quiet as possible, hoping not to alert the rest of the crowd of your exit. Hand in hand, you both sprinted to his car, the feeling of sadness floating away after only a few moments with Sam. He opened the car door for you, gently shutting it as soon as you were nestled in the seat. He joined you in the vehicle, but did not put the keys in the ignition right away. “Did you want to talk about it?”

You looked over at him through the corner of your eye, biting the inside of your lip as you pondered his words. “I don’t know where to start.” You said, completely honest with your answer. You had no idea where to begin, or even if you wanted to. There was so much buried within you that talking was almost impossible, now. Although scared, you had less apprehension about sharing your thoughts with Sam than you did with Jake, and that in itself made you feel horrible.

“I’ll drive, you’ll talk.” He said, turning the car on. “I won’t even say a word if you don’t want me to.” The comfort of airing out your troubles with no judgment or unsolicited advice was irrefutable. You quickly realized that the offsetting factor was not your closeness with either boy, it was simply the fact that Sam just wanted to listen, and Jake felt like he needed to fix it for you. It had always been that way, even long ago when you were only friends. You could go to Sam with a problem and he would listen for hours, and talk only when you needed him to. If you approached Jake with any concerns, he would bend over backwards to help in any way he could. Both were good options, but each had a specific purpose, and right now, you just needed to be heard. Suddenly, the decision to speak was the easiest one you had ever made.

“It’s just my parents.” You stated, looking towards your hands in your lap. Sam couldn’t help but look over to you in shock at the sudden proclamation. Parents were an off topic conversation, and they were all aware of that. It was years of avoided discussion about any sort of parental figures, no mentions of visits home or family gatherings. Nothing even as small as a childhood memory.

“Parents?” He asked, cautiously approaching the conversation. He refrained from any more comments, waiting for you to respond.

“Yep.” You sighed, glancing out of the window at the flickering street lights. “They still suck. Always have, don’t know why I thought they would change.” Instead of saying anything, he reached over and slipped his hand into yours. The silent show of support was louder than any words of comfort. “When I moved here, I swore that I would never go back to that life, that I’d leave them behind, too. Guess I was just trying to start over, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I feel like I could keep running for my whole life and I would never get away.”

“What were you trying to get away from?”

“Someone I don’t want to be anymore. Someone I never wanted to be.” You shrugged. “I saw what my parents went through when I was a kid. I never wanted it for myself, so I had to leave. If I stayed, I know I would have followed right in their footsteps. We were poor, like the kind where you would go to bed before dinner just so you wouldn’t be hungry. We wore clothes until they were barely wearable, falling apart and disintegrating on the rare occasion we could afford to wash them. I remember getting the power cut off in the wintertime almost every year. I never had friends over, I never participated in school events because we couldn’t afford the extra gas to drive me home afterwards. It got better when I was older, mostly because Dad got a new job when I started high school, but it was never great and when I was old enough, I got the hell out of there.”

“Struggling would have been tolerable, I think, if they were good parents. Unfortunately, they couldn’t even do that. I’ve been paying their bills since I was old enough to get a job, and they were never very loving or appreciative. I never hear that they’re proud of me, and they usually only say I love you if they want something from me. I didn’t have anyone to love me through the most painful parts of life, so after a while I kind of figured that I would never need to rely on anyone for anything. For the most part, I don’t. I don’t like talking about feelings, or saying I love you, or even connecting with anyone on more than the surface level stuff, but I hate being alone. It sucks, always feeling like I can’t depend on anyone, but needing company to function.” You took a long breath, exhaling with more relief than you had ever felt. It only took a moment to realize how profound it was to finally get that off your chest. “When I left, I swore I’d leave them behind and never let them get under my skin again. For the first while, I did okay. I paid off all the debt they racked up in my name and cleared my credit. I worked my ass off to get what I have now, and I did fantastic. Then one night I got drunk, and I answered the phone. I haven’t been able to cut them off again, and it takes a toll after a while, you know?”

“No, I don’t know, but I can understand why.” You looked up to him, eyes wide and full of wonder. He had forgone sympathy, and that was one thing you hated most. He had no idea what it was like to live your life, and he wasn’t shy to admit it.

“Yeah,” you whispered, admiring him as he focused his attention on the road. “I mean, I’ll be fine in the morning. Always am. It just sucks that I don’t even feel like I can tell them about my achievements. I didn’t even want to tell them about tonight, because they would just find a way to use it for their own sake. It sucks that I can’t trust my own parents.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, glancing over at you. “They’re supposed to be the ones who protect you, not hurt you.” He opted to keep his response light, because the feeling in his chest was not as pleasant, and he didn’t feel like it was his place to voice his distaste for your parents actions. Knowing that anyone hurt you was painful to him, because you were his whole world. Knowing that you grew up feeling unloved was hard to understand, because he had no idea how not to love you. Knowing that you still felt that way sometimes, even if you wouldn’t admit it, was excruciating, because he loved you more than he could ever possibly comprehend.

“Yeah,” you reiterated the same response you had both already said, not having anything better to say. “Because of them, I feel like I don’t know how to love, or be loved. I hate letting people in, and I don’t even really know how to. I have this crippling fear of being dependent on anyone, and I’m also terrified of being alone. So independent that people don’t even want to try and get close to me, but so scared that I’ll end up sad and lonely. Pretty ironic, right?” You laughed to yourself. “I’m all kinds of fucked up, and I’d like to blame it on them, but I haven’t really tried to change, either.” You chuckled. “I was always hungry for love, and I’ve craved attention for as long as I can remember. After years of waiting for it, I refuse to humiliate myself any longer, especially for their attention. I think one day you just wake up and realize that if your parents haven’t loved you yet, they never will.” He looked over at you, his eyes sad and showing you everything he wished he could say. You gave him a soft smile, but spoke before he could respond. “Anyway, it really doesn’t matter. It’s just the way things are. Thank you for listening. I don’t really… talk about that stuff. Nice to say it out loud, I guess.”

“Always, princess.” He gave your hand a squeeze to show he was being genuine. Your heart fluttered at the sound of the pet name, distracting you from the topic at hand. “And for the record, I don’t think you’re fucked up. Hurt, maybe, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, beautiful. You don’t have to apologize, and you don’t have to hope to be loved, anymore.” His words were quiet, and although he wanted to elaborate, he knew he shouldn’t. He pulled into his driveway, looking to you as he parked the car. When his eyes connected with yours, you felt the weight of the world crushing you. You had no idea how it was possible to love two people so deeply in such similar ways.

Jake was the moon, and Sam was the sun. You weren’t supposed to love the moon, rather sleep soundly through the night while the torment of white light passed through the sky. You were supposed to bid the moon a goodnight and wake when it was gone, forgetting that it existed amidst the business of your day. You were meant to love the sun, let the warm rays wrap around you and guide you through from the early hours of the morning until you were tucked safely into blankets and pillows. The golden glow was natural, something you were supposed to yearn for, and you did. For a very long time you were someone who loved the day, and you still did, but the more time passed, the more you found solace within the darkness under the rays of the pale moonlight. It was natural to love Sam, expected almost, and that was why you weren’t struggling with the idea. Your love for Jake came from somewhere within you that you never knew existed. Each day that passed, you fell more in love with the peace that came with the night, even if you were exhausted in the morning when you awoke.

The thought of choice was excruciating; how could you ever face the decision of never seeing the solace of the moon again, or never feeling the warm invitation of the sun?

Then again, how could you choose the moon when it was so natural to love the sun? Love was supposed to be easy, a simplicity beyond what you would expect. Never room for doubt, or guilt, and fulfilling beyond understanding. You felt all of that with Sam, and you felt it so strongly that it was unbearable by times. It was painful to love Jake, sometimes, like a desire that you should keep locked up in a closet. The twisted nature of the beginning of your relationship was not only complex, but sinful. You learned to love Jake’s body before his soul, and a part of you felt wrong for doing so. It wasn’t a purity thing, but a personal moral obligation that you had thrown out the window. Guilt was the first emotion you felt with Jake after lust, and you had doubts that a relationship could work with a foundation so rotten.

At the same time, Jake loved you so differently than anyone ever had. So profound and beautiful, without any worry for anyone else. He chose to love you while knowing he was at the greatest risk for loss, and was happy just to have the chance. He was quiet, thoughtful and impactful with every move he made. You felt horrible for feeling doubt about him.

You were at a loss, and it seemed as though your tirade for justice was long overdue for its demise. The longer you continued on the path, the harder the choice became.

“What are we doing, Sam?” You asked, your grip on his hand going lax. The pain in your voice was so heavy that it was weighing him down, too.

“What do you mean?” He asked, but he didn’t have to.

“This isn’t how it should be.” You felt your lip quiver. “I don’t know how to stop whatever we’re doing.”

“Do you know what you want?” He asked, fearful that your answer would be far too hard for him to hear.

“No,” your voice cracked, the small sound deafening in the otherwise silent air. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to know.”

“We can stop,” he offered “back off for a little while, give you some space.” As the words left his mouth, you both knew that was the most gut-wrenching idea of all.

“No,” you shook your head.

“You’ll know when you know, baby.” He said, reaching up to bring your chin between his fingers. He raised your head so you would meet his eyes. “I just know that I’m going to enjoy you for as long as I possibly can.” He smiled. You reached over, cupping his cheek in your hand, and pulled him into a kiss. It was heated, the emotion from the night intense and the feeling of each other was overwhelming. You hand fell to his shoulder, grabbing the fabric of his jacket to pull him closer to you.

Although it may not have been right, you opted to enjoy him for the time being, too. Of all the lessons you had learned in your time spent with the two boys, the biggest was how to live in the moment, rather than your fear. You used your other hand to search for the buckle of the seatbelt, popping it off so you could move closer to him. “Come here,” he mumbled against your lips, unbuckling his belt, too. He parted from you for a moment to reach down and adjust his seat as far back as it could go. He lowered the top half just a little bit, and reached over to you. With his hands on your hips, he aided you in climbing over the middle console and into his lap. You settled your legs on either side of him, looking down at him in all of his beauty. He was rested against the seat, hands decorating your hips. “Kiss me.” He grinned, the demand light. “Please.”

You leaned down, capturing him in an obscene display of desperation. One hand was holding his face while the other was anchored on his shoulder, keeping you upright. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him, the heat of the moment getting the best of you. Something about the raw emotion of the night had turned you primal in an instant. You were uncaring of any consequence, and no longer felt sad about your past life, because the one you were living now allowed you to exist in the same place as Sam, your lives intertwined in the most beautiful way, even if it was painful by times.

He let out a groan produced from somewhere deep in his chest. His fingers burned into you, pulling you into the void of temptation even further. When you drew back, his eyes were half-lidded with lust and his face was hiding no emotion. “Here?” He asked, but his tone was not condescending; he was curious at the thought, excited even.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I just want you, Sammy. I need you.” You breathed, desperation evident in your eyes. The statement was heavy, one that he couldn’t resist. To hear you say such sweet words was almost too much for him to handle. He knew he could live off the sound of your voice forever, especially when you professed such a desire for him. It satisfied every need and quickly became one of its own, and from the first time he heard you sing his name, he knew it would always be the most dire of them all.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his eyes fluttering closed as his head fell back on the seat. “I can never say no to you, Princess.” He muttered, snaking his hands to your thigh and slipping them under the skirt of your dress. You lifted your hips, allowing him to bunch the fabric around your waist. “Especially when you say it like that.”

You continued foolishly, as if you still believed you had full control of your heart and mind, like loving Sam was a conscious choice, rather than a crucial part of survival. The fact that you had let him in, given him access to the history you solely held for so long, given him a power so great and bridged the gap of trust so easily was not something you took lightly. In fact, it was something you had ever done with another. He could see through you, straight into your soul and down to the very things that made you, you. You had done it with no fear, and without the hesitancy you felt with his brother. It was a major stepping stone in the process of love and healing, and you had given him a key that allowed access straight to the source. Even though you despised the thought of someone knowing such things about you, you wanted Sam to know it. You wanted him to know everything, and that was the hardest pill to swallow. You loved him enough to let him see all of you, all of parts infinitely more intimate than anything that could happen in the bedroom, and you solidified the bond further by sealing it with the connection of sex. In a single night, he had experienced more of you than anyone in the entire world had in your whole life.

You were still fearful of commitment, but the storm of love was getting closer, and you feared that you would get stuck, that you would drift away and die within it. Love had never been so easy until Sam and Jake appeared, and it you were certain that it would never be that easy to fall for anyone else, ever again. You were estranged from your former self, in many more ways than one. As Sam pulled the top of your dress down, you barely recognized the woman you had become. When he unbuckled his belt and freed himself from the constricting denim, you didn’t really care who you were anymore; being touched by Sam was so euphoric that it completely filled the void of your lost sense of self.

His thumb brushed over your hardened nipple, sending a jolt of electricity through you. The windows were already fogged with the telltale signs of sin, the desperation so loud that it was barely contained within the vehicle. He pulled your underwear to the side, both of you too eager to wait any longer, then used one hand to guide you down on him. You both let out a sigh of relief at the feeling. He brought his other hand to the back of your neck, bringing you down to meet his mouth. The kiss motivated you to move, rolling your hips as best you could in the limited space. He used his hand to heighten the force in which you were moving, causing you to let out a gasp against his lips. The position was awkward, everything but private, and very adolescent for two grown adults, but it was perfect; heavenly, even. Any interaction with Sam was phenomenal, no matter how minuscule. You wanted to live in the feeling of him forever.

A flash of headlights on the street behind you caused you to break from the kiss, looking out the back window with a fear that it was someone else driving into the driveway. As soon as the disturbance appeared, the car passed and the headlights fizzled away into the night again in an instant. Even so, you became hyper aware of the vulgar display the two of you had found yourselves in, how easy it would be to be seen, even in the darkness of the evening. “What if we get caught?” Even in your apprehension, you couldn’t stop yourself. Your hips continued on, your skin prickled with goosebumps at the pleasure coursing through your body. Getting caught was a risk you were willing to take for feeling so good.

“Then you put on a good show for them, baby.” He muttered, too lost within you to care. You let out a groan, his words serving no comfort but settling in the pit of your stomach like lead. You sat up a little further, allowing him the full view of your body. He drank up every detail with no drop to spare. Every time he was lucky enough to see you in such a state, he had to bargain with himself to believe it was true; he thought you were so fantastic that sometimes he struggled with the idea that such a perfect person could exist outside of a dream. You let your head fall back, vulgar noises falling from your lips and filling the heavy air within the vehicle. “That’s it, just like that baby.” He cursed under his breath as he finished his praise, near an orgasm just from the sound of you alone.

“Fuck, Sam.” You hissed, placing a palm to his shoulder to keep yourself steady. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” He crooned, reaching his hand between your legs. You leaned back a bit further, allowing him easier access to you. His fingers found your clit, circling slowly in attempt to continue driving you to insanity. He was devilishly good at the craft; you felt like you hadn’t had one sane thought since the minute you laid eyes on him. “Tell me how good it feels, Princess. I want to hear all of those filthy fucking noises.” He growled, the words lingering in the air like an obscene decoration. You weren’t shy in giving him what he wanted; it wasn’t like he had to do much to make you oblige, anyway. The thought of denying Sam of any wish was painful in itself.

You let out a slur of curses, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation for an orgasm. Your muscles were tense, the pressure in your belly was almost unbearable before he added his fingers to you, and now you were manic for a release. “You fill me up s’good, baby. Never want to stop.” You whined, fingers gripping him tighter as your heart pounded against your chest.

“Never?” He teased, pupils clouded with lust. He was greatly affected by your words, even more so by your state, but he wasn’t keen on letting you know that. In fact, he was embarrassed by times about how much of an impact you had on him. If only he knew how similarly you felt, his shame would be obsolete.

“Never,” you reiterated, your tone raw and filled with longing.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered, the glimmer in his eye telling you all you needed to know about what he really wanted to say. “I wish I could keep you like this forever.” His words were uttered more to himself than you, but you heard them, and they settled deep in your bones with a fervent aggression. It was stronger than an admission of love, and it was his way of saying it without scaring you away. He thought if he could lessen the blow by coating it with sexual implication, he could get away with saying all of the sweet words he so badly wanted to share with you.

You caught his gaze, both of you caught in limbo with your own hearts, unsure of where to go from there. Your hips were moving, both of your chests heaving for breath, but in that moment, you were locked in a comatose state with your minds. The knowledge that stopping was the safest option, but realizing that without each other, you would fade into nothing. From day one, Sam gave you a spark of life you had been chasing since you learned how to stand on two feet. In him, you saw a life full of laughter, one where you could fall hard but know there was a soft cushion below to protect. He was home, and every aspect of him had been more welcoming than anything you had felt before. Your fears were next to nothing when you imagined him beside you for the rest of your life, because you would be so full of love that there would be no room for pain.

It was there, dancing on the tip of your tongue. The word was knotted around his throat, searing into the skin in black charred letters. It was thick in the air, present in every exhale and filling your lungs when you inhaled. It was written in the fog on the windows, and all but stamped across your chests in bold red. The world was screaming at you to say it, to break through the walls and grow up, admit to what you both feared the most. You were both irrevocably in love with each other, just like you had been before your skin ever had the chance to touch. You worshipped the ground Sam walked on, just the same as you did for the entire time you had known him.

Even with your distorted and misguided views of love, you knew that you felt it for him, in any and every way you knew how to do it. You were playing with fire, your skin long burnt into ash before the earth shattering reality hit you. There was no lesson to teach that would be greater than the hurt of your own once the flames burnt out. You were your own martyr, sacrificing yourself for a purpose that had always been far beyond your control. Instead of teaching, you were killing not only yourself, but whoever dared to follow in the path you were taking.

You could blame your parents for the hurt, or anyone who ever spoke an ill word about you, or even the ones who looked at you with any contempt at all. You could point fingers, scream until your throat was raw and there was no more words to utter, blame until your foot was in the grave; in your years leading up to that moment, that’s exactly what you had done. Now, the finger could only be pointed at the mirror, and you would be choking while you were cursing your own name. You were about to face the biggest hurt you had ever experienced, and it was nobody’s fault but your own.

But your hips moved, and your eyes locked on him as if he were prey below you. You did not stop, not even while knowing that you were sucking the life from him as you did so. Not even after realizing that you could never recover from the love of a single Kiszka, let alone two of them. This was a match that not even the Devil could take credit for, because it was for more sinister than anything that his hands touched. Sadism accusations and hellish rhetoric had come to an end, because the devil horns did not belong on Jakes head, nor his brothers. It was you who took the crown, and the pillar of innocence was destroyed. If you were half the person you wished to be, you would walk away and never look back.

But your hips continued, and Sam’s fingers danced over your clit, steady in their movement and cemented by reality. He could not stop even if he wanted to, and neither could you. You were too far gone for salvation, and it did not matter who the villain was; evil resided within all three of you, and victim, too.

“Sam, I’m gonna cum.” You moaned, eyes still locked with his.

“Please, baby.” He pleaded, needing it as if it were an antidote to the poison you had been injecting directly in his veins. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak again, but lost himself in the wave of euphoria that was crashing over him. The orgasm was creeping on you both, but it was nowhere near as powerful as the raw connection between the two of you. He felt like you were staring into his soul as you looked down at him, like you could read the thoughts that would explain exactly how much he felt for you. In a way, you could, but so could he. You were both caught in the twisted game of loving selflessly, but selfishly all at once. “That’s it, sweet girl.” He hummed, watching your face contort into a show of pleasure.

He felt you tense around him, and he pulled you down into a kiss. The climax struck you stronger than you could withstand. You were rigid, but exhausted just from the energy it took to keep yourself upright. Every curse and moan slipped into his mouth, his face only millimetres away from yours. As much as he loved to see you in such a mess for him, it was a million times better to feel it, and that’s exactly what he did. As you descended from the depths of your orgasm, he reached his own. His fingers branded your skin with the intensity of his grip as he spilled his release into you, and he let out his own jumble of curses. When the storm passed, you both let out a sigh of relief, but the moment still weighed heavily on you both.

The windows were clouded with fog, both of you sweaty and in disarray. Every surface of the vehicle was covered in smoke from the fire that was still burning within you both, seeping into the cracks to bury the memory within the material forever. Your noses were touching, foreheads rested together as neither of you had the energy to pull away. It wasn’t like you had the power to part, anyway. Whatever earthly forces that drew you to him were stronger than they had ever been, and you wanted to exist within his hold for eternity. There was not a coherent thought that existed within either of your brains, and you were trying not to succumb to the sleepiness that was calling your name. You were exhausted from the emotions of the night and the intensity of the connection you were feeling with him.

Wordlessly, he helped you off of him and moved your underwear back into place. You were both ready for the comfort of a mattress, and the serenity of each others arms. As you walked to the front door together, hand in hand, you wondered if the game of cat and mouse would ever come to an end. You looked up at him, his face illuminated by the dim porch light, and you wished you could tell him exactly how you felt. You prayed for a moment of clarity so you could push past the cloud of terror and accept vulnerability, just for long enough to say that you cared so much for him. It would be a waste of a lifetime if you walked away from him without him ever knowing how important he was.

It seemed like it was written in the stars for you to follow blindly after Sam, believing he had the power, while he followed after you for the same reason. You were destined to run in circles until you collapsed under your own weight, never discovering the truth because you were both too afraid to ask. Falling in love with Sam was easy, but loving him was nowhere near as simple as you previously thought it to be. Every time you thought a decision was creeping into fruition, you realized you were just stuck on a stone with a mountain yet to come.

Follow those who pale in your shadow

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading roundup: February 2024

I literally completely forgot I needed to do this oopsie poopsie

WHAT DID I READ IN FEBRUARY!!! LET'S TALK ABOUT IT!!!!

Rouge (Mona Awad, 2023) - listen. there are some very cool ideas in this book, and it's definitely big creepy in places. some of the childhood flashbacks, in particular, had me shrieking with pure dread. but ultimately my issue with this book is the same as my issue with Awad's most well-known novel, Bunny: I would just... kind of like to understand what's going on? like even a little bit? at literally any time? you don't need to explain everything, but man, give me something. vibes alone do not make a meal, and I left this book not really feeling fed.

Our Share of Night (Mariana Enríquez, trans. Megan McDowell 2023) - god, this book makes you WORK FOR IT, but I'm glad I stuck it out. Enríquez has written a fucking doorstopper of intergenerational drama, about an Argentinian family deeply embroiled in a cult that worships something otherworldly and... hungry. perpetually sickly Juan is the Order's prized prophet, but after his wife's death is orchestrated by her own mother he becomes determined to get their young son, Gaspar, away from the Order's control by any means necessary. a wrenching read that swings through every kind of horror, swinging from the supernatural to Argentina's military dictatorship in the 70s to the AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s to an absolutely brutal ending.

Red String Theory (Lauren Kung Jessen, 2024) - some of you may recall that Lauren Kung Jessen wrote Lunar Love, one of my favorite romance novels of last year thanks to a zodiac-obsessed protagonist who's (unintentionally) giving major Rebecca Bunch pre-diagnosis in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend vibes. Red String Theory also has a female lead obsessed with mythological matchmaking, so I was really hoping for another unhinged queen, but please don't make my mistake: everyone in this book is devastatingly hinged, and the only real conflict is two characters who like each other from the jump repeatedly coming up with unsatisfying excuses for why they can't date each other. my least favorite was "we'll only in the same city for A YEAR," which is absolutely hogshit wild. "only a year." get out of here. I hate you guys.

Drinking from Graveyard Wells (Yvette Lisa Ndlovu, 2023) - a tiny short story debut by Ndlovu, a Zimbabwean sarungano. one of my very favorite genre of short story collections is "women having a bad time taken up to 11," and god does this deliver. Ndlovu writes about the many indignities heaped upon Zimbabwean women at home and abroad, weaving together tight stories about misogyny, war, poverty, and immigration with restless spirits, bored gods, ignored wise women, and unsatisfactory afterlives. there's a story about a near future in which diamond miners are purposefully set up and sacrificed to an angry underground god to create more diamonds that was so fucking clever, and the final story - the titular Drinking from Graveyard Wells - was just... an absolutely perfect short story. suspenseful and eerie and just enough of a hint of explanation to really chill you. chef's kiss.

It Happened One Summer (Tessa Bailey, 2021) - shout out to all of my patreon supporters who voted to make me read another Tessa Bailey book; you truly wish darkness and despair upon me. here's the insane thing about this book: if you just completely ignore the actual central romance, it's just a sweet book about an infinitely likeable young woman unplugging from her shallow socialite life and finding a new niche reviving her deceased father's bar in a tiny fishing town in Washington. it's like, you know, the plot of a pretty okay disney channel original movie? it's no Minute Men or High School Musical, but it's cute. it's a solid Dairy Girls or Princess Protection Program. but then there's the love interest, who's just a fucking tool all the way down. reader, I kept wishing he would get swept over the rigging of his own crab boat and die ingloriously at sea. this guy sucks so bad. also the sex scenes were identical to the ones in Unfortunately Yours and they did not taste any better reheated. fascinating treatise on cishetero gender norms, rancid romance. I wrote a whole thing about it on my patreon if you're into that kind of nastiness.

[psychotrenny]

I think one common mistake that Liberals make when they talk about and criticise reactionaries is to take the Rhetoric at face value, rather than investigating it's material context to discover the actual positions that lie behind it. I think the video game SWAT 4 provides an excellent example of this error with how it deals with "pro-life" Christian militants.

During that game's final mission, you take on a militant group called "Army of Faith" based on the actual USamerican terrorist organisation Army of God. Now the real world Army of God hold a "pro-life" position. It attacks abortion clinics and assassinates doctors, claiming to be motivated by their respect for the sanctity of life which leads them to defend unborn fetuses by "killing the killers" . The fictional Army of Faith claims similar motivations, which induce them to attack facilities involved in stem cell research and cloning. If we accept Pro-Life rhetoric as being straightforwardly true than this makes sense. Stem cells for research purposes were derived from embryonic tissues (although less so nowadays than when the game takes place), and even if you don't count removing the original egg's DNA to be "killing" cloning still involves doing unnatural things to reproductive material that could easily be seen as blasphemy against God's design for life. The problem is that in the real world these sort of attacks don't take place. Sure various people and groups may raise ethical concerns, but there are no Right Wing militants (both organised and lone wolf) who feel threatened enough by these developments to take violent action against them.

And that's because the motivations behind the "Pro-Life" position have nothing to do with wanting to preserve life. This is made pretty clear by the number of "Pro-Lifers" with absolutely no regard for the lives of people that've already been born, supporting policies like foreign wars and welfare cuts that (even within the ideological bounds of mainstream liberalism) clearly spread nothing but death and misery. No their motivation is Misogyny; to put it simply Reactionaries want to maintain the subjugation of (those they prefer to see as) women by exerting as much control as possible over them, even over their very bodies. The poverty that forced birth often brings, for both parent and child, also provides the advantage of reinforcing the reserve army of labour; maintaining a population of desperate poor that will take just about any job and so can be exploited to keep wages low through direct competition and their use in the break-up of proletarian organisational efforts. Essentially, legalised abortions present a challenge (however small) to Patriarchy and Capitalism. Stem cell research and cloning do not. There's a reason that these seemingly equivalent threats to "the sanctity of life" do not face equivalent levels of violent opposition

[simplygyuu]

Nouvelle Crown - 003 : 7 eleven?

tweets and written!!

synopsis : choi beomgyu, the second prince of the royal choi family doesnt have much of a life outside of his duties. even then hes not allowed to do much, his brother is the crown prince after all. but when he meets you, a regular commoner girl, through his brothers friend soobin he cant help but be intrigued. commoner life is so different from what he knows and you are the only person to treat him like the normal teenager he always longed to be. with you he gets to experience the normal, teenager life behind the backs of his overbearing family.

The last way Beomgyu expected to be spending his night was walking down the dark streets, not one guard at his side and only being accompanied by Kai. Honestly he was pretty fucking freaked out simply by the fact that he snuck out. Never has he done anything rebellious, too worried about being perfect enough to finally get some praise from his family. Being anything but perfect had never even crossed his mind (even if he happened to make mistakes from time to time, which usually ended up in a breakdown).

Either way he couldn't help the curiosity coursing through him as well. He never went outside of the palace grounds if it wasn't for a public appearance and he definitely didn't go to this side of town. What was up with all the overgrown plants and flickering street lights? Why were the shops so run down looking and small? He didn't know this was simply the lower middle class, not even poverty. He was just that out of tune with his own nation since he's always been so sheltered.

"I promise nobodies gonna be outside at this time, especially not at a 7 Eleven." Kai reassured him, confidently leading the way. Kai had a lot more freedom than he did, Beomgyu often longed to live as a Huening instead of a Choi. "Speaking of 7 Eleven, how do you not know what that is?"

"You know how my father is, Kai. Hes so crazy about me leaving the palace and coming in contact with 'commoners' and all that. He doesn't even want me learning about anything in our nation outside of the rich people stuff. Im still surprised he even lets Soobin hyung and my brother be friends." Beomgyu mumbled, eyes big and curious as he took in the unfamiliar scenery. He had a mask on curtesy of Kai, just in case somebody saw them.

They lulled back into a comfortable silence before Kai pulled him into a building with the most atrocious green, red, and orange color scheme. A bell jingles above their heads as they walked in, catching Beomgyu off guard. Hes never even gone shopping before, so this was all new to him.

"Im gonna go look for some jellies, you should explore. Who knows when i'll be able to get you out here again." Kai gave Beomgyu a little shove towards a row of shelves before walking away. Thankfully, Kai was tall and easily spotted over most of the shelves which eased Beomgyus nerves.

Hesitantly Beomgyu glanced around, standing there awkwardly for a few beats of silence before finally walking down an isle. Immediately his attention was caught onto the shelves filled with snacks ranging from chips to things like pickles and other snack foods. It was the weirdest assortment of foods hes ever seen.

While walking he wasnt looking straight, eyes glued to scanning the isles before he found himself bumping into something. A high pitched yelp met his ears, causing him to whip his head around to see a girl falling. Without much of a thought he jumped forward to put one hand on her elbow and the other on her waist for a split second as he kept her from falling. As soon as she seemed to be balanced again he let go and took a step away, immediately bowing towards her.

Now when you said you wanted to restock on peanut butter you didnt think that would lead to you almost being bulldozed over by this tall guy with pretty eyes and nice clothes. You hadnt even noticed him in the isle until he full on ran into you.

"Im so, so very sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you, I apologize for my careless actions." The man spoke, his eyes on the floor as he avoided eye contact guiltily. The way he spoke was different thats for sure, weirdly formal for someone who looked so young.

"No, its okay dont worry about it." You reassured him, you could feel his guilt coming off him in waves and it made you feel a bit bad for him. "It was a honest mistake!"

"Ah, still.." He trailed off, fiddling with his shirt before perking up. "What are you buying? I can get it for you! That way I can make it up to you." He exclaimed, eyes crinkling into an eye smile which made you assume he must be smiling underneath his mask. You didn't want to make him buy you something but he seemed pretty adamant. This could also be a chance of friendship, maybe you could agree then ask for his number so you could treat him to coffee as 'pay back'.

"Alright, if you say so." You finally said after a while of silence, turning back towards the shelf where you carefully picked a jar of peanut butter. You could feel his eyes on your back but you didn't say anything.

"Cmon then, this is all I wanted." You piped up, beckoning him to follow you as you approached the cashier. Out of the corner of your eye you saw how he wouldn't stop looking around the store in awe, has he never been to a 7 Eleven or something? You huffed a bit at the thought, thats just impossible.

As you gave your peanut butter to the cashier and heard the girl recite back the price you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Turning around you saw him holding out his card hesitantly.

"I uh.. dont really know how to do this.." He mumbled, scratching his neck. You couldnt help but smile a bit even if it was pretty weird. Then, you actually noticed his card. Your eyes widened as you noticed he was holding out a black card towards you, how rich was this kid?

You took the card, making a conscious effort to not see the numbers since you didnt want to have some rich people on your back before inserting the card and stepping away to let him input his pin. A few minutes later you both were stopped in front of the exit as he bounced a bit on the balls of his heels and kept looking back towards the isles.

"Wow! You have a black card?! What are you doing out here then?" You couldnt help but ask once away from the cashier, eyes wide. Sheepishly he looked back at you and fiddled with his sleeves.

"My friend brought me along with him but I dont really know where he went.." He replied, glancing towards the isles again before focusing back on you.

"Hmm.. Hes probably getting a drink in the back. Its hard to see back there from here anyways." You informed him kindly, noticing how fidgety he seemed. "Oh, thats right! Do you think I could get your number? You seem cool and I think we could be good friends! Plus, I'll need to repay you for buying this for me."

For a few seconds he just looked at you with wide eyes and you couldn't tell what was going on inside that head of his. You assumed he was going to say no with how long he stared but you were pleasantly surprised when he finally took the phone from your hands to input his number. Once he handed it back to you, the contact 'Gyu' was added to your phone.

"Thank you! Ill send you a text, yeah? See you around, Gyu!" You said happily, smiling as you waved goodbye and stepped out the door easily. He would be a nice addition to the friend group, you hummed.

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notes : HI FINALLY THEY MEET! sorry if the pov changes are a bit confusing but i hope ur enjoying this so far!

reblogs and replies are really really appreciated and keep me more motivated to keep this au going :)

taglist (open) : @mazeinthemoon @pokyloky @run2seob @bluebearybeom @wonioml @rikismiel @yumilovesloona @captivq

[kissdragon]

when, like me, you're born a white guy into a family with money, your childhood experiences will be that of immense privledge. you won't notice, of course. it's just normal life to you.

and yet when you transition, you suddenly find yourself on the other side of one of those axes you used to benefit from. you are now a minority in one way! and it's rather shocking. there's 4 main ways I've seen my fellow white girls deal with this.

way 1 is dissociation. not paying attention to it. staying quiet. it's a common coping mechanism, and in discussions like these it results in staying quiet. there are worse ways to deal with it, but it's a stagnation of thought.

way 2 is to consider it a mistake. to feel like you've been kicked out of heaven, to feel like you really are some special person, that it's some New Unfathomable Cruelty whenever you're mistreated for being trans. you'll see this in assimilationist types, in girls who think maybe if i just act cis enough, ill be treated like a normal person again. this is an incredibly selfisg

way 3 is to consider yourself an expert on all things oppression just because you face one axis of oppression. you've been called slurs, kicked around a bit, and you correctly recognize this as you being treated poorly due to the biases of society - except, you fail to recognise how in all other axes outside gender, you're still exceedingly privledged. you're still white. often, you're still middle or upper class, although sometimes the transphobia can force you into poverty. when other oppressed people talk about their experiences, you talk as if you're an expert on what they're saying, or deny their lived experiences just because you haven't experienced it yourself. this is called "being a shithead" and you are NOT immune to it. girls in this category might read whipping girl, but likely won't segue into more broad theory of oppression.

way 4 is to educate yourself. maybe it's through actually listening to folks on other axes of oppression, maybe it's through reading or listening to theory outside that of the transfeminine, the effect is the same. you start to recognize that the issue of oppression is way bigger than you realized. you start to unpack the way the privledge of your childhood necessarily sheltered you from seeing such things. you start to unpack all that shit. you start to notice how incredibly white the communities you're in are. how the other girls clam up anytime race is mentioned. anytime someone discusses the inherent privledge of living in the imperial core. you see the guilt you feel and see how it leads others to do harm. you have to put in the work to unpack all that.